My nails are shot to bits – the result of a week’s worth of scrubbing and manual labour in between keeping on top of my clients, my e-mails and my designs. But my new flat is now a sparkly new flat. Everything has a home and every room has been painted. All of my reference books have been loaded onto the shelves in my studio, my computer and printer set up, and my desk placed in the window. I bloody love it. And now I am more than ready for a night out with the girls to let my hair down.

My iPod is cranked to the max and I’m dancing around my bedroom in my towel, the windows flung open, while I sing at the top of my voice to Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’ and sip wine.

After making my eyes all smoky and smudged, slipping on a little black dress and the highest black heels I own, and pinning my hair into a mess of a low bun, I grab my bag and head for the door, hearing Lizzy knocking as I’m on my way.

‘Nice.’ She nods approvingly when I answer, though she looks a little vacant.

‘You okay?’ I ask, stepping out.

‘Yeah, fine.’ She looks effortlessly gorgeous, her black bobbed hair wavy today, and her brown eyes dramatic with heavy eyeliner. Her bright pink shift dress and leather biker jacket is perfectly edgy and perfectly Lizzy. ‘You’ve made quite an effort too,’ I observe as I link arms with her and we start down the path together.

‘Just threw something on,’ she says, waving off my compliment. ‘Nat’s meeting us there. And whatever you do, tell her you love her hair.’

‘Why, what’s she done?’ I look at Lizzy in horror. Nat’s hair is her pride and joy. Thick, blonde, glossy and down to her bum, it’s groomed better than the Queen’s corgis.

‘John’s kid got his bubblegum stuck in it.’

‘Oh, shit,’ I breathe, seeing Nat’s face clear as day in my mind’s eye. It’s angry. Very, very angry. She’s met the man of her dreams, but the man of her dreams comes with an added extra: a six-year-old boy who is a little bit of a handful. Scrap that. He’s a lot of a handful. Nat’s not exactly maternal. ‘How much?’ I wince, waiting for it, and then I gasp when Lizzy’s cutting gesture saws at her shoulders. ‘Oh, no.’

‘And I’ve split up with Jason.’

I stagger to a stop. ‘What?’

She shakes her head, tears threatening. ‘I don’t want to talk about it tonight.’

I snap my mouth shut quickly and, though it pains me, I refrain from pressing. ‘Okay.’ She needs a girls’ night out, and I’m more than happy to oblige. ‘Wait. Does Nat know?’

She nods and quickly wipes under her eyes. ‘Let’s just have fun tonight, please.’

‘Done.’ I grab her arm and march on, determined to distract her for tonight, my mind racing with what could have happened.

 

It’s a challenge, but I manage not to choke when I clap eyes on Nat’s dramatic, unplanned transformation. Her long locks are no more, and the scowl on her face tells me that she hasn’t come to terms with it yet.

‘Tell her it looks great,’ Lizzy mumbles under her breath as we head towards her.

‘It looks great!’ I shriek, resting my bum on one of the tall stools. Everyone falls silent, Lizzy rolls her eyes and Nat growls at me. ‘What?’ I ask, shrinking.

‘I look about fifty,’ Nat mutters.

‘No you don’t,’ Lizzy and I sing in unison, so fucking over the top. She really does look older. Perhaps not quite fifty, but definitely older than her thirty years.

‘I love it!’ I declare, happy that I sound sincere enough, prompting Nat’s hands to go up to her hair and feel the lack of length.

‘Really?’ she asks, looking for reassurance.

‘Yes, makes you look more sophisticated.’

She smiles, grateful, and Lizzy knocks my arm as she passes me, her way of congratulating me on a job well done. ‘I’m getting drinks,’ she declares. ‘Who wants what?’

‘Wine!’ Nat and I chant.

Lizzy heads for the bar, and I take the opportunity to interrogate Nat. ‘What’s happened with Lizzy and Jason?’ I ask, leaning forward over the table.

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugs nonchalantly, ever the compassionate type. ‘She refuses to talk about it.’

‘But I thought they were solid.’

‘Yeah, me too. Apparently not, eh?’

