“That’s too bad. You got the look that it’s been a beast of a day. You could probably use a real laugh, yeah?”
Okay. I’ll bite.
And how did he know that?
Shifting on my seat to face him, I freeze in place as my brain momentarily refuses to control my body.
There’s an empty stool between us, but it’s not enough space to keep me from hungrily taking in his features. My pulse quickens as I guzzle him down. Dark brown hair just a little shaggy that falls over his temples. Hazel eyes, clear and direct. Thick lashes I can’t help but envy. And a jawline that could cut glass. Straight nose. Knowing look. He probably gets this reaction a lot, I realize. And he knows it. There’s really nothing overly incredible about his individual features, yet together they create a masculine masterpiece.
My brain finally snaps to attention, and I grin at him. Not sure if it’s a sexy grin or a really poor attempt at one because I still don’t feel completely on my game. He’s freaking hot.
“Um,” I clear my throat and glance at my feet. When I get the courage to meet his gaze again, his knowing look has reached a new level. “I’m fine, really. Just waiting for a friend.”
“I see. All those drinks for you, then, or ya saving one for him?”
Him?Is he fishing?
I laugh. “Actually, they’re all for me. Whenshegets here,shecan order her own.”
He smiles and my breath catches in my throat. There’s a ton of power radiating off this man, but not the scary kind. In fact, he gives me the impression that he’s a good one to be sitting next to if this packed crowd decides to get out of control. I tend to ignore my gut feelings a lot of the time, but this one is screaming loud and clear.
“Damn right, she can.” He winks.
I laugh a little and drink my beer. He seems to take it as an invitation to move onto the stool next to me. As he does, I get a whiff of his cologne: something peppery, with a hint of woodsy cedar and the tang of bergamot. I can pick out the threads of the individual scents just as easily as if he himself were a fine wine, and God he smells delectable.
Okay. I’ll admit it. The guy’s got me interested.
“Let me guess,” I prompt around another drink. “With that accent, your name has to be…Declan.”
His smile deepens. “No. ‘fraid not.”
“Hmm…Seamus? No! Angus. Aren’t all Irish men named Angus?”
“No more than all American girls are named Britney.”
Raising a brow, I ask, “Do I look like a Britney to you?”
“You don’t. No. Please tell me I don’t look like an Angus.”
I shrug one shoulder and he pretends to be wounded. I finish my beer with the realization that he’s put an elbow on the bar and has leaned his upper body into my space.
“You look like a Bond,” I tell him. “James Bond.”
He laughs, loudly. “That would be the British. Now you’re not even trying.”
This banter is fun, I realize. Probably super inappropriate considering my age compared to his… It’s hard to tell. He has the lean but powerful build of an athlete, a runner maybe, with hardly a wrinkle on his face, save for some extremely flattering laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. His upper body fills out the Henley he’s wearing, so he definitely does something to stay fit. It doesn’t matter how old he is, honestly. I’d let him take me home for the night.
My first time with some random dude from a bar?
I snicker again and down a shot. Why the hell not? What do I have to lose?
“I’ve made an arrangement for you, Charlie. You’re going to marry a business associate of mine. Think of it as doing a favor for the whole family. A sacrifice for the greater good.”
And that was it. My father had given my hand in marriage to a stranger without a single word of consult or consent from me. Sleeping with some hot Irish stranger from a bar sure as hell wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s going to happen in my life—not by far.
He’s watching me keenly. His eyes are narrowed and his head is tipped. There’s a very deep and unnerving amount of observation in his gaze. Like he’s reading me, somehow.
Reaching for my other shot, I watch his lips part as if he’s going to speak. Before he can, his cell phone rings, causing his jaw to work back and forth in frustration. Glancing at it, he gives me a considerate nod.
