She was attractive by anyone’s standards, but not in a model kind of way. Her face would never grace the covers of any shallow-minded magazine, but there was something about her that drew his eyes like a moth to a flame, and he could not pull them away. He’d first watched her from the darkened corners of the room, watched her generous smile reveal straight white teeth, watched her flick her long brown hair that cascadeddown her back and sparkled like a mountain waterfall. He watched the way, when she was nervous, she’d twist her fingers subconsciously around a ring she wore on her engagement finger. He knew from the moment their eyes first locked, and he’d stared as if mesmerized into the seemingly bottomless pools of ivy green, that she would be his. It was implausible to him to have a compulsion so strong. He didn’t stop to question why. All he knew for certain was he had a powerful urge to touch her, to run his fingers through her hair, to wrap his lips around the curve of her slender neck.
Usually, if he saw something he wanted, he took it without delay. But there was something about her that made him not want to rush—she had an attitude, and he liked it. Perhaps he’d play with her a little first. He’d bait the hook, cast the line, let her nibble a little and pull it away. Change the bait if he had to, cast the line again, and move it through the water to tempt her. He’d know if she began to get bored of the game. He’d know when the right moment was to let her sink her teeth in. Yes, that sounded better. And to think he’d always regarded fishing as boring. And then when he tired of her . . . well, that would depend on his mood.
Karson took another sip of his whiskey, draining the last of his glass, and sat it on the bar.
“Can I get you another?” a brunette standing beside him said.
“No, I’m heading out shortly.”
“Me too. Perhaps we should leave together?”
He glanced at her. She was attractive, with doe eyes, a generous mouth, and flawless, tanned skin. Briefly he considered having her tonight. Then his gaze drifted back to her, and suddenly the brunette paled in comparison.
“No, not tonight, sweetheart. I already have plans.”
He eyes pulled back to Amelia, just as she flitted her gaze to him. He watched the pink flush of her cheeks, as enchantingas the first blush of springtime roses. A glow seemed to dance around her as if all the stars sparked to life beneath her skin. She was intoxicatingly beautiful. She dropped her head, and long, silken chocolate strands covered her cheeks as she almost ran out of the bar. He stifled a laugh. He was going to enjoy her.
He followed her out the door.
Chapter 15
Night Out
Bon Jovi’s husky voice greeted me as I entered the bar. The music choice, like the town, remained entrenched in another era. I felt like I’d stepped back in time, but I really didn’t mind. I loved old-school eighties music. Mom used to play it loudly all the time. We’d sing at the top of our lungs and dance around the kitchen.
A pang of loss filled my chest, as it always did when I thought about her. It was a loss I’d never recover from. The guilt, a noose around my neck that wouldn’t ever release.
I shoved thoughts into the dark recesses of my mind and focused on finding BJ.
It wasn’t like I wanted to make friends. What was the point of that? You couldn’t trust friends. You couldn’t trust anyone. I hated feeling so negative, but that’s what life had taught me. I couldn’t rely on anyone but myself. And even that wasn’t a guarantee. From now on, my heart would be coated in a sheet of ice. But some company other than the wolf while I drowned my sorrows might be nice.
If he wasn’t here, then I’d sit at the bar and drink on my own. No big deal.
I was used to being alone. I was used to being lonely.
Coming out had nothing at all to do with the fact that Karson might be here. Nothing at all.
The place was busy, the dance floor full of writhing, sweat-soaked bodies. I craned my neck, peering through the crowd. The two bar stools were empty. My chest hollowed as a strange sense of disappointment took hold. I didn’t have the emotional capacity to consider why I felt that way, probably it was as simple as having eye candy to distract my mind from Tom.
I spotted BJ sitting at a table on the far wall with a pretty blond girl. He caught my eye and stood up, giving me a surprised grin, he waved me over enthusiastically.
Smiling, I headed over, skirting my way around drunken revelers.
“Hi, you’re not from around here, are you?” Kevin, the guy who’d been spurned by Dahlia, stepped in front of me, blocking my way forward.
On closer inspection, I judged him to be heading toward the tail end of his thirties, about my height, and rake thin—aside from a pregnant-looking stomach. Alcohol had been his friend tonight; his eyes slanted together as he tried to focus. He wore black fitted jeans, so tight, I could practically make out the hairs on his balls.
I heaved a sigh. “No.”
“Would you like a drink?”
I had no time for any man after Tom. Not even Karson—definitelynot Karson.
“No thanks. Excuse me,” I answered hastily, stepping around him.
“Jesus, don’t go near him,” the pretty blond said, twisting of her face, her brown eyes alight with amusement. “He tries to get his dick, and the odd finger, up anything that moves.”
I laughed.