‘You sound so concerned.’ I give her a disappointed look, and she just shrugs again. Nat’s not exactly the emotional type. She’s a loss adjuster for a huge insurance firm. A real tough cookie, and she struggles to separate that from her personal life. Most men are intimidated by her. Most women too, actually. Tall, leggy, blonde and a bit of an emotional retard.

‘My hair was massacred,’ she snipes, ‘so I’m moody.’

Our conversation is cut short – not that it was going anywhere – when Lizzy slides a tray onto the table, loaded with not only wine, but shots too. I look at Nat, who nods her understanding. Lizzy is on a mission to total drunkenness. We both accept the shots she hands us and throw them back as ordered. Then I ponder who of my friends is in the most turmoil, therefore needing my attention. You’d think this would be an easy decision, but Nat was probably as much in love with her hair as I thought Lizzy was with Jason. I flick my eyes between them; both distracted. Nat is still stroking her new bob, and Lizzy’s now daydreaming into her wine glass.

It’s no good. I can’t hold back. ‘What happened?’ I ask Lizzy, knocking her knee.

She snaps out of her trance and looks at me, her usually bright eyes dulling. Then they well up, her bottom lip trembling. ‘He cheated!’ she wails, bursting into tears. ‘And it’s not the first time, either!’

‘Oh my God!’ I cry, jumping down from my stool and taking her in a hug. She shakes and blubbers all over me, finally losing the ability to hold it together. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘When it happened before, I forgave him,’ Lizzy sniffs. ‘Thought it would just be a one-off, and I knew how you’d all react. I didn’t want you to think badly of him, and I didn’t want you to think I’m a walkover.’

I look across Lizzy’s head at Nat, giving her a guilty look. She returns it, knowing that’s exactly what we would have done. Bastard, I mouth, and she nods, her lip curling.

Lizzy howls some more, making our tangle of limbs vibrate. ‘It’s been going on for months,’ she sobs. ‘Some tart in the office. He’s been working late more and more, and I found text messages on his phone.’

Me and Nat scowl at each other, but neither of us say anything, probably because we have no idea what to say, leaving Lizzy to go on and dish the sordid details.

‘She’s twenty-one!’ she howls into my chest. ‘Twenty-fucking-one!’

Ouch!

Nat’s face is a picture of horror, and I expect mine is too. ‘Let’s drink,’ I suggest, now willing to get plastered on Lizzy’s behalf.

 

One hour later . . . or it could be two – I’m not sure – we are all pretty tipsy, but no one is crying so our inebriated states can only be a good thing. Micky has arrived, and doesn’t Lizzy know it. He looks gorgeous, his man-bun perfect. She’s all over him like a rash, and it’s not a problem for Micky. Though he does keep flicking wary eyes at me, waiting for the warning. It won’t come. Not tonight. Besides, Lizzy needs distracting and I’m too tipsy to care. A bit of harmless flirting won’t hurt.

Polishing off yet another glass of wine, I look around for Nat. I find her on the dance floor, all by herself, swaying to a bit of Moby. A few drinks inside her and she belongs to any dance floor, no matter where.

I shimmy over to the bar to get more shots, since we’re clearly not drunk enough. Ordering four Slippery Nipples with a grin, I bob to the music while I wait for the barman to get our drinks. I slip him a twenty. ‘Do you have a tray?’ I ask.

‘All out,’ he calls as he walks away with my money.

I look down at the four shot glasses, pondering what to do. There’s a simple solution, but I’m on my way to total drunkenness and it’s not coming to me, so I start to negotiate the tiny glasses between my fingers, confident I can manage them all in one go and save myself an extra trip to our table . . . which is twenty feet away. ‘Damn,’ I mutter, knocking one and spilling the stickiness all over my hand. I start to lick at my fingers, lapping up the creamy concoction, set on minimal waste. Then I take the remainder of the shot and knock it back, reducing my load to three glasses. Far more manageable.

If you’re totally sober. Which I’m not. I accept my change when the barman slides it across the counter to me. ‘Thanks,’ I call, starting to collect the three remaining glasses in my hands. Another one goes over, and once again I lick the mess from my hand.

