My cheeks burned. No. Scratch that. My whole body did. I bet I looked redder than my own dress. Did he notice where I was staring? My lungs felt as if they would burst. Yeah, choking seemed to be a good option now.
I looked up—and up. “Where the hell is Katrina?”
His heavy black brows furrowed, but his lips—God, what in the name of spicy yum were these made of?—twitched on a laugh. “I’m guessing Katrina is your wingman?”
Shit, piss and fuck. Did I say that question out loud? Why would he know where she was or who she was? He must be thinking I was a nutcase already.
Why did I care?
“She’s my only friend.” The words fell out of my mouth, my brain nonexistent. Something was seriously wrong with me in the presence of this…Alec. “I mean the only friend here with me tonight. We’re celebrating my birthday, not…picking up guys.”
Too much information, Belle. First I tell a total stranger I’m a pathetic woman with one friend, and now he knows when my birthday is. Way to enable stalkers, Professor. Well done.
He helped himself to a seat in my booth, sliding on the leather couch across from me. “Does that mean it’s unlikely you’d leave here with me?”
I couldn’t believe this douche right now. “I… What? No.”
“That’s a pity.”
“We just met.”
“Yet I already have a strong urge to devour you,” he said slowly, in a whisper that rang through me.
Heat stroked my skin. My breaths shuddered at his voice. It was rough and smoky as he was, like a campfire burning low in the dark. This kind of interaction—the proposition of just sex—wasn’t new to him, obviously, but it was to me. For years, I hadn’t so much as looked at another guy with the potential of flirting, let alone…that.
I should be slapping him, throwing his drink at his face, getting up and leaving this place entirely, anything but soaking my panties, imagining this voice waking me up late on a Sunday morning for an early fuck.
He wasn’t even a handsome man. His face could have been carved with a serrated blade. Too rough. Too bold. His hair and eyes were immensely dark now that the lights were to his back. All that blunt, craggy darkness made him look mean…and hot as sin. If he were written in a book, he’d be the villain.
The villain women like me fantasized about doing nasty things with. God knew I’d been devouring those books for years. Men always sounded better in romance. Even villains and monsters.
And the way he was looking at me… He was already devouring me.
His mouth curved up with a smirk. I didn’t know if it was the dark, but I noticed he had no lines on his face whatsoever. He looked rather young, but not that young to have no smile lines or crinkles around his eyes. “How old are you?” I asked.
His smirk grew into a grin. Yeah, still no lines. It creeped me out. “Old enough to be here,” he shook his glass, “drinking bourbon.”
“Like twenty-one?”
“Way older.” He tilted his head, looking me over. “You’re rather sweet, lady in red who wouldn’t tell me her name before asking about my age. You don’t look like you come to these kinds of places very often.”
Was it that obvious? “I’m not sure how to take that.”
“As a compliment. You’re the freshest thing in town.”
“Well, well, I leave you alone for one second, and the wolves come down.” Katrina returned with a tray of blue and purple drinks. Thank God.
“You must be Katrina,” he said, still eating me with his eyes.
I glanced up at my friend, who was reprimanding me with her glare. I returned a ‘save me’ stare.
She placed the tray on the table and cocked a brow at him. “You’re in my seat.”
“Apologies.” He got up as if he had all the time in the world. Then he nodded at me once, slowly, his smile turning brighter. “Till we meet again. Happy birthday, Red.”
CHAPTER 2
BELLE
