by Rhonda James
The first thing I noticed were his eyes. Bottle green with the tiniest flecks of copper scattered throughout, and when the light hit them just right, those flecks sparkled in the most intriguing way. His shaggy caramel-blond hair stuck up in all directions, as if he’d been running his fingers through it all day, and the longer I stared, the more I found myself wanting to do the same thing. Tattoos circled both of his wrists, and his ears were pierced and adorned in black onyx. He had a smile that could simultaneously melt your heart and panties. Everything about him screamed male model, and if he wasn’t, then he sure as hell should be. He was that gorgeous. The bar was packed, and he was seated close. So close his muscular thigh pressed tightly against mine, making it impossible to ignore his presence. Not that I wanted to or anything.
By the time I finished examining him, I looked up and found his pouty lips were puckered as if he was deep in thought. Either that or he was thinking about kissing me. Yeah, I knew we hadn’t been formally introduced, but I’d definitely consider kissing those lips. His gaze was intense, and it roamed my entire body, slowly, as if he were cataloging every detail for later when he was alone and naked in the shower. The thought of him naked, alone or otherwise, excited me.
“No one special.” I fidgeted in my seat. “Old boyfriend.”
“If you ask me, he’s a dumbass for letting you get away. You’re much prettier than candy.”
Another blush heated my cheeks as I shook my head and responded, if only to keep him talking, “Ahh, but you haven’t seen this particular piece of candy.”
“Don’t need to. He gave you up. In my book, that’s reason enough to achieve asshole status.” He winked and tipped his glass to mine. “But, thanks to his assholery, you’re here with me. So… to assholes.”
Okay. He was definitely flirting.
I’d already had a trying day, and this guy’s voice made parts of my body tingle with excitement. Parts that hadn’t seen action in a very long time. So, when the glass met my lips, I took a much bigger swig than I’d intended. What happened next was not my finest hour. In fact, I made a regular ass of myself. To my horror, I coughed, spewing whiskey on everything within a two-foot radius, including him. To make matters worse, he jumped off his stool and started patting me on the back.
Humiliated, I grabbed a nearby stack of napkins and began wiping furiously at the alcohol that adorned his cheek and shirt. “I am so sorry.” He caught me by the wrist, putting an end to my feeble efforts, and tossed the napkins on the bar. Now that he was standing, I could see that he was much taller than I’d first suspected.
“Don’t worry about me. I won’t melt. I’m a little worried about you, though. Y’okay, Tiny?”
Peering up at him through damp lashes, I felt another zing in my lady bits. Was it crazy that I loved how we’d just met, yet he had already given me a nickname?
“I’m fine. Just went down the wrong pipe,” I wheezed and had to clear my throat before I could continue. To save face, I reached for my glass and downed the remainder of my drink. “See?”
His perfect mouth twitched into an adorable smirk, and I caught a flash of a dimple on his left cheek as he leaned in to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. “Huh, too bad. I was kinda hoping you needed saving.”
“Was that supposed to be a pickup line? Wait, I know!” I grabbed hold of his forearm and continued teasing. “You’re a superhero in disguise, and you go from bar to bar rescuing unsuspecting women caught choking to death on their alcohol?”
His smile widened at my touch, and the divot in his cheek made another appearance. Definitely a dimple. That could be a problem. Dimples were my weakness.
“That obvious, huh?” I stared openly as he dragged a hand down the front of his gray T-shirt. His journey ended when he reached his stomach, but my gaze traveled lower, past the narrowing of his waist, down the length of his thighs hidden beneath that faded denim, while doing my best to ignore the bulge near his zipper. My journey ended when I reached the black Timberlands on his feet, and if I had been standing, I’d have swayed on my own two legs. He was that good looking. “I thought for sure this disguise would be foolproof. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I have a confession.” He turned his head from side to side as if checking who might overhear us, then leaned closer and whispered, “You’re the first to experience my superior back patting skills.”
“Is that so?” I tapped a finger on my lips, fighting to maintain a straight face.
“Absolutely.” He drew an imaginary X over his heart, and a smile tickled the corners of his pretty mouth. “Before you sat down, I watched another woman choking on whiskey, and I never lifted a finger to help her. But I couldn’t sit idly by and watch you suffer.”
“A true southern gentleman,” I teased.
He plucked the straw from his drink and popped it in his mouth. “My Mama raised me right.”
Curious, I asked, “How did I get so lucky?”
