Chapter One

 

Watched.

The prickly sensation of someone’s gaze moving over her skin caused the hair on the back of Chloe Thompson’s neck to tingle. She shook her head, regretting the bold decision to chop six inches off her hair. The shorter chestnut strands tickled her nape and left her vulnerable. Exposed.

A glance each way down the sleek chrome-topped bar revealed her imagination had popped into high gear.

Not one person looked her way. The total absence of attention should’ve alleviated her heightened nerves. Instead, the tingle spread across her shoulders and along her arms. She rolled her neck, attempting to shrug off the clinging certainty of being watched.

Why had she let her best friend talk her into meeting for drinks at this bar?

Midnight Luna was the hippest mixology bar to open in San Francisco in the last year. The whispers around her office regarding gangsters, and tabloid gossip of celebrity sightings, kept the tables full and the long bar fuller. Overpriced drinks and undersized portions of Nuevo cuisine helped boost the exotic atmosphere.

Even on a Monday night at eight, most tables were occupied.

Chloe did not belong here. The colorful neon lighting above the bar washed out her casual tan V-neck blouse. She was thankful her black jeans were hidden. She sipped her seven-dollar designer water and rechecked the time on her phone. Eight-oh-two.

Where was Jill? Her friend had promised to meet Chloe at seven-thirty. The always dazzling Jill Whitney never missed an opportunity to socialize. Now, over half an hour late, Chloe checked her texts to see if any of her last three Where are u? messages had been answered. Nope, nothing. Her friend had been acting a little secretive since meeting her newest fling, Kyle. But Jill’s three-dates-and-dump-them motto should’ve kicked in. Maybe an adios hook-up caused her delay.

Jill’s love ’em and leave ’em policy kept her busy. Something that Chloe couldn’t help envying at times like this. Not that she’d ever be comfortable with a wham-bam-thank-you-man encounter.

No, sir. Chloe did relationships. Deep, gut-wrenching, one-man-at-a-time relationships. Or she went weeks, okay, months, without a date. Like her current thirteen-month dry spell. But who was counting?

Chloe’s phone vibrated. She flinched. Stupid nerves. No one in this establishment even knew she existed.

A message from Jill lit her screen: Sorry. Rain check. Kyle. A kissy and wink emoji followed.

That was it. Her ex-best friend would get a large chunk of her mind tomorrow at work. Jill knew coming to a place like this alone put Chloe a hundred miles out of her comfort zone. Her gorgeous, blonde friend might fit in anywhere, but Chloe rarely strayed from her favorite haunts. The bookstore, her local coffee house, or the corner diner near her apartment were where she felt at home. These tried and true establishments offered familiar items at affordable prices. The smoking bite-sized items the people at this place were consuming did nothing to whet her appetite.

Her ex-friend owed her big time for this breach of trust.

Chloe gulped the remainder of her water. At Midnight Luna’s inflated prices, she wasn’t wasting a drop. A dollar tip for the dark, GQ model bartender. A light pat of her napkin across her mouth, and she was ready to jet.

A whisper of her earlier paranoia fluttered. She climbed off her bar stool, twitching her shoulder to throw off the spider legs crawling her spine. Good-bye, expensive water. Hello, mushroom and cheese omelet from Rudy’s Diner.

Chloe turned, and thumped face-first into rock-hard pecs.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, squinching her nose from the graze of a button. The crisp white dress shirt before her now sported a set of bright-pink lips. Her bright-pink lips.

A warm hand clasped her elbow and held her steady. “Are you all right?”
She massaged the tip of her nose and stared at the smeary pink imprint of her mouth. “Oh, crap, I’m sorry.” She turned back to the bar and grabbed her crumpled napkin. “Let me see if I can blot that off.”

She patted the material, but her lipstick kiss only blurred.

A large palm covered her hand. “Please, stop. I’m sure it’ll wash out.”

Chloe froze, staring at the strong hand that held hers captive. The heat of his touch radiated into her skin like she’d slid on the warmest glove ever created. Her focus shifted from his chest to the most mesmerizing pair of brown eyes she’d ever seen. Staring into their depths was like being transported into a dark earthy forest. Flecks of gold intermingled with the clay color she’d initially taken for brown. Brown, ha! The colors contained in his irises could entertain her all night. All night, every night. All night, every night, forever.

He lifted her hand away from the stain. After a gentle squeeze, he released her. She staggered, and his warm touch cupped her elbow.

“I’m Constantine Knight.” The silky rich texture of his voice slid over her skin like satin sheets. “Were you looking for me?”

The light reflecting off his irises seemed to brighten and his pupils enlarged. The intensity of his gaze made her feel like they were alone. Not surrounded by a throng of movers and shakers. And he still held her arm.

