“No.” I sip my drink.
Instead of taking the hint, he chuckles like we’re flirting. “So, what’s your name?”
“Not important.”
“You’re right.” He chuckles again, how charming. “What’s important is that you don’t waste a night like this drinking alone. One dance.”
“I don’t think so.”
His eyes glint, a little too certain, like refusal isn’t part of his vocabulary.
“Women usually don’t say no to me.” His smile falters, arrogance bleeding through the polish.
“Maybe that’s your problem,” I shoot back.
“You’re feisty.” He steps closer, his cologne suffocating. “Makes it more fun.”
I shift sideways, but his hand lands on the bar, blocking me in. Not touching me yet, but his body is a wall I didn’t agree to lean against.
“So you don’t wanna dance?” He tilts his head.
“No.”
He just stares at me like I’ve said something cute instead of final.
“Look, sweetheart,” he says, tone dropping a register, patience already fraying. “You’re gorgeous. I’m offering you my time. Why complicate it?”
“You’re not listening.”
“I’m listening,” he says, crowding me back against the bar, hand pressing into the wood beside my hip. “I’m just not happy with your answers.”
“Move.” My skin crawls.
Instead, his other hand snakes around my wrist, holding me there like I’ve already agreed. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s unyielding, confident in a way that makes my stomach turn.
“Trust me,” he says, smile thinning into something ugly. “I know what you females like.”
You females. He might as well say “you aliens.”
“Definitely not you.” My throat burns with more words I don’t get the chance to spit.
Movement catches in the corner of my eye. The crowd stirs, subtle at first, then obvious. People shift, glance over, part.
I turn just as a man steps out of the VIP section. Tall enough to dwarf everyone around him, broad shoulders stretch a black shirt like it was sewn straightonto his skin. His presence shifts the air—cool and heavy—and it feels like the club itself notices him. People move instinctively out of his way; the crowd parts even more. I no longer hear the music, no longer feel the asshole’s hand around my wrist. All I see, for one long moment, is him.
Dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes so intense they pin even from across the room. He might be the most handsome man I’ve seen in my life—intense in a way that makes it hard to breathe just from looking at him for too long.
And he’s headed this way.
The creep’s voice is still droning in my ear, some arrogant mix of coaxing and command, but I can barely hear him anymore.
Because he’s closer now. Every step eats the ground, and all I can do is stare, breath caught, chest tight. He’s so much bigger up close. His eyes are molten, ruthless, and locked somewhere just past me.
The creep laughs at something only he thinks is funny. “Don’t mind you playing hard to get, sweetheart. I like a little fight in my women.” His grip tightens around my wrist, making my skin crawl.
Panic sparks, hot and ugly.
Before I can think, I whirl around. My hand shoots out, fingers clutching the behemoth’s arm as he’s about to pass. Muscle shifts under my fingertips as he flexes his forearm.
