"Oof," Cormac grimaces. "Not your favorite?"
I open my mouth to respond, shocked into an awkward open-mouth smile as I stutter through a rebuttal. I don't love sparkling wine. And sparkling mead is, apparently, no exception.
"Fucking hell, give it here," he says, taking it from me without any further arguing. "Can she try a glass of the Honey Boy?"
My brows raise, "Honey Boy?"
"Blame Skyler. Again," he chuckles. "I might make the wine, but he's in charge of things like advertising, branding, naming. And he's... well, he's something. But it's a red mead, flavored with boysenberries and an exceptionally rare, sweet honey."
"Ooh, that sounds more to my tastes."
Without missing a beat, the bartender hands me a glass of the deep red liquid, and Mr. Fomori watches silently as I take a sip and barely hold back an ungodly sigh.
"Yeah?" he bites his lower lip, his face lighting up before I've even had a chance to praise the delicious blend, sweet but tart, with a subtle hint of something candy-like. "Good, huh?"
"Delicious," I nod. "Thank you."
"Thank you," he repeats to the bartender, freeing her from this awkward exchange.
On the far side of the room, loud laughter erupts, and someone yells, "CORMAC!"
He looks to the ceiling before his eyes land on me again, "Skyler."
I laugh, looking over at the loudly yelling man who’s nearly drowning in attention from his gathered crowd. Jet black hair, sharp, angled eyes, dressed in a dark suit with the jacket completely unbuttoned. Even his blush pink dress shirt has come half undone, blatantly flashing the red blooming across his pale chest from the liquor.
"I'm being summoned," he grins. "But I'm gonna track you down for a dance later. So don't do anything funny and try to run. Iwillcatch you."
He's not even being subtle with his flirting anymore.
Maybe he never was.
I'm just unused to someone being so open with their desire for me that I couldn't tell.
But it's one dance.
What harm could it be?
Before I make the final decision on whether to deny him or not, he steps away, disappearing into the crowd of well-dressed strangers, his amber eyes falling on me again over his shoulder, grinning and holding up his glass in a final toast.
Chapter 13
Get It In Writing
CORMAC
Energy pulses through me in time to the pounding music.
Brigit didn't agree to come tonight, but I can feel it in the air that she's going to.
She bought a new dress and paid extra for expedited shipping. While I know that could just be a coincidence, as she's one to order a new dress almost every week, something about a mini dress shehadto have by today is too suspicious to be anything but a clue.
Maybe I shouldn't be monitoring her purchases and just leave it up to chance, but I can't make myself stop.
Everything she does is like a fucking drug to me.
Even the meticulous way she makes herself a latte in the morning.
Steamed milk first, then exactly three and a half pumps of brown sugar syrup—homemade, of course— followed by espresso poured on top, sprinkled with fresh cinnamon.
