I take one step. Then another.
My walk is too stiff. Or maybe too bouncy. Is there such a thing as seductive but grounded? Like a ballet dancer who moonlights as a dominatrix?
I try to picture what I must look like, which of course only makes it worse.
Tucking my chin, I adjust my shoulders. Then I untuck my chin. I have no idea what my arms are doing. Why do I have so many limbs?
My ankle wobbles.
Oh no. No no no.
This isn’t going to be a cute little trip. Not a flirty stumble. Not anoopsie, tee-heekind of moment. This is aflat on my facesort of blunder. A full rom-com pratfall.
If I could just make it to the bar…touch something solid…
No such luck. My ankle gives out, and I death grip my purse as I pitch forward.
Directly into Declan Thorne’s chest.
Colliding with him is like hitting a wall of heat andmuscle that somehow smells expensive—earth and spice layered over woodsmoke.
One solid arm wraps around me, catching me hard against his chest before I can slide down his torso like a cartoon character and end up on the floor.
His suit jacket is smooth velvet, but there’s no missing the broad, unyielding muscle beneath. My hands press against him, fingers splaying over firm pecs that flex as he moves. My nose brushes the hollow of his throat. The scent there—skin and warmth and something that might be clove—hits so good and deep it makes me sigh.
Would it be weird to live off this smell and one green juice a day? Because honestly, I’d thrive.
A low sound rumbles in his chest as he clears his throat, and my whole body jolts like I’ve just remembered how to function.
Looking up takes effort. My face burns.
The soft curve of his mouth twitches. That little smile is slow, smug, and completely unfair.
“You always make an entrance like this?” he asks, voice low and bone-meltingly deep.
And holy hell.
That voice.
It’s richer than I imagined. A slow scrape of gravel against my bare arms.
“Apparently only when I’m trying to seduce someone,” spills out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Kill me. Kill me now.
His breath flutters my lashes as he leans in, close enough to feel the heat of it against my cheeks. “Then I’d say it’s working.”
Something tightens low in my belly—want or warning,I can’t tell—and for a second, the noise of the club fades to a low, echoing hum. Just me. Him. And the acute awareness that this man is not going to play fair.
I clear my throat and shuffle ungracefully backward while smoothing my dress and hooking my purse over my arm. Hopefully getting some distance will erase the fact that I just inhaled him like a human incense stick. My hand flies to my hair, fingers raking through my shoulder-length cut that I’m praying doesn’t resemble a poodle caught in a windstorm.
Declan reaches out with the languid grace of a man who’s never had to rush for anything and drags his fingers up my arm, leaving a trail of sparks along my bare skin. Each second stretches like taffy as he slowly hooks the strap of my dress back up over my shoulder
Breath locked in my throat, I focus on not leaning in.
But my body betrays me, shoulder shifting a fraction of an inch into his palm before I can stop it.
“There,” he murmurs, voice a slow pour of honey. His gaze locks onto mine, dark and steady. “Perfect.”
