Playing Pretend, page 23
I stare for longer than I should, trying to come to terms with all the conflicting aspects of the sight before me. There’s something different about him. Something intriguing. Then again, I’m still high on adrenaline, which makes all my responses unreliable.
“So…” Brent clears his throat, breaking my train of thought. “In answer to my question…”
The stranger reverts to his scowl, a blatant sign he’s annoyed at being dragged back into the game of Twenty Questions. “My sister got knocked up by a lowlife with a heavy hand. He ended up leaving her as soon as my nephew was born. To help her out, I quit my job, packed my things, and drove here.”
“That’s…” I want to say unbelievable, because it is. Men like him don’t exist. They aren’t real. Not in my world. “…admirable.”
He shrugs and palms his beer, taking a long pull. “She doesn’t know yet. I only got into town tonight.”
“Well, I hope you find the lowlife piece-of-shit and give him a dose of his own medicine.” I don’t realize what I’ve said until the words are out there, announcing my hunger for vengeance.
He narrows his gaze, looking at me with such intensity I feel his questions sink inside my chest to tinker with my pulse.
“I’m not the violent type,” he murmurs.
My heart flutters.
Clearly, I’m not used to men who don’t think with their fists. My world revolves around violence. My past, my present, and my future all mesh into nothing but bloodshed and suffering.
This man is a breath of fresh, crisp air against my tarnished lungs. If I had any hopes for my life, any maternal or romantic plans, I might have been tempted to sink my hook and reel him in.
Here fishy, fishy.
I grasp my whiskey and fight not to guzzle it down. “How old is your nephew?”
“Eight weeks.”
There’s no pause. Not even a slight frown as he recalls the timeline. This guy is fully invested in his family, and I’m a smidge jealous. I used to be surrounded by people like him. Good people. Loving people. But they never looked this severe or harsh. I can feel him scrutinizing me, studying me, just like I was doing with him.
“See what I’ve done here?” Brent interrupts. “My pestering has started a conversation. If it wasn’t for me, you two would be sitting in silence.”
“Silence is good.” The stranger swirls his beer with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Silence is comfortable.”
“Silence is honest,” I add, gaining another fierce stare.
He inclines his head.
Again, my gaze is glued to his. I can’t help it. There’s something about him that demands attention. Something dark, like I’m used to, and also something promising, which is entirely new to me. I suddenly feel like I want to climb his broad chest and ride his face for hours.
Not a good idea.
I turn back to the bar and ignore my nagging libido as the chatter continues without me. Brent returns to his questioning antics while the stranger resumes his monosyllabic answers.
Their conversation washes over me, sweeping away the brutal parts of the night to replace them with something basic and easy. Something suburban and casual. I concentrate, trying to learn more about him, but my adrenaline-filled brain is darting, looking for a hook to clasp onto.
Unfortunately, it snags onto my attraction. The sexiness.
My heart pounds harder with each muttered word. The minutes tick by with building lust. I glance to the large hands encasing his beer, the thick fingers, the tanned skin.
Hands are my downfall. My Achilles’ heel. I can picture his grip around my throat. Clasping my flesh. Burying deep. A shudder slips through me.
Damn it.
I’m due to get laid. That’s all. What is the cobweb tally at now? Two months? Three? And my last conquest ended up being more of an unwilling victim. He hadn’t realized I was leading him into a sexual research situation and did a runner when I donned my newly purchased dominatrix attire.
But a woman’s gotta try these things. I’m inquisitive by nature. Stepping outside the box is what I do. It’s how I learn, and grow…and realize my error of spending five hundred dollars on black leather items, including a high-neck bralette and matching web garter.
“How about you, Steph?”
“Hmm?” I blink up at Brent and take another sip of alcoholic goodness. “What did I miss?”
“Laboring work. Do you know of any construction sites in this area?”
Construction? Laboring? Of course this broad temptation has a body built for sin under his jacket.
“Sorry.” I shake my head and keep my gaze straight ahead. Sip, sip, sip. “Maybe a temp agency could help.”
Brent leans into my line of sight, his lips lifting in a knowing smile. “What’s wrong?”
I raise my glass. “I’m almost out of liquor.”
It’s no secret I like to get my sexy on, and my lovely bartender buddy probably thinks I’m too scared to get freaky with this Hulk-like Adonis.
That isn’t the case.
Tonight is for celebration, and I don’t feel like a sexual rejection to tarnish the memory. The insults from my last escapade are still raw.
That’s a whole lot of spandex, sugar.
It wasn’t spandex, asshole. It was expensive, supple matte black leather with gunmetal buckles.
Brent fakes a yawn as he refills my glass. “I think I might call last drinks.”
I glare, and his eyes beam back at me, taunting—matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.
Does he think I’m too timid to sleep with this guy? Really? My sexual appetite is more likely to indicate I’ll swallow the sexy stranger whole.
