My eyes whip open. “And you’re late.”
For some reason, that earns me a dashing grin. And at that very moment, I’m glad my legs are tightly crossed as I sit on the stool because I feel itinsideme.
Again, who the hell is this man?
“My apologies for the wait, but I was detained,” he offers with a slight bow of his head. I can feel my cheeks warm up at the thought that the man is even more dangerous than he looks. He must catch my inner turmoil because he impishly adds, “At work.”
My shoulders sink with relief, and he bites back a smile.
“Mister…” I trail off, trying to remember a name I never even asked for. “Sir. I fear there’s been—”
“Hold that thought. Excuse me, mate,” he calls to the man behind the counter. The tattooed stranger points at my empty glass and says, “Another like this, and I’ll have a draft beer.”
The bartender nods and springs into action with quiet efficiency. Oh, no. We’re not having drinks.
“Sir,” I try again.
“Jake.”
“Mr. Jake—”
He can’t quite hold back the chuckle that rolls out of his throat. “Just Jake, love.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Would you prefer kitten? Baby? Sweetheart? Red?”
My cheeks, or rather my whole face, warm up at the flirty tone he uses for each endearment. I gather myself as swiftly as I can. “I would prefer Jessica,” I reply dryly.
He laughs again, shaking his head. “Listen, I get that I’m not what you expected. But I came from too far to not at least have a drink,” he nonchalantly explains. “So, I’ll have a beer over there, and if you feel like not making this evening a waste of time, you’re free to join me. We’ll have a nice chat and part ways.”
The bartender chooses that exact moment to return with the drinks the man—Jake—ordered and a bill. Once he’s paid, this enigma of a man extends his tattooed hand to the tall glass of foamy beer, offers me a wink, and heads off to the table he gestured toward.
I sit there, dumbfounded, while he walks over to the empty booth. My eyes rake up and down his silhouette without my approval, and I marvel at the powerful legs I can perceive under his jeans and the roundness of his behind. This man is quite the specimen, and I don’t recall ever meeting someone as effortlessly alluring as him.
Maybe one drink. That way, Hana won’t be too hard on me when I tell her I chickened out and nothing happened. At least she’ll think I gave this man a fair shot. Also, it would be rude of me to make him come all this way only to leave because of his unexpected appearance.
With a deep sigh, I slide down the stool, grab my phone, my clutch, and my lemon drop. He must hear the clicking of my heels on the polished marble of the floors, but he doesn’t turn around. He’s busy removing his jacket when I join him.
Adamant to make things clear before this goes any further, I say, “Sir, you—”
My interjection dies in my throat as the leather comes off, revealing more tattoos. His arms are covered in intricate designs of ink, and it only adds to his irresistible charm. The artworks are eclectic, but they somehow blend well together, showing a level of craftsmanship I never thought possible in tattoos. The incandescent feathers that creep up his neck are part of a much larger design, and more of them descend on his biceps. It looks like he has enormous wings spread across his back, which pour onto the rest of him.
A man from the hotel’s staff is by us before I can remember how to speak, and he takes the jacket before disappearing back to the corner he came from.
With unwavering confidence, Jake lowers into a chair as I stand by the table’s side, unsure what to do next. “Sit,” he offers, gesturing at the cushioned seat opposite his. It’s a suggestion more than an order, so I comply without a word.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the chatter of the bar’s patrons. My eyes dart to his inked forearms when he folds them across his broad chest and observes me. At this point, I have to admit it to myself, I’m beyond intrigued—I’m fascinated.
“Eli and I have been wondering,” he starts, his green eyes commanding mine to meet them, “is it a dare?”
“Is what a dare?”
“The Jacob’s ladder. Were you dared to try? Or is it a kink? Something you enjoy doing now and then?”
“No, I…” My gaze shies away from his, and I fidget with the velvet of my tiny black clutch. “I’ve never tried, but I was curious about what it might feel like.”
Another crooked smirk tugs at his lips. “Women usually come back for more. So, I’d imagine it feels good. You used the past tense. Are you not curious anymore?”
