Glancing over the menu the bartender handed her, she decided on a vodka cocktail with a lemon-lime twist. As the efficient barman turned to mix her drink, she sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, willing the stress of the day to float away.
But the sensation of floating was not what slid over her, prickling along her skin. Tension rocketed through her, a hot tingling that made her neck heat and her body thrum. She shuddered, her nipples hardening with a sharp yet delicious ache.
She snapped her eyes open, immediately spotting him striding toward her, a predatory gleam in his striking eyes. His long legs flexed wonderfully beneath the material of his pants, and with each swing of his arms, his chest and torso moved, the muscles rippling.
Hesitantly, she turned her head, scanning the bar area behind her for whoever he was looking at, because it couldn’t be her.
Daaaaamn. She swallowed the lump of lust forming in her throat, and flicked her gaze away from him, praying he wouldn’t notice the blush that, no doubt, was brightening her face.
He stopped just beside the stool where she was sitting and leaned against the bar top, sucking all the air from the room. A slow, cock-eyed smile quirked his lips, drawing one side up into a wolfish grin that made her panties catch fire. And his eyes…like two blades of flame, stared down at her, a look she’d never seen before spreading across his beautiful face. His chiseled chin, his sharp cheekbones, the hint of midnight black scruff highlighting his jaw… He was yumminess wrapped in designer clothes and smelling of rich leather, with hints of mint and goddamn sex.
What was he doing there, and why was he looking at her as though she were on the menu?
You? Only if he’s into plump partridge with a side of snark.
Maybe he was already well on his way to drunk, hitting up the mini bar in his room before venturing out to liquefy women’s panties with a smile.
“What are the odds of bumping into you again?” he drawled, his deep richly-accented voice like a sensual caress over her chest. Her nipples hardened further—if that was at all possible. Like diamonds surrounded by pink areolas. His steely gaze dipped, taking in her lips, then dropping to drift over her breasts, which were still barely confined in the same blouse he’d last seen her in. Dammit! As exhausted and ready for a drink as she’d been, she hadn’t thought about the shirt. Her nipples waved hello, the thin fabric of her bra and shirt doing nothing to hide the erect points from curious viewers.
Hell. If she could, she’d crawl into the nearest hole and wait out Armageddon. She wasn’t typically so self-conscious about what she wore, but she usually wore shirts that fit—she was a professional, dammit!
God, what he must think of her. Her cheeks warmed, the heat of embarrassment spreading down her neck and onto her chest.
His gaze flicked back up to hers, the blaze there barely banked. She swallowed again, offering him a friendly smile.
“At least this time it wasn’t literal,” she finally remarked, damned proud that her voice came out sounding only slightly off-normal.
A crooked smile shaped his mouth, turning her body into warm wax. Human men shouldn’t be allowed such power.
“Are you here with your husband?” he asked, waving down the bartender who arrived seconds later with her drink. “Whiskey neat. Add the lady’s drink as well.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary—”
He held up a hand to stop her protest, his crooked smile widening. “I insist. I’ll be glad to keep you company until your husband arrives.”
“I don’t have one,” she remarked off-hand, her thoughts jumbled by the way his mouth drew all her focus. Were men supposed to have such full lips? Had he had them injected to get that perfectly plump, kissable, wicked look?
He arched a brow. “No? Boyfriend, then?” Why did something that was probably an innocent question sound a lot less innocent when spoken with a British accent?
And, besides that, what was his deal with her and other men? Did he honestly believe she would have some man waiting in the wings for her? Not a chance. And it wasn’t like she had the time to date let alone the wiles to keep one interested long enough to pop the question. Nope. She was a dating novice, completely out of her element with the sex god seated beside her.
Tensing her shoulders, she just kept herself from scanning the bar again—he must have the wrong woman. He wasn’t talking to her, gazing at her with heat in his eyes.
Sipping her drink, she welcomed the sweet and tangy burn as she shook her head.
“No boyfriend, either,” she answered once the burn in her throat dissipated.
If she thought his smile was killer before, she was nearly struck dead by the wide, sensually predatory grin he settled upon her.
“Then let us keep each other company,” he offered, nodding a silent thanks to the bartender who slid his drink across the bar.
Diana blinked, taking her time to size up her situation.
David Brenner. Billionaire. Sexy as hell. Her boss’s client. Sitting next to her at a bar in the Serata Incantata.
Yup. Definitely out of her element. It took every ounce of chutzpah in her body to keep from rising off the stool and heading for the exit. How would that look? Did it matter if it meant saving herself from abject humiliation? Lord, she had no clue what to say or how to act with a man like David Brenner. Just being near him was a study in human combustion, what would
