To not have to talk.
To not have to smile.
As I move to fluff up my display before moving toward the backside of my table, making a little wish for a moment to sit down, a voice rumbles, “Do you think he really has a favorite copse of birch trees?”
I twist toward the words, the gravel in them doing something to me I am not used to experiencing. Lust burns through me and has me shivering even though the event room has gotten so damn hot I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some heat stroke issues with all the costumes people are wearing. This kind of lust makes my knees feel weak, but I refuse to crumple to the ground like some southern belle with the vapors.
When my brain fully kicks in, I realize I’m staring at the muscular chest of one of the security guys. I’ve seen him around at events. I think I even flashed him an awkward as hell smile at least once when packing up or unloading or something. What I haven’t done is talk to him.
Talkingto hot guys, and this one is hot as hell, is not really something I have a lot of experience with. I tend to get a little tongue tied and far too sweaty for my liking whenever it happens.
I can already feel my face getting warm as I blink up at the man in front of me. His dark eyes are gentle as he looks at me.
I’ve been quiet far too long for someone who was asked a question. Just when I’m sure that I’ve been broken beyond repair, my brain and mouth catch up enough for me to blurt out, “You don’t have a favorite little grouping of trees? I have several, but they don’t know about each other. I’m a copse cheater really. You should try it.”
My eyes widen and it takes everything in me not to slap both my hands over my mouth. I cannot believe I just said all of that. He’s going to think I’m fucking weird. He wouldn’t be wrong, but normally I hide it for a little while longer.
Much to my surprise, his head tips back as he laughs.
And I eagerly take the opportunity to look him over again. He’s wearing black pants which hug his thighs in a way that should be illegal. Then there’s the way the bump in his throat is bobbing as he laughs. It’s the absolute last thing that should be sexy and yet here I am with hard nipples while my thighs clench and I hope for some friction. His hair is cropped close to head in a military style cut and even though he has a beard, it’s trimmed and neat.
The soft fabric of the guy’s shirt stretches across his chest and around his shoulders and arms. My eyes traipse down those muscular arms and take in the corded muscles of his forearm. And the bulging veins which is woman catnip? Yeah, he has those too.
Holy fuck.
“What?”
The question has me snapping back to reality instead of the land of sex and debauchery it was wandering into. I’m more than a littletempted to wipe my mouth to make sure I’m not drooling. It wouldn’t surprise me to find some there.
This man is far too hot to be working this convention as security. Honestly, he shouldn’t be working at all. He should be doing what all gods should be doing—lounging on chaises and tipping their head back as maidens feed them grapes, seedless of course, with gentle fingers.
And yet here he is. Right in front of me.
“Uh,” I mumble while waving my hand in a motion I can hope looks more dismissive than panicky, “nothing.”
He makes a humming sound and the small smile playing on his lips turns sly. There’s no doubt in my mind that he heard me. I’m sure he also knows why I said it.
A man like him can’t look like he does and not know what he does to an unsuspecting woman.
Or suspecting, honestly. I don’t think there’s anything I could do to prepare me to be confronted by the man in front of me.
I bet he has a small dick.
Wouldn’t that just be fitting?
Of course, it would be a terrible fate considering how hot he is and how growly and manly he is. Then there’s his height. I’m 5’6” on a good day, one where I stretch a little before busting out the tape measure, but this man looms over me.
Looms.
He’s got to be more than half a foot taller than me. I’d say he’s at least 6’3”, more than likely.
Tall and broad. I wonder if I clung to him if I would feel dainty for the first time in my life. I’ve always been…more than curvy. I know what I am and as long as my body keeps me going, I’m good with how I look. I gave upon the whole happily ever after thing when it comes to love a long time ago. It’s not in the cards for me.
But it’s not the end all and be all of happiness or satisfaction.
At least that’s what I tell myself when I’m trying to ignore the loneliness. Cap would be affronted with the notion that he’s not enough to keep those kinds of feelings at bay. But he’s a cat and doesn’t really understand.
Not only that but Cap has Pascal. It’s not like he’ll ever experience loneliness. Pascal would never allow it, the nosey rascal.
