“This is the best seat in the house,” Donald’s voice oozes gold-plated charm.
Quincy’s eyes flick back to me and then down to my cut. When our gazes lock again, her brown eyes are filled with curiosity.
Not fear.
Donald’s voice is a far away buzz as she settles into the seat next to me. “Just club soda,” she tells him.
I blink a few times, surprised I didn’t even hear him ask her about a drink. If she thinks she’s drinking that club soda, she’s fucking wrong. I won’t let her drink a fucking drop of anything he hands to her.
He scurries away and before my brain and mouth can synch up, I blurt out, “You’re more pretty in person than in your movies.”
Quincy’s eyes widen and I contemplate making a run for it just as blush starts to slink up her neck toward her cheeks. It’s shocking, honestly. She must be told how good she looks all the time.
But I made her blush?
Fuck.
“Thanks,” her eyes flick down to my cut again, “Ace.”
I want to correct her and tell her to call me Hawkins, but I bite my tongue. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Quincy Wells,” she offers me her hand, “nice to meet you.”
The moment I slide my hand into hers, something happens to me that makes no fucking sense. Everything beyond the way her small, smooth hand feels in mine disappears. The only thing remaining is her.
All of her.
Tingles flow over my skin starting from where we’re touching. My lips part slightly and my breath hitches. Something rattles in my chest and roars.
Mine.
Fuck. I feel dizzy.
And I’m sitting down.
This isn’t good.
Am I sick? Is this what a stroke feels like? Or maybe a heart attack?
My breathing deepens and my senses sharpen, but everything in me remains focused on the woman sitting next to me and her delicate hand engulfed in my calloused palm.
“Normally,” I lean toward her slightly, my voice dropping an octave, “I’m smoother than that.”
A genuine smile lights up her features as she allows her gaze to take another perusal of me. I like it when she looks at me the way she is right now. There’s a hunger in her eyes which has my cock thickening behind the fly of my jeans.
“I have no doubt that you are,” her voice is gentle with a lilt that makes me want to close my eyes and soak in her proximity.
Donald sets Quincy’s drink down with a gleam in his eyes I don’t trust even as he glances between us like he has some sort of ownership over my woman. He’s fucking wrong.
And I’ll be more than happy to prove it to him.
“I’ll let you play,” Donald says it like he’s doing her a favor, “but I expect us to chat later.”
“Thank you for the hospitality,” her words are sweet, but there’s an edge to them I already know our host is going to ignore.
From the way he lights up like she just promised he can father her first-born; he’s done exactly that. The thought of him touching her, of him even fantasizing about her, has me seeing red.
I don’t know how I’ll manage it, but I try to get the possessiveness thrumming through me under control. This woman is mine. I have no idea how I know, or how I’ll prove it to her, but I’ll figure it out.
