My heart sinks. Being a celebrity makes it even less likely she’s going to turn up unharmed. If she’d just gone off for some time to herself, someone would have remembered seeing her.
"Everyone's assuming she'll turn up in rehab, or that she’s off on some yacht with a billionaire, and that this is all just a publicity stunt. But what if they’re wrong?" She quirks her lips over to one side and stirs her drink aggressively, then blows out an agitated breath, pushing her shoulders back again.
“They probably are,” I say.
Seeming surprised by my ready agreement, she twists her stool around to face me. Bright blue eyes, sharp and assessing, catalogue everything from my worn leather jacket, dark henley and jeans, to the heavy black boots on my feet.
Whatever she sees makes her mouth curve into something that's not quite a smile. "You’re just agreeing to get on my good side."
My bear perks up at the playfulness in her voice. "No. Well, maybe a little. Is it working?"
I really fucking hope it is.
Red laughs, warm and infectious, and shakes her head, giving nothing away. She extends her hand, meeting my eye in away few others dare to. The power a bear shifter has is normally off-putting to humans, like they can sense you’re something to be afraid of, even if they can’t pinpoint exactly why.
“Are you always this shameless?” she asks as I take her hand, and she curls her fingers around mine.
Her soft, creamy skin is warm against mine and every one of my senses zones in on where we touch. It's subtle at first, just a prickle of awareness that travels up my arm, but when her eyes blaze and her hold tightens, I know she feels it too.
“No,” I admit. “But for some reason, I’m gripped by the desire to please you.”
Not quite sure where those uncharacteristically forthright words came from, I brazen it out, loving how her cheeks pink ever so slightly as she considers what else I might mean by that.
"Interesting," she manages, her voice slightly huskier than it was before. "And eager.” She laughs. “I like it. A welcome change from cringey one-liners."
She lowers her gaze, letting her brain convince her this is nothing more than flirty banter.
“Honest,” I correct, no laughter in my tone now, because she needs to know I’m deathly serious. The overwhelming urge to do anything she wants, anything to see that smile or hear her laugh again, drives me hard. “Let me buy you a drink.”
She frowns, seeming confused, and shakes her head.
"That’s sweet, Random Man from the Bar who I only met two seconds ago, but I’m not really in the mood for talking." She doesn’t look away. “And I don’t accept drinks from strangers. No matter how cute they are.”
Something about this woman has me intrigued. Heat burns in my gut, then lower. Suddenly, I’m not really in the mood fortalkingeither.
"You think I’mcute?" That’s not a word anyone has used to describe me before. Ever.
Serious? Yes.
Grumpy? Definitely yes.
Butnevercute.
I’m a terrifying grizzly bear, for heaven’s sake, not a koala.
"I think you knowexactlywhat you are." Her gaze drops to my mouth, and the prickle of attraction that’s grown since she walked in the door becomes a full-body longing.
“Not handsome? Charming? Single?”
She laughs again, and fuck, I feel like punching the air in victory. The longer I spend with her attention on me, the more I want to keep it here forever. "Are you hitting on me, Whiskey? Because I already told you, I’m not in the mood for small talk.”
She's right. She did say that, but her actions since then suggest otherwise.
"I am.”
Her eyes sparkle, amused by my shamelessness.
“And if you’re not in the mood for small talk, Red, that’s okay. I’m pretty certain we can find a way to have fun that doesn’t involve talking.”
