“Um, spicy, with an interesting finish, if it’s the one from the show. What is it?”
He smiles as he picks out two rocks glasses and adds two large ice balls to each glass, the way I prefer mine. I’m not surprised, but I do wonder how he knows so much about me, from my dietary restrictions to my ice preferences. There’s no doubt in my mind he set up my drinks and snacks with the VIP ticket.
He pours us both a generous double and hands one to me. Smiling, he says, “It’s mine.”
“Yours?”
“Mine. Brimstone.”
“Brimstone.” I let the name roll around my mouth like a taste of bourbon. “Suits it. And you.”
I take a drink to cover my sudden uncertainty. I had felt so confident getting ready for tonight in the safety of my hotel bathroom. But standing in this penthouse in a pair of converse sneakers, surrounded by interesting people and performance artists, riding here in what I’m sure is a ridiculously expensive car, and now drinking with a gorgeous man who has his own label?
I’m feeling a little, well, boring. Plain Jane. My newfound confidence withers under the question, why me?
Luke steps closer, distracting me from my spiraling thoughts. “And just how does it suit me?Vous pensez que vous me connaissez? Détrompez-vous.”
I look up at him and back up to lean against the counter, overwhelmed by his nearness and dazzled by his words. “Spicy,” I whisper, answering the part of his question I can understand. As his eyes heat, I continue, “Bold. Adventurously unconventional.”
He smiles his feline smile, tapping his glass to mine. “Beautiful words from a beautiful woman.Santé.”
“Santé,” I repeat back, the foreign word slippery on my tongue. I take a sip of the bourbon, again marveling at the spicy finish. I wheeze out, “Bottled in bond?”
He takes my glass and sets it down with his. Wrapping his hands around my neck, he tips up my chin with his thumbs. I’m not sure why I continue to be surprised by his incendiary touch, like living fire is just below the surface of his skin.
He leans in, eclipsing the party around us. I drown in his eyes, the intriguing yellow-green color pulling me under. If eyes truly are the window to the soul, some semblance of self-preservation has me scared to look too deep.
Luke knows no such fear, the depth of his gaze probing the very essence of my existence as he slowly slides his hands from my neck to my shoulders and down my arms until his hands encircle my wrists like hot iron shackles.
He tucks them behind my back, forcing my breasts up and out as I arch back over the counter. Dropping his head, he licks a slow, burning line from my exposed decolletage, up my throat, and finishes by lightly nipping my chin.
“Always in bond,” he whispers against my lips, so close I can taste his cinnamon flavor.
He gives me a smoldering smile. My cheeks heat in response as I feel stupidly naïve when he hints at things I think I want but have no real-world experience with. Each frantic beat of my heart pulses through my body as his heavy gaze feels like he is weighing the value of my soul and deciding my fate.
He seems to arrive at some sort of decision and releases my wrists. Picking both of our glasses up, he hands mine back to me. The glass feels so cold against my hand, a stark contrast to the fiery man before me.
I blink the rest of the world back into focus, taking a big sip of the bourbon as I search for equilibrium. I’m starting to feel closed in by the party and his overwhelming presence.
As if he sees this, Luke places his free hand on the small of my back and guides me out of the kitchen and out onto a large balcony that wraps around the penthouse. Music pulses in the background and a group near us breaks out into laughter.
I’m thankful to be away from the bulk of the crowd, the noise and the heat. I take a few large sips of my drink, thankful the ice has watered it down, smoothing out the spicy finish.
We walk to the end of the balcony where Luke confidently leans on the railing, looking out over the city. I sidle up to him, enthralled by the glittering skyline, but when my gaze falls to the streets far, far below, I step back. My palms immediately start sweating. The penthouse isstupidhigh.
Luke laughs, and it's a low, sexy sound. I want him to do it again as much as I want to hear that severe, dominant voice drip from his lips and every sound in between. I want to explore his mind and his body, unwrap this uber sexy package to see what is underneath.
The mystery of him simmers below his surface. He spins to face me, leaning too far back against the railing for my comfort, balanced like the dangerous panther he reminds me of.
“Luke,” I gasp, reaching a hand out toward him as he leans precariously. My knees go weak as I force myself to take a hesitant step closer to him.
“Are you scared for me?” he challenges, face blank, eyes locked onto mine.
“Of course! Please come away from there,” I plead, holding my hand out to him. A calculating look flashes across his face so quickly I’m not sure I can confidently say it was there.
“Luke, please,” I implore him, inching forward, stretching my hand toward him. After a beat, he gives me his sinful smile and pushes off the ledge, stalking toward me. I step back as he invades my space, tilting my head back to accommodate his height at this close range.
“You would worry for me,” he murmurs, staring into my eyes, head cocked.