“You had the prettiest mouth.” I met his intense gaze and giggled the moment his lips grazed my ear. Giggling? Who was I? “I figured a mouth that sexy was totally worth the risk of swapping stranger spit.” He flashed the sexiest smirk before taking a step back, putting unwanted distance between us.
I opened my mouth, intending to speak, but laughter burst forth instead. I couldn’t help it. That line… Ugh. No. Just. No!
“Wow. You’re pretty bad at this whole flirting thing, aren’t you?” I flattened a palm against the hard plane of his chest, and that small gesture left me with the insatiable urge to know what he looked like beneath all that denim and cotton. Wow. Did someone turn up the heat in here?
He shrugged and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. Looked down at my hand. “I don’t know, Tiny. I must be doing something right because that’s twice in five minutes that you’ve had your hands on me.”
My hand dropped to my side as if he’d burned me. Have I really touched him twice? Surely, I hadn’t. And why the heck has he been counting?
“Keep it in your pants, Sparky. I’m from the South, and that’s how we southerners interact with people.” I fluffed my hair. “Just my way of being friendly, I guess. It wasn’t an invitation or anything.”
“Da-yum, girl.” He bent his head to speak in my ear, and the heat from his breath warmed me down to my purple painted toes. “For the record, I’m a sucker for southern girls. I hope you know my interest in you has just quadrupled.” He eyed me up and down, that sexy smirk never leaving his tanned face. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”
My lips flattened to a thin line as a hand went to my already cocked hip. “Yep. Got a problem with that?”
“Easy, killer,” he chuckled, resting an elbow on the bar. “I’m just messin’ with ya.” The tables turned when he curled a lock of my hair around his finger. For a moment, I actually stopped breathing. Wondering what he might do. “You’re cute, Tiny. Even cuter when you’re all worked up. I’ll keep that in mind.”
I might have spent the last four years in the Big City, but I was a sucker for southern charm, and this guy’s southern accent did things to me. Really. Good. Things. Certain body parts tingled, and I clung to every last syllable he spouted as if his voice alone could bring me to orgasm. Hell, for all I knew it could. Maybe if he kept talking, I would get a chance to find out. Jeez. You’d think I hadn’t had sex in forever. You haven’t, my inner voice reminded me. Fine. It had been a year since I had a good roll in the hay, but that was only because I hadn’t really been looking to hook up. But what about tonight? I had no idea what I was doing. No plan for how the night would progress. All I knew for certain was that he was cute, and he was trying very hard to make me laugh. Something no man had attempted to do in a very long time.
As I eyed my would-be rescuer with renewed interest, my response was to give his belt loop a tug and tip my head at the dance floor. “Dance with me.”
CHAPTER 4
HAWK
“Dance with me.”
Her sultry command
met my ears and wrapped itself around every muscle in my body, drawing me closer until all that separated us was a breath of air.
The top of her head barely met my mouth, and the white dress she wore barely covered her ass. The neckline swooped low, revealing the swell of her small—but still enough to be a handful—rack. A quick peek at her cleavage confirmed she wasn’t wearing a bra. This girl had curves that made my hands want to take a slow journey over each and every one. But her curves weren’t what kept me staring. It was her eyes. The color of the clearest evening sky and like nothing I’d ever seen. If I stared too long, I would probably get lost—which would be fine with me. The moment our gazes connected, I forgot all about what it was that had led me here in the first place. Both beautiful and sad, her eyes told a story that something darker than the whiskey in her glass had led her here, too. Her eyes told me she’d come here seeking escape, and I had no problem with being her distraction. Even if for only one night.
Guess you could say we both wanted to escape.
There was no denying the attraction between us, and if her hand slid any lower, she’d discover just how much I enjoyed having her hands on my body. She’d touched me twice in a span of five minutes—three if you counted the finger hooked around my belt loop. Then again, who was counting? Stop counting, asshole.
“You can dance, can’t you?”
I flashed a cocky grin and took her by the hand, directing her to the dance floor. “I have it on great authority that I’m an excellent dancer.”
“Wanna prove it?”
Challenge accepted, baby.
Surrounded by bodies, we danced our way through two songs without speaking, unless you counted the contented sighs she released after every dip or spin. But again, who was counting?
