Rae
“You’re American,” a deep, smooth and sexy voice says from behind me. I just know he's talking to me. From what I could see before I sat down, I’m the only person sitting at the bar who’s here alone. There’s a couple on my left, and a small group of two women and a man on my right. And how many Americans can there possibly be at a bar in Fitzrovia? Okay . . . maybe a few. Who the hell knows?
I’m not in the mood for male company. I don’t care how sexy the stranger’s voice is, I’m going to ignore him. I pretend not to hear him, and take a sip of my drink, staring harder at the boring email I was reading. Hopefully, the guy will take the hint and leave.
He doesn’t.
He moves from where he was standing behind my left shoulder to my side, and leans on the bar. From my peripheral vision, I see he’s wearing a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I also see nice, strong-looking forearms.
I hear him say to the bartender, “Simon, a beer please, and another raspberry margarita for the lady.”
Thanks to Mr. Sexy Voice, I’m drinking faster than normal and I’ve almost finished my margarita. For some strange reason, I’m deeply aware of the stranger. So what should be a relaxing evening is turning out to be the opposite.
Accepting a drink from him would give him the wrong impression, and I have no desire to engage in small talk tonight. I’m certainly in no mood to entertain a guy who may be looking to get laid.
Fully intending to tell him to take a hike, I look up from my drink to do just that and my gaze collides with his. I am looking at an absolutely gorgeous man with light brown hair and stirring gray eyes. For a moment, I stop breathing. Wow! My gaze moves around his face. This man is incredibly handsome. High cheekbones, a strong jaw and slightly full lips. Shit. I can’t help it, I have to look at the rest of him. He’s tall, maybe about six feet one or two – that’s at least seven inches taller than me. His body is lean and muscular. He’s wearing black trousers with his dark blue shirt, and a Rolex on his wrist. I look back up. He has a panty-melting smile on his face. He looks like he could give me a good time.
Fuck!
Simon places the drinks in front of us, and I realize I’m staring at the handsome stranger.
“Thank you for the drink,” I tell him. What? I’m accepting the drink? And why the hell does my voice sound so husky?
“The pleasure is mine,” he says. Call me shallow but his voice sounds even better than I previously thought now that I am looking at him. I should have ordered something stronger. He slides a twenty pound note to Simon.
“Let me guess, you’re a New Yorker,” he says confidently. He’s not asking or looking for confirmation.
“Yes.” My voice still isn’t back to normal, but I had to respond. This beautiful man is smiling at me. “You’re also American.” With looks like that, I don’t care if he’s from Pluto.
“Yeah. I’m from Seattle. My family lives there.”
Family? I glance at his left hand. No ring. I have to ask and I don’t care what he makes of it. I really can’t stand cheats. When you’ve gone through what I have, you’ll never want to experience it again or be the cause of another person’s nightmare.
“Family? You mean your wife and kids?” I ask, making sure I keep my tone light. He’d be less willing to lie if he doesn’t detect disapproval in my voice.
He laughs lightly. “No. I’m not married. No girlfriend too,” he says. His eyes are what make me believe him. They look so clear and honest.
I’m relieved he’s single.
“You?”
“No husband and no boyfriend.”
“That’s good to know,” he says with a devastatingly sexy smile.
I look away from him. I need to take a sip of my drink to moisten my suddenly dry throat. After taking a large sip, I notice a slender brunette and a tall, dark-haired man standing together further down the bar. They’re looking at us. The man has a mildly curious expression but the brunette looks annoyed.
“Friends of yours?” I ask, nodding towards them.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t bother turning to look at his friends.
“They’re looking at you like they expect you to get shut down.” I give him an innocent look. “Poor you. Does that happen often?”
He lets out a deep chuckle at my question. “Not as often as you’d like, I’m sure.”
I shrug. “It has nothing to do with me. I’m just feeling bad for you.”
He gives me a heart-stopping smile. God. This man is handsome. “Good. That means you’ll take pity on me and say yes to giving me your number and to the date I’m about to ask you out on.”
No way. I’m staying far away from him. Any man that looks like him is guaranteed to be a heart-breaker. “As much as I’d like to help your ego out, I don’t date.”
With his smile still in place, he studies my face, and I keep my expression impassive. “That’s surprising for someone as beautiful as you.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, suppressing the surge of pleasure I feel that he finds me beautiful. “Could you be any more unoriginal?”
“Just being honest,” he says casually. He offers me his hand unexpectedly. “Cole Mardsen.”
I look down at his big, strong hand. Even his hand is attractive.
I put my hand in his. His touch sends tingles up my arm and through my body. This man is dangerous, and I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame. “Rae Stanton.”
Click here to buy or read for free with Kindle Unlimited.