“Who hands someone a glass of vodka without warning?” I shout, angry at the burn in my chest from the large gulp.
Like a slovenly woman and not the poised aristocrat I am, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and try to steady my breathing. I’m still balancing my glass of wine in the other hand, doing everything I can not to dissolve into another coughing fit.
I take a moment to gather myself.
“Forgive me, I don’t usually yell,” I finally meet his eyes, and immediately regret my tone when our gazes lock.
He could eat me alive. His hair is dark blonde, cut short at the sides and left slightly longer on top. His jaw is strong, and his eyes tilt upward just enough to suggest he’s in on a joke never meant for you in the first place.
Ignoring my words, he just stares, tilting his head slightly. His gaze lingers long enough to make me shift in place.
His lips are full, and I have to clear my throat to pull my gaze away.
“Careful,” he says, his voice low and rough. Throwing the cigarette to the ground and putting it out with a polished shoe.He doesn’t break eye contact as he downs the rest of the drink, his lips closing over the ring of berry lip gloss I left on the edge.
I gulp. Before I can say anything, he’s already walking straight past me, like I never existed.
I turn on my heel, still flustered from the encounter, my pulse thrumming as I watch his broad shoulders disappear into the night. There’s a charged intensity about him, in his presence and his complete disregard for me, that sends an unfamiliar thrill curling in my stomach.
Oh, absolutely not.
“Excuse me?” I call after him, voice sharper than I intended. “Is that it?”
He slows but doesn’t turn right away, like he’s debating whether or not I’m worth the effort. Then, with a lazy sort of arrogance, he turns around. His expression is unreadable, but I can feel the amusement lurking beneath the sharp lines of his face.
“Would you prefer something more?” His voice is low, edged with condescension.
I huff, lifting my chin. “A gentleman would apologize for nearly drowning me in vodka.”
“A gentleman,” he muses, gaze dragging over me in a slow, measured way that makes my skin prickle. “Would also know better than to waste his time talking to a fellow Bonesman’s little sister.”
I narrow my eyes. “Oh, is that what this is? You know my brothers, so you’re sparing me the tragedy of your company?”
His smirk deepens, as if he’s just been waiting for me to bite.
“I’m sparing myself the tragedy of yours.”
I scoff. “And yet, you’re still here.”
“Curiosity,” he says simply.
I cross my arms.
The corner of his mouth tugs upward slightly, like I’ve said a remark that’s mildly amusing but ultimately unimpressive, and I haven’t said anything at all.
“You’re being particularly vague.”
He nods slightly, as if he couldn’t be bothered to waste the energy on a whole movement.
“So you’re one of them,” I say, assessing him now with fresh eyes. “A Bonesman.”
He takes another step forward, and this time, my breath hitches before I can stop it. The air between us crackles, charged with something electric, a mix of curiosity and warning.
“You should go inside,” he murmurs. “Before someone less forgiving than me finds you.”
I should walk away. I should throw my glass of wine in his face. I should toss some sharp remark over my shoulder and leave him standing in the cold. But instead, I tilt my head, holding his gaze like a challenge.
“Forgiving?” I repeat, voice saccharine. “Oh, please. Do tell. What great mercy have you bestowed upon me tonight?”