‘You’re not doing very well there, are you?’

The amused voice pulls me around, my lapping tongue around my fingers slowing to a standstill, my eyes widening at the sight of the man standing next to me at the bar.

Holy . . . shit.

I’m not often rendered speechless. Never, in fact. Now is making up for it, and I can’t figure out if it’s too much alcohol or the awe I’m in. So fucking hot! I take in every teeny tiny piece of him, from his shoes – which, it should be noted, are very stylish tan Jeffery West brogues – to the very top of his beautiful head. I say beautiful. I’m not sure it’s complimentary enough. Classically handsome, maybe? Jaw-dropping? Stunning? Nothing seems adequate. He has scruff. Yummy scruff, which I guess is a result of not shaving for at least five days, and his grey eyes are ridiculously twinkly. Like little stars are popping in their depths. His hair is cut close to his head at the sides, but longer on top and manipulated to the side. Just long enough to hold on to . . .

I gulp down my wonder. The man can dress. Casual. Easy. A lovely fitted shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled up, loose and hanging out of his fitted Armani jeans. Did I mention he had good shoes?

‘Need a hand?’ he asks, eyeing me with . . . what is that?

A hand? Where would I put that hand? I tilt my head in silent contemplation, now staring at his hands. Big, capable hands, one wrapped around a bottle of beer. Then my eyes are lifting, following that bottle until it reaches his lips. His mouth opens. I catch sight of a sliver of his tongue, and his lips wrap around the bottle, his head tipping back. The throat. Holy shit, the throat. The swallow. The quiet gasp.

The colossal blast that’s just happened in my knickers.

I flinch and cross my legs on the spot. I have no fucking clue what’s going on inside me, but it’s snapped me out of my ridiculous inertness. ‘Shots!’ I blurt, making a grab for the glasses. ‘Hey, I ordered four,’ I call to the waiter, scowling across the bar.

The man next to me starts laughing, a deep, sexy low rumble.

More blasts. Oh . . . God. Be quiet!

‘Just how drunk are you?’ he asks, and I look at him to see him watching me closely.

‘Perfectly sober, thanks,’ I say, snatching my eyes away from him quickly before I give them the opportunity to embarrass me again. ‘I ordered four.’

‘And you’ve spilt two,’ he points out. I look down and see the two empties . . . and it comes back to me. How long was I daydreaming? Or admiring? Or drooling?

‘Oh.’

‘Not drunk?’

I keep my eyes on the bar. They can’t be trusted. ‘Like I said, perfectly sober.’ I gather up the remaining glasses and make to turn, being sure to maintain my stability. Not that I’m stubborn or anything. I’m not drunk.

‘Care to prove it?’ he asks, pulling me to a stop. A challenge?

I risk a peek at him out of the corner of my eye and find the most gorgeous smile on his already gorgeous face. Where the hell did he come from?

Prove it? ‘How?’ I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

‘Take the shots to your friends.’ He nods past me, and I look over to see my friends all now gathered around the tall table, Micky’s arms flying in the air dramatically, the girls laughing. I manage to note that Dishy Man here knows who I’m with. How long has he been here? There’s no way he would have slipped under any of the girls’ Hot-Man Radar. ‘Then come back to see me, if you want,’ he adds quietly.

If I want? Do I want? I have another quick peek up at him. He’s still smiling. It’s a dangerous smile. Very dangerous. He’s too handsome to be harmless.

I slink off, shamelessly adopting a mild sway of my arse as I go, resisting the urge to see if he’s watching me. He is watching me. I just know it, and it’s got me all hot and bothered.

Lizzy is on me like a pouncing tiger when I arrive back at the table. ‘Who in God’s name is that?’ she asks, eyes wide with excitement as she takes a shot.

‘I don’t know,’ I reply, downing the last shot myself instead of giving it up to any of my friends, all the while feeling the magnetic pull of the man behind me, my body tightening with the strain it’s taking not to turn and seek him out again.

‘Annie, I know you’re pretty much immune to men, but this is taking the piss. He’s watching you.’

