“You don’t need to play stupid. I get it. I promise, I won’t look your way again tonight.”
“Well, that would be a shame,” he says, moving a step closer. Maybe two. “Considering I’ve been trying to get you to do more than look my way all night.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Obviously.” He leans down—and I admit I’m a little weak in the knees just from that. I’m five eleven barefoot, six foot two in the heels I’m wearing tonight. I’m not going to lie. The fact that he still has to look down on me is a total freaking turn-on.
His face is only a couple inches from mine now, his body less than that. I should feel threatened by his proximity—not only is he taller than me, but he outweighs me by a good seventy-five pounds. But even though he’s crowding me, it doesn’t feel bad. Maybe because there’s plenty of open space behind me if I decide to step back? Or maybe because for all his size and nearness, the only place he’s touching me continues to be those feather-light strokes against the inside of my elbow.
They feel good. Too good, which is why I yank my arm away. The last thing I want to do is melt into a puddle at the feet of a guy who thinks I’m old-fashioned and dull.
“I need to get back to the party.”
“This is way harder than I remember,” he mutters under his breath, so low that I’m not sure I heard him correctly.
“What?” I demand, certain that he’s insulting me.
But he just shakes his head as he steps back, gestures for me to pass.
I don’t move.
Which makes absolutely no sense. It’s what I’ve wanted since the moment he took my arm. But now that he’s no longer in my way, all I can do is continue staring up at him. Continue staring into those crazy, black magic eyes of his.
He smiles a little then, as if he understands his effect on me. Then again, he probably does. He’s the kind of man women fling their panties at—while they’re still wearing them.
More seconds tick by and I don’t move. I don’t know why, except he’s big and warm and standing this close to him makes me feel strangely safe. Maybe because he’s so willing to let me go, so determined to make sure I don’t feel trapped with him in this narrow hallway.
Either that or that third drink I had really did a number on my inhibitions. Either way, when he asks, “What’s your name, sweetheart?” in a deep voice gone gravelly in all the right ways, I can’t help but answer.
“Sage.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sage.” He takes my hand in what could be called a handshake but feels more like a caress. “I’m Shawn.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
I watch wide-eyed as he brings my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss right in the center of my palm. My heart goes wild, and my brain starts screaming DANGER at me in blinking red lights. And still I don’t pull away. Still I let him keep ahold of my hand even after he’s lifted his lips from my skin.
“Why did you order old-fashioneds for the table?” I ask, partly to remind myself of what drove me back here in the first place and partly because I have to know if my assumptions were right.
He looks surprised. “As opposed to ordering one just for you?”
“As opposed to ordering some other drink!”
Now he just looks confused, but I’m more than okay with that. About time he joined the club.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” he says after a few seconds. “I guess I ordered them because they remind me of you.”
“Old-fashioned?” I ask, the indignation starting to flood back now that I’m no longer mesmerized by his Hot Stuff demeanor.
“A little,” he agrees, toying with the cameo at my throat. “And classy. Smooth.” He touches my bottom lip with one calloused finger. “Delicious.”
I nearly swallow my tongue.
“You okay?” he asks again, and this time it’s almost a whisper.
Then again, this time he leans forward so that his mouth is very, very close to my ear. So close that I can feel his breath hot against my cheek.
I nod a little jerkily, because it’s dawning on me he wasn’t trying to insult me with that drink. He was trying to seduce me.