Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes)

‘A gambling den.’

‘What?’

‘Yup. When the bar closes, the real activities begin in the back rooms.’

‘An illegal gambling operation?’

‘Something like that. Have a seat,’ he invites, and I sit on one of the tall padded stools next to the bar.

He goes behind the bar. ‘Do you want champagne?’

I shake my head. ‘I’m a bit sick of the smell of champagne.’

‘What would you rather?’ he asks softly.

‘Whiskey.’

He nods, grabs two glasses, puts them on the bar and reaches for a bottle in one smooth move. It tells me he has worked a bar before. He tips the whiskey bottle the way bartenders at swanky nightclubs do, from up high and continuously. The bottom of the bottle finds its way to the bar surface with a thump. We lift our glasses—there is no toasting—and drink. He downs his and picks up the bottle and refills his glass. A pulse throbs at his throat and he looks restless and edgy.

‘So this is your idea of a date?’

He takes a large swallow. ‘At this time of the night? Yeah.’

I really have to stop staring at him. Even if he is heart-stoppingly beautiful. ‘If it wasn’t this time of the night?’

He looks at me with those amazing, bottomless green eyes and pours the rest of the whiskey down his throat. ‘I’d have tried to impress you by taking you to a fancy restaurant.’

He pours another glass.

I look at the glass and back up to his eyes and try to remember him as he was on the beach, the warmth of his smile, and I can’t, because the man in front of me seems so far removed from that man. About him is an air of danger and expectancy. My skin sizzles with it. I know just lurking underneath our apparently meaningless conversation are deep sexual undercurrents.

‘Should you be drinking so much? You still have to drive me home,’ I say to cover my awareness.

‘I’m not driving you, Lily. If I drive you somewhere I’m going to end up fucking you.’ He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his predatory eyes. At that moment he looks sexy as hell.

I hurriedly look down at my drink. My thighs are clenching like fists.

He rests his elbows on the bar and leans forward. ‘So, tell me about yourself.’

I look up and lick my lips. His eyes drop to my mouth. ‘Not much to tell, really. A life wasted.’ I pick up my glass and empty it. The alcohol goes straight to my head.

He frowns, picks up the bottle and refills both our glasses. ‘Where are you from, Lily?’

‘I’m a runaway kid who didn’t make it good, OK?’

He didn’t seem even the slightest bit affected by all the alcohol he was consuming. ‘You’ve made it just fine.’

‘Not many people would agree with you.’

‘Doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks. You did fine.’

I finish my drink and put the glass down with a thud. ‘I’m a stripper, Jake?’

He chugs his down, refills our glasses and pushes mine toward me. ‘That’s OK. Gangsters and strippers go together like toast and marmalade. We keep the same hours, the tax man doesn’t hear much from us…’

I grin. ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

‘What do you think?’