Immune? I’m not sure I’d say immune. I’ve just never felt anything close to special. So why the hell am I tingling all over and trembling like a fool? I don’t feel very immune now. ‘He can watch.’

She gapes at me. ‘Well, if you won’t talk to him, then I will, since I’m single now.’ Pushing past me, she slaps a smile on her face and heads towards the bar, and my man.

I have no idea what comes over me, but the next moment my hand has shot out and I’ve seized Lizzy’s wrist, yanking her to a stop. I squeeze my eyes shut, annoyed with myself. ‘Just hold on one minute.’ I breathe in deeply and turn to her. ‘A rebound fuck with a stranger isn’t the way forward.’

She’s holding back a grin that will probably split her face if it escapes. She has me. For the first time – probably ever – a man has caught my attention. I shouldn’t read too much into it. I expect this particular man has caught every woman’s attention, the unholy, good-looking son of a bitch.

Leaning into me, Lizzy pushes her mouth to my ear, just as my eyes fall on him again. He’s still watching me. Intently, almost challengingly. ‘He looks like a hard fucker,’ Lizzy whispers, giggling as she breaks away, giving me a coy look. ‘Do womankind a favour and get laid.’ She nods past me. ‘By him.’

‘I’m just going to talk to him,’ I protest, leaving my friend behind and giving in to the pull luring me back to him. I drink in air and start a steady pace towards him, dropping my bottom lip from between my teeth when I realise I’m biting it.

He maintains a serious face, watching me as he leans on the bar casually. ‘I believe I saw a slight stagger,’ he says, raising his eyebrows.

He’s just too fucking handsome for his own good. And, undoubtedly, my good too. ‘Sober,’ I mouth, leaning next to him at the bar.

Keeping his eyes on mine, he calls to the barman. ‘Two tequilas, please.’

‘Tequila,’ I muse, looking over my shoulder when the salt and lemon land behind me. ‘Is that my challenge?’

‘Crying off?’ he goads, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some notes.

‘Never,’ I scoff, turning to the bar. I don’t know what his game is, but I want to play. With him. ‘You’re asking me to prove I’m sober by doing a shot?’ I narrow my eyes on him, teasing. ‘Or is your plan to get me drunk and take advantage of me?’

He smiles to himself as he pays the barman. ‘You don’t look like the kind of woman who could be taken advantage of.’

‘What kind of woman do I look like, then?’ I challenge quietly.

He turns to me, watching me for a few moments. ‘I don’t know, but I think I’d like to find out.’

I hold his gaze for a few seconds, no retort coming to me. I think I want him to find out too, just as much as I want to find out what kind of man he is. My eyes drop from his sparkling greys, down his tall, lean frame to his feet.

Oh . . . fuck . . .

‘Let’s play,’ he says, moving in closer and pulling one of the glasses forward. I don’t mean to, but I yank my arm away abruptly when he brushes against me, startled by the tiny stabs of pleasure that pitter-patter all over my skin. The fleeting touch tells me he would feel as good as he looks, and – give me strength – he smells divine, all manly and earthy and fucking edible.

The sudden lapse in movement and talking from both of us becomes slightly awkward. I can feel him looking down at me.

‘What do I have to do?’ I ask again quietly, almost on a breathy gasp.

He clears his throat. ‘You’re not drunk?’

‘Not even the slightest bit.’ I raise my nose in the air.

‘Good. Then you’ll smash this challenge first time.’ He places a finger on the brim of one of the shot glasses. ‘Brace your palms on the edge of the bar,’ he orders, firmly but softly. I look at him, finding a serious face. ‘Go on.’

Frowning, I place my hands on the edge of the bar. ‘Okay?’

He takes my hips. He takes my fucking hips! I freeze from top to toe and swallow hard, waiting. My insides are quickly furling, my mind in chaos. ‘Move back a bit,’ he says, pulling at them a little until I step back.

Oh, Jesus. I’m on fire. I have a strange man bending me over a bar in public, and Annie I’m-immune-to-men Ryan isn’t fighting him off. It’s like he has me under a spell. What gives? I dare not look behind me. I’m not stupid enough to think Lizzy isn’t currently watching a man manipulate my body to where he wants it.

