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 grays, 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, firm 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 me, 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 that 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 has admiration. 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 toward 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 gray glittery 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 one week ago, 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 to 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 analyze 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,” h
e 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 honored.” 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 toward 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.
Acknowledgments
As always, my never-ending appreciation and love for all those who have held my hand down this writing road. ALL I AM was a chance to revisit old friends from way back when I first landed in the world of fiction, and it was so good to be in their heads again. And to my readers, I hope you enjoy this extension of THIS MAN and Drew in all his glory. I know I did. —JEM xxx
Also by Jodi Ellen Malpas
This Man
Beneath This Man
This Man Confessed
One Night: Promised
One Night: Denied
One Night: Unveiled
The Protector
About the Author
Jodi Ellen Malpas was born and raised in the Midlands town of Northampton, England, where she lives with her two boys and a beagle. She is a self-professed daydreamer, a Converse and mojito addict, and has a terrible weak spot for Alpha Males. Writing powerful love stories and creating addictive characters have become her passion—a passion she now shares with her devoted readers. She’s a proud #1 New York Times best-selling author, and all seven of her published novels were New York Times bestsellers, in addition to being international and Sunday Times bestsellers. Her work is published in more than twenty languages across the world.
You can learn more at:
JodiEllenMalpas.co.uk
Twitter @JodiEllenMalpas
Facebook.com/JodiEllenMalpas
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All I Am--Drew's Story Page 12