“There you are, babe! Took you long enough.” I plaster on a too-bright smile, my voice all sugar-coated panic.
The man halts mid-step, looks down at where I’m touching him, and then his eyes slowly cut to me.
The world tilts, and my stomach drops clean through the floor.
Oh. My. God.
Dark eyes narrow, locking on mine, and it’s like being dropped into fire. Not just a glance, but an assessment—a stripping-down. He sees me, and the sheer weight of that gaze leaves my mouth dry and my knees weak. It’s the most intense look I’ve ever endured, and it sears straight through me like I’ve just been branded without a word spoken.
For a breath, he doesn’t move. Then he shifts, his gaze flicking to the guy still gripping my wrist. A silentcalculation. One look, and then his eyes are back on me.
Every bad decision I’ve ever made flashes through my head, because there is no way a man like him is going to play pretend. I give him the tiniest pleading look, begging him to play along, already bracing for the humiliation when he inevitably peels my hand off like it’s dirt and walks away.
But he doesn’t shrug me off.
Instead, his gaze returns to the asshole, who slowly releases my wrist. Then his arm snakes around me. His hand settles heavy on my waist, tugging me flush against a chest that feels like solid granite under his shirt. Heat detonates through me so violently I nearly stumble. Every inch of contact burns, and my lungs forget how to work.
Then he dips his head, brushing a kiss against my cheek—close enough to look intimate, possessive enough to make my stomach flip. His voice is so deep that it vibrates through me, more dangerous than the music pounding overhead. “You look like you’ve had enough fun without me.”
My pulse pounds under my skin. Flames lick every nerve ending where his body pins mine.
“We were just…” The creep clears his throat, his laughter suddenly nervous, brittle. “Getting to know each other. I didn’t realize she was taken, man.”
“She is.”
Flat and absolute. His gaze slices to the man, head tilting like he’s measuring his worth and finding nothing there.
The asshole swallows hard, mutters something unintelligible, and turns, vanishing into the crowd with a disgusted look on his face.
I’m still pressed against a wall of muscle, burning alive in his hold.
“Thanks,” I murmur, tilting my head up, nerves crackling through me.
His eyes don’t soften. They stay locked on mine, his hand still anchored at my waist.
“You owe me,” he says, voice low enough to vibrate against my ribs.
“Owe you? For pretending to be my boyfriend for thirty seconds?” A nervous laugh bubbles out of me.
“For saving you time and energy. He seemed persistent.”
“Well,” I smile, tilting my chin, trying to claw back some ground, “what’s the going rate for rescuing damsels in Miami? Ten minutes on the dance floor?”
His eyes flick down my body and back up, like he’s taking his time imagining it. “Terrible bargain.” His mouth curves, not quite a smile, more like the idea of one. “I deserve at least fifteen. And your name.”
My breath catches.
The laugh that escapes me is sharper, breathier than I mean it to be. “Fifteen minutes, huh? Confident.”
“Accurate.”
The air between us feels charged, buzzing.
“And your name?”
“It’s Jess.”
He turns smoothly toward the bartender, voice cutting through the noise. “Jess’s drinks,” he says, nodding toward me. “Anything she wants. Put it on the Blazers tab.”