‘You feel tense,’ he observes, releasing me and moving back to my side.

I don’t deny it; neither do I confirm it. His big hands felt so good resting on my hips, so much so I have to resist not claiming them and putting them back where they were. ‘What now?’ I ask, evidently struggling for air, damn me.

‘Now.’ He picks up his beer and grins. ‘I get to gloat that I had you bent over a bar within five minutes of meeting you.’ He takes a swig, still grinning, and I hear the roar of a man down the bar laughing his head off.

Oh, the fucker! Part of me admires him. Another part of me wants to slap him stupid; I don’t care how beautiful he is. And another part of me wants to rip his clothes from his body and ravish the sly bastard.

I cannot believe I fell for it! How many women has he played like a fiddle? I drop my head, shaking it to myself.

I knew that smile was dangerous. A man who can bend a woman to his will so easily and so soon couldn’t be anything less than lethal. And the fact that he got me with his wicked game means hats off to him. I can’t possibly take that away from him, and since I’m lacking in the dignity department right now, I decide not to slap him. Nor will I chuck a drink over his head, or fire a load of verbal abuse at him.

I’ll do what he least expects.

I push myself up and turn to face him, unable to stop myself from smiling at his half-grin. Holding his gaze, I slowly lick the back of my hand, blindly take the salt off the bar, sprinkle a bit and take one of the shots of tequila. But as I’m taking my hand to my mouth to lick the salt up, he seizes my wrist and takes the shot from my other hand. My heartbeat accelerates, our eyes glued to each other as he moves into me and slowly brings my hand to his mouth. I watch, gripped, as he lazily licks up the salt from the back of my hand, eyes on mine, and then knocks the tequila back. Kill me now, for I will certainly die a happy woman. His tongue on my skin. His eyes boring into mine. His hold of my wrist. I must look like a statue – unable to talk, move or think clearly.

‘There’s one more tequila,’ he says, cocking his head towards the bar but keeping me in his sights. ‘And it’s yours.’

Oh good Lord. My heart is speeding up by the second as I watch him lick the back of his hand and sprinkle some salt. Then he offers it to me. I stare at his hand, and then slowly look up at him. I could get lost in those glittery grey eyes.

‘I taste good,’ he whispers.

I’ve no doubt. It takes everything in me and more to take his hand and bring it to my mouth, and when my tongue slips free, I close my eyes and brace myself. I taste no salt. I taste him. And it might well be the most intoxicating taste I’ve ever experienced. I swallow, keeping hold of his hand while I take the tequila and throw it back, not even wincing as it burns its way down my throat.

He nods approvingly. ‘Told you,’ he murmurs, pulling his hand away.

I fight my way back to life, looking away from him before I self-combust. ‘It was nice playing with you,’ I breathe, turning away. I need the ladies’. Quickly.

‘Whoa!’ He slips his hand around my wrist and stills me. My whole body locks up again. After being clued in to his pathetic man-game of getting me bent over the bar, all bodily reactions to him should have been halted in their annoying tracks. Then he licked me. And I licked him. The tingles engulfing me are so fierce I’m having to refrain from brushing them off. ‘Don’t go just yet,’ he says gently.

I look up at him, cocking my head, trying to wrestle some sensibility through my cloud of lust. I haven’t been with a man in a long, long while. About one year, two months and two weeks, to be precise. Jason’s friend of a friend.

‘And what are you planning on doing with me if I stay?’ I ask, taking a quick scan of his hand in search of a ring, just to be sure. No ring. How a woman hasn’t staked a claim on him yet is beyond me.

‘I plan on talking to you,’ he says softly, watching me with a hint of curiosity.

‘As opposed to licking me?’

‘You didn’t like my game?’ he asks evenly, seriously, something lingering behind his eyes. Something tempting. Something that makes me a little . . . cautious. And a lot hot.

His grasp, still circling my wrist, gives me a moment’s pause. The heat of our combined skin isn’t to be ignored. I’m intrigued by him, if only because he’s captured my attention and kept it, even after his sly stunt. Talk. He wants to talk.