“Yeah,” my drinking partner agrees. “I guess I better make a move.”
I glance at him, and he’s right there staring back at me, strumming my pussy with his caged emotions.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, passive as fuck.
The question not only surprises me, it lassos my womb and squeezes tight. I’m flustered, which is out of character, and I’m also aroused, which isn’t all that surprising.
“Yes.” I throw back the last of my drink and stand. “But I’m leaving on my own.”
Apparently, the mix of adrenaline and whiskey has made me reckless. I’m a panty slip away from taking this guy home. This devilishly sexy man with his shadowy intrigue and penetrating eyes. My heart palpitates. My sternum itches. I want to drag him to my apartment by his dick. I would strip him. Devour him.
Not tonight, Satan. Not tonight.
I need to focus. Regroup. I have a lead to chase tomorrow, and I don’t want anything else stealing my attention.
I pull my pack from the floor and scrounge for my purse, only to have the stranger shake his head.
“I’ve got it.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulls out a money clip, and slides a stack of bills across the bar. “This should be enough for both of us.”
It is.
More than enough.
I don’t know how to respond. I’m uncomfortable with being indebted. I’m also charmed by his generosity. “Thank you.”
He grasps his drink, not paying me attention as he raises the bottle. “Don’t mention it.”
It isn’t a gentlemanly request. It’s a statement. A demand that I ignore his kindness. It’s entirely gruff and anti-social. It’s how I usually act—my MO outside of this bar and away from the one man I speak to. It’s so familiar I can’t help smiling.
This man is me.
“Well…” I beat my desire back with a studded bat. “It was nice meeting you.”
He scans me with a quick appreciative stare, from eyes to heels and back again. “I assure you, the pleasure was all mine.” There’s no inflection in his tone, no excitement, and definitely none of this pleasure he speaks of. But I believe him anyway.
I tingle in places that aren’t usually susceptible to flattery. I crave more of his scrutiny. I want all of his attention.
Shit.
I clear my throat to break the trance and sling my pack over one shoulder. “I’ll catch you later, Brent.”
I don’t glance in the bartender’s direction. I focus on the door, my head high, and eat up the space between me and necessary fresh air. I fight temptation like a pro, striding my seductive heels toward my escape, until I hear the squeak of a bar seat.
“I’m out of here, too.”
That voice slays me. The lethargy. The masculinity.
I pause and glance over my shoulder to see my fantasy approaching, the slightest tweak to his mouth a threat and a taunt, all in one. I should run. Fast. But all the cautionary thoughts are being smothered by the heavy weight of attraction.
There’s a hum.
A zing.
It slides down my spine, tightens my nipples, and contracts my pussy in the most delicious squeeze. I’m already convinced this guy could make me come like a runaway freight train, leaving me devastated and deliciously broken.
I want that pleasure. I want the pain, too.
He raises a cocky brow. “You waiting for me, princess?”
Princess? “Seems more like you’re following.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Is that a problem?”
There is much more to his question than the issue of him tailing me. It’s about vulnerability. Susceptibility. Deliciously dreamy carnality.
And yes, it’s a major problem. Huge. My normally infallible caution is wavering like a leaf in a hurricane. But I can’t voice a protest. The words aren’t there. Not the right ones. Only those that will be so very, very wrong. “I guess that depends on what you want to achieve.”
Thoughts dance behind those lazy eyes, and I want to know them all. I itch to hear his secrets. His darkest desires. I need to know his plans for me, and I want the explanation to come in erotic Technicolor.
“I want everything.” His voice is low—pure sex and seduction.
My pussy twists in knots. There’s no denying the inevitable. I’m going to succumb. This zing is too vibrant to ignore. I can already taste him on my tongue. The alcohol. The sweat.
I sigh, resigned to my fate. “Then, no, I guess it’s no problem at all.”
Also by Eden Summers
HUNTING HER WORLD
Romantic Suspense
Hunter
Decker
Torian
Savior
Luca
Cole
Seeking Vengeance
Ruthless Redemption
RECKLESS BEAT SERIES
Contemporary Romance
Blind Attraction
Passionate Addiction
Reckless Weekend
Undesired Lust
Sultry Groove
Reckless Rendezvous
Undeniable Temptation
Reckless Encore
Information on these and more of Eden’s titles can be found at www.edensummers.com or your online book retailer.
About the Author
Eden Summers is a bestselling author of contemporary romance with a side of sizzle and sarcasm.
She lives in Australia with a young family who are well aware she's circling the drain of insanity.
Eden can't resist alpha dominance, dark features and sarcasm in her fictional heroes and loves a strong heroine who knows when to bite her tongue but also serves retribution with a feminine smile on her face.
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For more information:
www.edensummers.com
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Eden Summers, Playing Pretend