She pulled out of his grip and stepped back. Reaching for a strand of hair, she connected with the fabric of her blouse. Rotten short style. She reached higher and pushed a strand behind her ear. Her earlier nerves flipped into excitement. Were all of the waiters here part-time models? And was he hitting on her?

“Excuse me?” she said, certain she’d misunderstood.

Both hands clutched her sensible cross-body purse and she planted her flat heels on the floor to ground her imagination. No man this sexy would be interested in a plain-Jane like her. A dozen fancy, manicured, perfect women hovered nearby to choose from.

 Another look into his mesmerizing eyes caused her whole body to hum. This was the most attractive man she’d ever spoken to. Aside from duty-bound greetings from some of Jill’s men.

His strong features and full lips perfectly complemented his intense gaze. Dark hair, clipped short on the sides, offered thick longer layers across the top. Long enough to run her fingers through and hold while she climbed him like a jungle gym.

She sucked in a breath. Heat flushed up her neck and across her cheeks. She needed air. Cold water splashed on her face. The house lights to turn on and reveal the cracks in this Adonis.

His spicy cologne and masculine aroma invaded her sinuses. The onslaught of his all-male scent infiltrated every sense. The urge to tear his clothes off and explore every line and contour of his body caused her palms to itch.

Drugs. She had to be under the influence of a roofie. Nothing else could explain her immediate and uncharacteristic sexual attraction to this stranger.

“Constantine Knight at your service.” A seductive grin tweaked one side of his mouth, exposing white teeth. He reached out and took her hand, bringing her knuckles to his mouth. A soft kiss brushed across her skin, creating a shiver of desire. Her knees became jelly and she feared they might buckle.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” His voice caressed her ears, her skin, her soul.

She gulped and blinked repeatedly, attempting to find her voice.

“Chloe. Chloe Thompson.” Her husky tone caught her off guard. She swallowed and wet her dry lips.

His sensual gaze followed her tongue. His chest broadened with a deep inhale. He leaned toward her ear and whispered, “It’s good to meet you, Chloe Thompson.”

The sexy rumble of her name in his voice caused her heart to race. No man had ever brought her to such a fevered needy peak with only a few words. His scent. The slightest of touches.

His stare roamed over her body and she felt naked before him. Yet, no longer nervous. Her usual prudish nature didn’t chastise or warn her to run.

She liked the desire building in her center. The interest of this gorgeous man enveloped her and she didn’t want it to end.

But she was a relationship kind of girl. No one-night stands. No kissing on the first date. No sex until after three months of dating.

Constantine made her want to slash and burn all of the rules she held dear. His dark sexy eyes offered sin. His full lips suggested pleasure. And his warm touch, yes, he still held her hand in his, declared the promise of exquisite heat between them.

The vibration of her phone dragged her from her naughty internal struggle. With regret, she took her hand from Constantine’s and retrieved the device. Reality rushed in. Another text from Jill flashed on her screen: Sorry. Coffee on me tomorrow.

What was she still doing here? This message was her cue to leave. Before she got into trouble. She didn’t pick up drop-dead-gorgeous men for casual fun.

“I’m so sorry about your shirt. I’ll pay for dry cleaning,” she said, stepping around the man who oozed sexual exploration from every pore. “I have to go.”

She turned away.

His reclaimed her arm. The heat of his touch seared her skin in the most pleasant way possible. His breath fluttered across her cheek. He smelled of vintage red wine, cool aftershave, and dark desire.

“Come back soon, Chloe.” His voice slid under the collar of her shirt and spread over her skin, sending tiny jolts sprinting to her sensitive areas. “I’m here every night.”

She stepped forward and his hold vanished. She didn’t look back. Didn’t dare.

Outside, the warm night air did nothing to cool the fever pitch of longing coursing through her body. A brisk walk, four blocks to the BART station, and the train ride home seemed to pass in seconds. Her appetite had dissolved. Her mind swam with flashes of those smoldering colorful irises, his chiseled jaw, and rock-hard body she wanted to do more with than just smudge.

Chloe. The rumble of her name in his voice caused another shiver.

Sure, they met because she face-planted on his shirt, but he’d continued their interaction. His interest in her seeming genuine.

Constantine Knight. Her tall, dark, and handsome stranger had an unusual and unforgettable name. A strong name. Just like the man.

Constantine. The name fluttered across her mind with the wings of a sleek, dark raven. Wasn’t that the name of an angel? The sexy man she met had a vibe more devilish than angelic.

She sighed, shrugged into pj’s, and crawled into bed. Constantine’s incredible sex appeal didn’t matter. Neither did the fact that his voice offered pleasure, promise, and the possibility of hidden delights.

Chloe was a good girl. And as such, she would never allow herself to explore any sensual desires offered by this handsome stranger.

Or would she?