“I’ll refill their drinks.” She jerks her chin toward everyone in the group, who all seem unfazed by my PDA. “You go do your thing with…whoever that was.”
When I return to the bar, the stranger’s regarding the bachelor party with cold appraisal.
I fix his vodka soda in silence before setting the cocktail on the polished wood counter. “Here you go. And thank you for…what you did back there.”
I wince once I realize that I basically just thanked a stranger for kissing me.
His gaze lingers on my mouth, and his lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. “No need to thank me. He shouldn’t have touched you.”
“Agreed. But thank you all the same.”
He sips his drink. “Busy night?”
And just like that, we pretend that kiss never happened.
“They’re all busy.” I shift my weight, conscious of how exposed I am in this absurd getup. “Need anything else?”
“Just wondering what brings someone like you to a place like this.”
Bristling, I bite back a defensive retort. “Someone like me?”
His gaze trails down my sleazy outfit again, lingering just a tad too long. “Someone smart enough to be doing something else,lyubimaya.” The foreign word rolls off his tongue like a term of endearment.
No idea what it means, but paired with his accent, I peg the guy as Russian.
Awareness dances up my spine. “You got all that from watching me carry drinks?”
He cocks his head. “I got all that from watching you scan the room every thirty seconds, track the hands of every man you serve, and calculate distances to the nearest exit. And from the way you jumped in to help your friend.”
My pulse quickens. He’s been following me that closely? I’m not sure whether I’m flattered or terrified. “You’re very observant.”
Not regular observant, either, but stalker level. Who the hell is this guy?
“Yes.”
He doesn’t elaborate, just holds my gaze as he drinks his vodka.
When he sets the glass down, a bead of liquid clings to his bottom lip. It’s all I can do to not reach out and swipe the drop away. With my tongue. Then press his mouth to mine again and sip the rest of the vodka directly from his lips.
Get a freaking grip. A hot guy rescues you from a handsy customer, and you’re ready to jump the poor man’s bones.
“So what do you do? When you’re not analyzing strangers in bars, that is?”
His expression sharpens, like he’s choosing his answer carefully. “I solve problems.”
Another reply that begs more questions. “What kind of problems?”
A customer at a nearby table raises a hand, trying to flag me down. I pretend not to notice.
“The kind people pay generously to have solved.” He tosses the coin and catches it without looking. “The kind that don’t have easy solutions.”
We’re flirting, I realize. But it’s more than that. An unseen force sizzles between us. A spark. His eyes devour me like he wants to peer deep into my soul, and my body responds as if his hands are all over me.
This isn’t like me. The girl who hasn’t had sex—or even gone on a date—in over a year.
But we seem to share a weird connection. Maybe we can just blame our incredibly hot kiss.
He reaches into his jacket, extracts a bill, and slides it across the bar top. A hundred. “For the most intriguing woman I’ve met in a long time.”