I gently pull my arm away and he releases me slowly, never removing his eyes from mine. Then he blindly pulls a bar stool forward, indicating for me to take a seat. ‘Drink? Or have you had enough?’

I rest my bum on the stool and flick him a tired look, but I really don’t think I should be drinking any more. Especially not now, when I should probably keep my wits about me. ‘I’ll have a water, please.’

He signals the barman over, ordering my water and another beer. I look across to my friends, and find none of them looking this way. Except Micky. He cocks his head in question, and I nod my reassurance. I’m fine. Totally fine.

The man with no name lowers to a stool before me, one foot resting on the floor, the other on a footrest, his elbow propped on the bar. His shirt crinkles around his midriff a little. It looks like there could be abs beneath that crisp white material. And his bent arm is hinting at some pretty solid biceps.

‘What’s your name?’ he asks, pulling my eyes back up to his face. He still looks serious, a distinct contrast from the cocky grin that was fixed to his face when I first clapped eyes on him.

‘Annie,’ I answer. ‘Yours?’

‘Jack.’ He presents me with his hand, still watching me as I decide whether I should touch him again. It’s definitely not a good idea. If anything, I should be retreating, moving away, possibly even leaving right this minute. There are intentions in his serious eyes that I can read perfectly; intentions that should frighten me – so why I reach forward and place my hand gently in his is beyond my ability to analyse right now. I’m rapt. Enthralled. It’s a revelation, and I quite like it.

As soon as contact is made, skin on skin, he seizes my hand quickly, shocking me. My eyes fly up to his, expecting to find a cheeky grin, but he’s still looking at me seriously. ‘Gotcha,’ he murmurs, squeezing his big palm around mine. I lose my breath. My heart gallops. My skin heats. Holy shit, he certainly has.

He starts to slowly shake my hand, up and down, taking a long time about it too. I swallow repeatedly, my throat as dry as a bone as he controls my movements.

Gotcha?

His lips slowly curve, as if he knows my thoughts, and I’m faced with that sparkly-eyed smile again. ‘I licked it, so it’s mine,’ he says around his smile.

His declaration has me shaking my head in wonder as he lowers my held hand to my bare leg, taking advantage of his position and dragging his fingers down my thigh as he pulls away. I jerk on my stool and make a grab for my water.

‘Do you lick many women?’ I ask, and immediately kick myself for it. That’s none of my business, and I honestly don’t want to know.

His face is suddenly serious. ‘Licking women in bars isn’t usually my thing.’

‘What about bending them over bars?’

A mild smile ghosts his lips, as if he’s reading my thoughts. ‘I don’t know what came over me,’ he admits on a mild laugh, bringing his hand to his jaw and stroking over his bristle. I’m glad, because I don’t know what came over me either. ‘What do you do, Annie?’

‘I’m an architect,’ I answer swiftly. Talk. Just talk. ‘Mainly domestic projects, but I’m slowly moving my business into the commercial sector.’

‘You have your own firm?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘That’s impressive for someone in her . . .’ Jack fades off, cocking his head in question.

I smile at his cute ploy to extract my age. ‘I’m twenty-nine.’

‘Wow, that really is impressive. Congratulations. I like seeing people succeeding.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Are you mar—’

‘No.’ I laugh.

‘Taken?’

I’m not so quick to answer this time. I don’t know why. Probably because my answer will open the path to . . . what? ‘No.’

There’s relief in his eyes. There’s definitely relief. ‘You’re a good-time girl?’ he asks, a suggestive edge to his tone.

‘Well, I don’t usually let strange men bend me over bars and lick me, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

‘I’m honoured.’ Jack smiles, satisfied. ‘So what do you usually do for fun? I mean, when I’m not around to bend and lick you.’

I match his smile and take a sip of water to moisten my increasingly dry mouth. ‘I work hard. I have good friends. I have my good times with them.’

‘Through choice or because of a bad experience?’

‘We’re getting a bit personal, aren’t we?’ I cock him a questioning look, and he smiles on a shrug.

‘Just trying to figure you out.’

