His eyes never leave mine as he says, “Put her down.” His jaw is tight, but otherwise he’s impressively calm when he gives the command.

The smelly sleazeball releases me immediately and I straighten my dress and move to the side, putting as much distance between myself and my assailant as I can in the narrow entryway.

“Out. Now,” Fantasy Man says in a deep voice that demands obedience. He doesn’t raise a hand or even an eyebrow. He simply steps aside — because when he’s in the doorway his massive frame blocks the exit entirely — and Buddy and his friend file out with only a grunt of objection.

My body shudders once involuntarily as I watch them go. I’m an idiot, but there’ll be time to chastise myself later. Because when I look back at him, I’m caught in the deep blue laser beams of my rescuer’s eyes.

He stares likes he’s taking an inventory of my eyelashes, and for several long moments, I’m unable to speak. He attracted my attention from a distance when I first saw him in the parking lot at José Domingo’s, but up close — wow. I can barely breathe.

His eyes are like sapphires, or maybe the ocean — the most extraordinary, deep blue shade I’ve ever seen. But their beauty is in sharp contrast to the rough, hard angles of nearly every other part of him. His arms are so big they’d be scary, if they didn’t have me aching to reach out and touch them.

Damn, my fantasies have not been doing him justice! Every part of him seems to be fighting for my attention — from the coarse shadow of his trim, dark beard, to the intricate patterns of ink covering his arms, to the way his tree-trunk thighs make denim look better than it’s ever looked before.

Somehow, finally, I remember words. “Thank you,” I say, my voice so breathy I don’t recognize it.

He doesn’t let up his dizzying gaze. “That should’ve never happened here.”

I shouldn’t have come here. The thought arises, but I can’t voice it. I can’t regret coming here now that I’m face-to-face with him.

We continue to stare at each other. I planned for this evening — I swear, I did — but I never thought I’d actually find him, even though I let myself hope. And I could never have imagined the effect he’d have on me.

“Hey, boss.” The bouncer comes in from outside, returning to his post.

“Where’ve you been?” Fantasy Man’s voice is cold.

“Breaking up a fight out front. Everything okay in here?”

My rescuer’s eyes flash to mine again and I swear my nipples get hard just from his glance. “Had to throw Mike C. and Buddy out. They’re no longer welcome here.”

“Got it.” The man nods once.

“Don’t leave yet,” Fantasy Man — the boss — says to me. His voice alone is enough to melt my panties.

This time, it’s easy to ignore the internal warnings that tried to stop me earlier. I have a sneaking suspicion that I’d follow this man anywhere if he asked. I need to get a grip on my hormones, and fast.

Instead, I gaze into those stunning blue eyes and say, “Okay.”

He puts a hand on my arm and turns me around. His touch has me tingling from head to toe. Maybe it’s just a crazy release of adrenalin after my brush with danger. I don’t know how else to explain the way I’m feeling — I’ve never reacted to a man this way before.

He leads me to the nearest end of the bar where there are now a couple of open stools. When he holds one steady for me, I climb up, not caring that my dress rides up higher on my legs when I sit.

“Are you okay?” There’s suddenly a tenderness to his voice that does even more crazy things to my insides. He’s still standing, leaning in close, and it’s a good thing I’m sitting, because I’m light-headed at the nearness of him.

“I’m … okay,” I say hesitantly. I am not exactly okay, but my current state has nothing at all to do with Buddy and his friend, who are already long-forgotten, and everything to do with my Fantasy Man being so close to me, live and in the flesh.

Flesh. One of my wildest scenarios, involving him, me and some rope, flashes through my mind and I wish I could slap some sense into myself without looking like I was insane. I’ve never had fantasies like the ones he inspires. It’s as if he brings out desires I’ve hidden away so deep I didn’t even know I had them.

“I’m Deke Abbott,” he says, his gaze so intense it’s mesmerizing.

“Tara Jordan.”

“I've never seen you here before.” His eyes drift down to my clothing, taking in my attire, but unlike the bouncer he’s not ogling my breasts. “You didn't come here with them, did you?” he asks, tipping his head in the direction of the door.

I shake my head adamantly. “I'd only been here a few minutes. Buddy bought me a drink. Then he wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Deke’s beautiful blue eyes go icy and a muscle moves in his jaw, but he doesn't respond.

