“No. But I don't know you. Why do you think it's acceptable for a man to touch a woman he doesn't know so familiarly?”
“Well, we're in a bar.”
“You're in a bar,” I corrected, waving at the counter separating us. “I'mbehinda bar. Working. But even if I was patronizing a bar, I wouldn't want some stranger walking up to me and touching me without any encouragement from me, simply because of where I stood.”
“My mistake. I thought I saw the encouragement in your eyes.”
“In the whole thirty seconds after you walked up and accused me of drinking on the job?”
He laughed. “So, I have offended you.”
“No, I'm not offended. This is my bar. I've seen men do a lot worse. But I've also seen you around, Heartbreaker. I'm not interested in anything you're offering. So, would you like a drink or are you going to wait for your next victim to offer to buy you one?”
“Harsh,” he said. But instead of getting upset or walking away, he slid onto the bar stool and leaned on his perfect, corded forearm.
Damn. I love a good forearm. And his was beautiful. Just the right amount of muscle swirling under that bronzed skin and only a sprinkling of dark hair.
“I could make assumptions about you, but I haven't,” he went on. “Yet, you assume you know me from merely watching me interact with a few women.”
“First of all, you did make assumptions about me, not the least of which was in thinking I wanted you to touch me. Second, it's more than a few women. I've seen you go through the crème de la crème. Every beautiful woman who drinks here has gone home with you at some point.”
“That's not true.”
“Oh, yes it. I just watched you walk in, look around, and realize it for yourself. That's the only reason you looked at me. You ran out of options. Moving on to a new bar now?” I lifted a brow and smirked at him.
“I meant that it isn't true because you're the most beautiful woman in the room.”
I guffawed. Not just laughed or giggled. I guffawed like an old man, slapping the wood of the bar for emphasis. The guy was not thrilled. His pretty lips turned down.
“You don't think you're beautiful?” he asked.
“Oh, darlin',” I drawled. “I know I'm gorgeous.”
“Then what's so funny?”
“That line and the fact that you think I'll fall for it after all the shit I've just given you. Are you just a sucker for abuse?”
“Maybe I see something in you that I haven't seen in anyone else.”
“You all right, boss?” Ralph—AKA Wreck-It—leaned over from where he was pouring a beer on my left to ask. He scowled at my would-be-suitor, then looked back at me.
“Oh, yeah. I can handle this guy,” I said.
“Just holler if that changes.” Ralph glared at the guy then took the beer over to a waiting guy.
“You can handle me, eh?” Mr. I-See-Something-In-You asked. “Sounds like a challenge.”
“Nope.” I pointed at him. “Not a challenge. Now, shoo.” I waved him away. “I'm working. Go find another woman to tell her she's sweaty.”
The man roared with laughter and his bellow was nearly as ungraceful as my guffaw, but it was still damn sexy. If a lion laughed, he might sound like that. Everyone stared, men and women alike. Even my potion couldn't hold out against that. My willpower started to wither.
At last, he settled into a grin and stretched his hand across the bar. “I'm Darius.”
Grudgingly, I shook his hand. It was just bad manners not to. “Amélie.”
“Of course you are,” he murmured.
“Excuse me?”