His jean-clad knee brushes mine, and I whip my leg away on a skip of my pathetic heart. He won’t need to figure out anything. I’m happy to tell him. ‘I have no interest in men right now.’ I don’t know why, but I find myself biting my lip and watching closely for his reaction.

He nods slowly. ‘That could change,’ he muses – out of the blue, shocking me.

My back straightens, my breath hitching a little. ‘How d’you mean?’ I ask quietly, trying to weave interest through my words. I try. All that’s woven through every word I’m speaking to this man is intrigue. And desire.

‘I mean,’ he starts, leaning in a bit, ‘you’ve clearly never been consumed by a man.’ He pauses, giving me a moment to agree, but I don’t. I’m fixated on him. ‘But one day a man will come along and he’ll swallow you up, Annie. Blindside you.’ There’s suggestion in his words that I’m finding hard not to be curious about. And I’m still just staring at him.

My pulse pounds in my ears as he pulls away and turns back towards the bar, calling the barman over. I don’t hear what he orders. My surroundings have been reduced to a blur of activity, the loud sounds of the bar now a distant white noise. There’s a magnetic appeal to Jack – not just his looks, but his persona, his voice . . . his words.

‘Here.’ He takes my limp hand and removes the water, handing me a shot glass. The contact wrenches me from my trance, and I glance around, finding the world is still happening around me. Chinking glasses with me, he smiles that lovely smile – the one that had me hooked the moment I saw him. ‘Here’s to being blindsided,’ he says, raising his glass.

He knocks his drink back, then slams the glass on the bar and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. My eyes follow every single movement as I try to read between the lines, try to unravel his words and form any sense out of them. Of course, they make perfect sense as they are, but something is telling me there’s more to it. Maybe the slight harshness of his tone. Maybe the way he’s looking at me.

‘Drink up.’ His fingertip meets the bottom of my glass and encourages it up to my lips, and he watches me as I slowly tip the liquid down my throat, caught in a massive state of conflict.

I want him.

For the first time in my life, I really, really want a man. I can feel . . . something.

‘What do you do, Jack?’ I ask, following my instinct to find out more about this man who’s got me all hot and bothered.

‘I have many talents.’

I hold back my grin. ‘Such as?’

‘Oh, the list is endless. How long have you got?’

Forever! I quickly snap my mind back into line. Really, Annie? Get a grip! ‘You’re cute,’ I quip, and then wince at my poorly chosen reply. Jack’s far from cute; this tall, well-formed, strapping hunk of a man.

Jack glances away for a fleeting moment, laughing to himself. ‘You’re quite cute yourself.’ His eyes return to mine, twinkling madly. ‘How are you single?’

I should ask him the same question. ‘Because I want to be. Because relationships require hard work that I’d rather invest elsewhere.’

Jack nods, staring deeply into my eyes. ‘Invest in yourself?’

‘Yes,’ I answer honestly, even if it makes me sound selfish. Maybe my outlook will change one day, when the right man comes along. Who knows. But at this point in my life, there is no man, and I’m quite content with that. ‘I’ve made promises to myself that I plan to keep.’

He breathes in deeply, his fingers fiddling with the label of his beer bottle. ‘I admire you. Your own happiness is important, and you’re clearly happy.’

I sit back a little, assessing his disposition. ‘Aren’t you happy?’

‘Right now I’m deliriously happy.’

I smile and Jack grins cheekily, reaching forward and placing a palm on my knee, squeezing gently. My smile drops in a second, my eyes darting down to his hand touching my bare flesh. Heat spreads through me like cracking glass, and water ripples up the side of my highball. My shakes get so bad I’m forced to place my drink on the bar and hold on to it in an attempt to disguise my trembling.

My eyes flick up to Jack’s, finding that his smile has dropped and his amusement has disappeared. Slowly, he peels his hand away from my leg. Good Lord. My world just spun out of control while he had hold of me. In those few blissful seconds, I forgot my name, my job and my ambitions. Suddenly my only motivation was Jack – to touch him, talk to him, listen to him. This stranger removed me from my real life and put me somewhere else. Somewhere distracting. Somewhere consuming.

