The Banker (Banker 1)

I set my glass down and continued to look away, hoping Cato would take the bait.

My brilliant plan was sabotaged when a handsome man came to my table with a scotch in his hand. “Looks like you’re getting low.”

Really? This guy had to make his move now? A smile emerged, and I kept up my calm façade, pretending this guy hadn’t just ruined an opportunity I’d worked so hard to set up. “Thank you. That was kind—”

“Leave.” Cato appeared at the table, towering over my guest with a few extra inches of height. His deep voice was as sharp as ever, slicing the poor guy with his razor edge. He threatened him with his gaze and size, spooking him like a frightened dog.

The guy didn’t put up a fight. He disappeared into the crowd—and took the scotch with him.

“There goes my free drink.” My legs were crossed under the table, and I rested my arms on the surface. My shoulders were back and my posture was poised, commanding the situation with my silent confidence.

Instead of taking the seat across from me, he sat right beside me, his thigh touching mine and his arm pressed against my shoulder. With his eyes trained on me, he subtly lifted his hand and beckoned to someone watching us.

The waitress appeared instantly.

“Two scotches,” he said, still looking at me. “One ice cube.”

She walked away without saying a word.

He was even more intense than the last time I saw him. I turned my gaze to meet his, showing the same fearlessness that he possessed in his own eyes. As far as I knew, this man was rich, but he was honest. He wasn’t a criminal who sold drugs or weapons. He made an honest living—so he couldn’t be too dangerous.

The waitress was back in a flash—along with the two glasses.

I grabbed mine and took a drink. “Thank you.”

He continued his relentless stare. “You’ve successfully claimed my attention. Now, what are you going to do with it?” His eyes flicked away from mine, traveling down my dress until he spotted my bare thighs under the table.

“I wasn’t trying to get your attention.” I took another drink, the booze calming my nerves.

“Really?” His blue eyes were chilly, like the arctic. “In a dress like that?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” I countered, the drink in my hand.

He slid his hand over the back of the chair, his muscular arm pressing right against my shoulder blades. His skin was searing hot, a nice relief from the cold leather. He tilted his face nearer to me, our bodies so close together it didn’t seem like we were strangers. “You’re still wearing it.”

I shivered as the smooth words rolled off his tongue. He said it with such confidence, in a way no other man could pull off. I’d been with good men, but I’d never been with a man who possessed such raw masculinity. Cato was definitely a different breed of man. His arrogance could be attractive—once in a while.

I took another drink just to mask the heat that flushed into my face. “I’m not the kind of woman to straddle your hips and make out with you in a bar.”

The backs of his fingers moved to my cheek, and he gently grazed them toward my hairline. His skin was warm, innately inviting. “But you’re the kind of woman to stalk a man for two weeks?”

I turned to him, the ferocity entering my gaze.

A slow smile formed on his lips, the look so handsome and so arrogant that it was undeniably sexy. “Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you look when you’re pissed?”

Damien popped into my mind. “Actually, yes.”

His smile widened even more. “I get under your skin, don’t I?”

“I think you’re a bit arrogant.”

“If you think I’m bad, you should meet my brother.”

“You’re more than enough.”

His smile continued, but his gaze sharpened. “You’ve got a quick mouth on you.”

“Thank you.”

“I wonder what else your mouth can do.” His smile faded away, but the intensity remained in his eyes. He made his moves one after another, seducing me without even trying. Maybe he was an excellent entrepreneur, but making panties drop was his next best skill set.

“You’ll never know.” I finished my glass then took a drink of his.

He watched my movements, not protesting when I helped myself to his booze. When the glass was back on the table, he moved his fingers under my chin and slowly forced my gaze toward his.

I easily could have fought it—but I didn’t even try.

“Yes, I will.” He moved his hand into my hair as he pulled me in for a kiss. He cradled my head against his palm then kissed me softly on the lips, giving me a tender embrace that was nothing like what he gave the other women. This was purposeful, soft, and so slow that it made my legs shake.