That dimple flashed again as her lips slowly curved into a smile that had his chest seizing and his dick hardening.
“You’re right. There’s something to be said for the gift of having only the ‘right now,’ isn’t there? It’s temporary, which somehow makes it more special, exciting.” She extended her hand toward him. “Mycah.”
After a brief hesitation, Achilles accepted that slim, smaller hand in his own. And exhaled a low, long breath when his completely encompassed hers. “Achilles.”
“Achilles,” she repeated, and he clenched his jaw when she emitted a little hum afterward, as if savoring his name on her tongue and finding it satisfying. “I like that name. Well, Achilles.” She picked up her beer bottle once more and tipped it toward him in a toast. “Here’s to strangers meeting for a night.”
He lifted his mug, tapping it to her beer. And he couldn’t prevent his rebellious gaze from traveling down the graceful column of her neck, past her slim shoulders to a pair of beautiful breasts that might not fill his hands but would damn sure make their presence known. Her open suit jacket offered him an unhindered view of high-waisted pants and a slightly rounded belly that he found sexy as hell. A woman who ordered the kind of meal she had, who didn’t starve herself...
He shifted his scrutiny to her face of contrasting angles and curves and narrowed his eyes, studying her anew. Her clothes, those shoes with their red bottoms that even a fashion idiot like him recognized, her flawless makeup and smooth, pampered, almond-brown skin—all of that shouted wealth.
But the decadence of her food order, the roundness of her stomach, the gorgeous lushness of curves that society dictated she diet away, even her laid-back choice in beer and bar... Those all pointed to a woman who indulged herself. A woman who knew restraint but also understood that abandon wasn’t always the opposite of losing control.
What would it be like to have this woman lose control all over him?
“To strangers and one night.”
As they sipped their respective drinks, and the Guinness flowed over his tongue and down his throat, he couldn’t shake the sense that his words had never been more prophetic.
Good thing he didn’t believe in that shit.
Two
“Team Dean or Team Sam?”
Achilles lifted his mug of Guinness to his mouth, and for some odd reason Mycah Hill found herself studying the length and width of his fingers. Before she’d entered her favorite Beacon Hill bar tonight, she’d always considered herself a shoulders-and-arms woman. God knew, Achilles had that covered, as well. Massive. That black thermal cotton showed off the wide, tight, big perfection of both.
But hisfingers.
She’d never been so fascinated by the proportion, length and...elegance of a man’s fingers. Until tonight.
“Dean.” His answer snatched her from her inspection of his blunt-tipped fingernails. “Natural-born leader and selfless. Let me guess.” He arched a dark, thick eyebrow. “Sam.”
She scoffed. “That wasn’t the least bit condescending.”
He stared at her.
“Oh, so what?” she snapped. “Sam was resilient, and he had a lot of obstacles to overcome. Being half demon. Losing his soul. And through it all he learned discipline, had to work through guilt and remorse and learn to forgive himself. Plus, he was self-sacrificing.”
“You loved his abs.”
“They were straight out of the God’s Handiwork Supermart, aisle eight.”
Oh, wow. The corner of that deliciously carnal mouth twitched. All night, images of his face wreathed in a full-out smile had fluttered through her head. And all night, she’d hungered to see one. That desire hadn’t been fulfilled. Yet each quirk of his lips like the one she’d just been given lit her up. Ridiculous, considering they’d just met, and she didn’t know him and wouldn’t see him again after they both left this bar, but still...
A gift.
It’d taken greasy bar food, a couple of rounds of drinks and several rounds of “Who’s better?” to break the sheet of ice between them, but she was enjoying herself. And even the buzz of her cell phone in her pants pocket for the sixth time—yes, she’d kept count—couldn’t ruin it.
Surrender to the demands of her parents to arrive at their home and perform like a perfect show pony? Or sit here and indulge in this brooding, bearded, sexy enigma with long, dark hair and piercing bright eyes?
Her Harvard education wasn’t needed to make this decision.
And in a year where she’d been questioning so many of her choices—her career trajectory, her relationships, hell, the flavor of jelly on her English muffin—tossing out her usual reserve to talk up this fiercely beautiful stranger had been her best decision yet.
Even if initially everything from the stiff set of his massive shoulders to the cold of his stark facial features to the grim line of his carnal mouth had initially told her to fuck off. Although, someone should really inform him that lips that full, that sensual could never truly flatten...
“You’re staring.”