Consuming. Nothing’s ever consumed me, except work. I’ve only spent a few minutes with Jack, and already I feel a little addicted to the intensity that leaks from him. This is alien . . . and frightening. It’s caught me so completely off guard.

My heartbeat kick-starts again, and I shake myself back to life. My life. My real life. ‘It was nice talking to you, Jack. I really must go,’ I breathe, slipping down from my stool. I need to escape him now, because my mind is in a muddle and I’m scared of the reaction I’m having to him. I do the polite thing and offer my hand.

He nods, slowly and understandingly. ‘Undoubtedly the wisest decision you’ll make, for both of us.’

He takes my hand and, I swear, explosions happen. The stupid type that people read of in books, the ones where you roll your eyes because it’s so ridiculous to think that two people could have such a powerful connection. Blindsided.

‘Here.’ He opens my fingers and places something in my palm. ‘Something to remember me by.’

I look down and see a Budweiser bottle top. ‘Why would I want to remember you?’ I ask, glancing up at him.

‘Because this night will go down in history.’ He smiles as he forces my hand into a fist, locking the bottle top tightly inside my grasp.

He’s right. There’s no way I’ll ever forget my encounter with Jack. ‘And what do you have to remember me by?’

He reaches forward and ghosts a finger down my cheek, robbing me of cognitive thought. ‘I have this,’ he murmurs, taking his touch to his temple and tapping lightly. ‘Stored away up here.’

My knees go weak, my blood’s on fire. I don’t need a bottle top because I too have his face stored in a safe place in my mind. Jack leans into me and takes the tops of my arms, holding me in place. When his chest meets mine, my knees actually give, and I whimper, my forehead falling onto his shoulder. Oh my God, who is this man?

His lips meet my ear and he spends a few incredible moments breathing into it before he speaks. ‘If I ever lay eyes on you again, Annie, I can’t promise I’ll do what’s best and walk away next time.’

He breaks away and leaves, signalling to his friend, a fair-haired man, who follows. He gives me a questioning look as he passes me, taking in my obvious condition. Which is what? Thunderstruck? It’s the only way to describe it. I feel like I’ve been tackled from the side without warning, winding me.

My lungs begin to burn, and I realise I’m holding my breath. It all comes rushing out, so fast and so much of it, I lose my stability and make a grab for the bar.

‘Hey, you okay?’ Lizzy appears by my side, her eyes travelling between me and Jack as he leaves the bar.

‘Yes,’ I squeak, and the shakes set in, an aftermath of my encounter with the most handsome and intense man I’ve ever come across.

‘Well, wasn’t he just the finest piece of arse you’ve ever seen,’ Lizzy says, grinning at me, before slowly losing her chirpy face and replacing it with a worried frown. ‘Hey, you sure you’re okay?’

Jesus, I need to snap out of it. ‘Yes, fine.’ I shake myself back to life and swipe up my water, chugging it down at an epic rate.

‘So where’s he gone?’ she asks.

‘He was a cocky twat,’ I mutter indignantly, lying through my teeth. It’s the only way to go. Telling Lizzy that my body burned with want, not only every time Jack touched me, but with every word he spoke too, would be a mistake.

‘He could have been the rebound screw I need,’ Lizzy sighs in dismay.

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I do. What a waste. You’ll regret this.’

‘Maybe,’ I muse, casting my eyes to the bar entrance, seeing no sign of him. He’s gone, and it’s beyond me why that’s making my stomach sink. ‘Anyway, are you okay?’ I divert, a sensible move. I need to forget the last half-hour ever happened. The best decision I’ve ever made? What, walking away? And what did he mean, for both of us?

‘Perfectly fine,’ Lizzy says, taking my arm and starting to walk us back to the table.

I look at her. ‘Micky definitely shouldn’t be your rebound fuck.’

‘We’re just flirting.’

I don’t miss the look that passes between them as we approach, but I’m too side-tracked to give the situation the concern it deserves, still tingling from top to toe. I look to the door again, his last words playing on repeat in my mind.

If I ever lay eyes on you again, Annie, I can’t promise I’ll do what’s best and walk away next time.