“You’re the owner here?” I ask.

“Yeah. With my brother. You want something to drink?” As he asks, he beckons the bar man who comes over right away.

“Just some water.” I glance over to where I'd been sitting and see the waitress cleaning up the remnants of my whiskey.

The bartender, an older man inked with an impressive covering of tats himself, fills a glass for me. “Something for you?” he asks Deke.

“No. Thanks, Hawk.”

The older man returns to customers further down the counter and Deke turns his full attention back to me.

“What brought you in tonight?”

The truth runs wildly through my brain: I saw you once and you've been starring in my fantasies ever since. You've been giving me orgasms every night. Sometimes more than once a night. I need to get you out of my system.

“I’m looking to meet someone,” I say, surprising myself with the honesty of my response.

Deke’s brow shoots up and a hint of a smile draws my attention to his full lips. I have to press my legs together to control my body's response to him. “Is that right?” he asks, his voice husky.

I sit up a little straighter and take a sip of my water in a vain attempt to calm myself. “I need an escort, actually.”

Deke laughs out loud, and I have to squeeze my legs tighter when my pussy pulses. What is it about this man? How is he doing this to me?

“I don't know what you've heard, but this isn't that kind of establishment,” he says.

It's my turn to laugh. “That isn't what I meant.” I take another sip from my glass and wish I'd requested something stronger. “I'm going to a dinner party tomorrow night and I need a date.”

“A dinner party?” His voice is full of amusement and his eyes sparkle. He glances down at my legs as he says, “I find it hard to believe you need to go searching for a date.”

Warmth spreads over me at his compliment. “I’m looking for a certain kind of man,” I say.

His brow raises again as he pulls out the stool next to me and settles his big frame into the seat. The denim of his leg brushes against my bare thigh, radiating thrills to my core. I look down to where our bodies are touching and have to resist the urge to put a hand on him, just to see if he feels as good as he looks.

“What kind of man would that be?” he asks.

Emboldened by my hormones, I let my eyes take a slow path up from his legs, past the sizeable bulge in his jeans — Oh. My. God. — to his trim waist where his t-shirt hangs freely, and upward to where his chest and arms stretch that same shirt to its limit as it tries to contain his muscles.

I came in here to try to get over my inappropriate desires, but now I have visual details that are going to give me fantasy material for days — months even. I have never dated someone whose body came anywhere close to the rugged perfection of Deke’s form. It’s like he’s a different species of man altogether.

When my gaze finally reaches his face, his mouth is curved into something dangerously close to a smirk, and his blue eyes look darker than they were a few moments ago. I steal another glance at his lips as I absent-mindedly trail a finger around the rim of my water glass. “A free spirit,” I say.

“Free.” His voice sounds thoughtful, but with an undertone that strokes along my skin. “Free to do what?”

There’s so much innuendo packed into that seemingly-innocent question. Heat rockets from my belly to between my legs.

“Someone open-minded,” I manage to say. One corner of his mouth quirks up, and I want to lick him there. “And not easily intimidated.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “By you?” There’s no mockery in his tone, but he’s clearly amused by the idea.

I lean closer. “By anything.” His eyes get even darker. “Know anyone like that?” I put all the flirt I possess into my question.

Deke’s nostrils flare. The hand he’d been resting on the bar curls into a fist, as if he’s holding himself back. I have the sudden wild desire to find out what he’s like when he loses control — and to be the one who pushes him over the edge.

Then he smiles, a slow, devastating curve of his lips that makes me press my thighs together. He leans into me until our mouths are a finger’s width apart. And in his deep, sexy rumble of a voice, he says, “I’m your man, darlin’.”

Oh. My. God. I have to close my eyes for a moment and get myself under control. I’m that close to having an orgasm right here on this barstool. Or jumping Deke.

Or both.

When I open them again, he hasn’t moved away. We stare at each other for a long, heated moment. PDA isn’t really my style, but I will happily make out with this man right here in front of everyone if he makes the first move.

He doesn’t. I try to gather my scattered thoughts, not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. “Are you into football?”

He looks startled for a second by my apparent non-sequitur, but recovers quickly. A wicked light dances in his eyes. “If you need help getting to the end zone, just let me know.”