“Wow,” she murmured breathlessly after the song came to an end and another started. We stood toe to toe. Arms locked around each other’s waists. Neither ready to let go. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
“Three sisters,” I declared, as if those two words were enough to answer her question, but the tilt of her head told me otherwise. “They used to have these Dirty Dancing parties, and somehow, I always got wrangled into playing the part of Johnny Castle,” I explained with a shake of my head, remembering the gruesome details. “As if I could fill Patrick Swayze’s shoes.”
Her fingers trailed up and down my arms before settling on my shoulders. Thirteen. “I wouldn’t say that. You’ve got some pretty serious moves.”
“Shucks.” I kicked at the floor with the toe of my boot, feigning shyness. “That was nothin’. I’ve got moves you’ve never seen.” Laughter bubbled from her dainty little mouth, and it was then I realized I hadn’t asked for her name. “I don’t believe I caught your name, darlin’. Mine’s—”
“Stop right there!” She held up a hand while vehemently shaking her head. “No real names.”
“Come again?”
“After high school, I would come to this bar as a way to escape all the bullshit that went along with being nineteen. Here, no one knew me, so it was easy to pretend I was someone else. I know it sounds crazy, since I’m obviously older than nineteen.”
“Thank God for that,” I interjected, an act which earned me another eye roll.
“Being a grown-up doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve outgrown my desire to get away from it all. Even if it’s temporary,” she said in a faraway voice.
I knew she’d been escaping. I was tempted to ask what it was she needed to get away from, but something told me it would negate the whole premise of pretending. Instead, I went along with it, figuring I had nothing to lose.
“No, I get it. Escape can be good, but bear in mind reality is always lurking around the corner.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m simply saying that while I understand your desire to hide from reality, the fact remains that tomorrow morning, when you open your eyes, it will be there. Staring you in the face.”
Her eyes fell closed, and she nestled her cheek against my chest. I don’t have to tell you how good that felt. “What if I don’t want to open my eyes?”
Sweeping the hair from her shoulder, I brushed my lips across her naked skin, savoring her sweet taste. “That would be a shame, because I’m part of that reality, and I’d miss getting to see that sparkle in your eyes. I’m also afraid if you keep pretending, I’ll never get the chance to know the real you.”
“You’re not missing much,” she mumbled.
“Well, darlin’, I gotta call you something.” My eyes made a slow sweep of her petite frame and lustrous blonde hair, and I knew I’d already given her the perfect nickname. “Think I’ll stick with Tiny.”
“Tiny?” Her hand went to her hip, and she gave me a flash of that attitude I’d already come to appreciate. “Is that supposed to be a dig at my size?”
I nodded yes and smiled. “Not at all.”
“Well, I guess it’s not that bad. I’ve been called worse.” She tapped her finger against the side of her nose, thinking. “If I’m going to be Tiny, what should I call you?”
I pretended to give it some thought before telling her, “Just call me Jared.”
“Wait. That isn’t your real name, is it?”
I ran a hand through my hair and laughed as if what she’d just asked me was absurd.
“Of course not. My real name is much cooler.” I threw in a wink, hoping to make her forget whatever response she was about to give. Thankfully, it worked.
Her fingers tugged on my belt loops when another song started up. “I love this song.”
The desire to hold her was more powerful than the need to know her name. “Dance with me, Tiny,” I whispered huskily in her ear. The nickname was fitting. She was petite in every sense of the word. Thanks to her heels, our anatomy lined up perfectly, and with every beat, our bodies swayed in perfect unison with the music. Slow. Deliberate. Teasing. I was so fucking aroused. She had to feel it, but she pressed closer, not saying a word.
Fuck.
This time, there were no spins. No showy moves. Only two bodies pressed tightly together. Slow dancing to a song about a man meeting the right girl at the wrong time. Was that how it would be with us? Was tonight all we had? If so, I intended to make the most of it.
____________________________
“You’re telling me you know Mark Wahlberg?”
“Well, I’ve met him, but I don’t actually know him. Not, like, personal or anything like that,” she confirmed, and I was left dumbfounded because—come on—Mark Wahlberg! Marky Mark. Wahlburgers. Bad-ass soldier in Lone Survivor.
Still doubtful, I pressed on. “How’d you meet him?”
“He walked on set one day while we were filming.” She shrugged before tossing back the rest of her shot.
I had no idea what time it was, but it was safe to say we’d spent hours talking and laughing. After my third drink, I’d switched to water, but Tiny had thrown back five shots, two of them doubles, and was showing no signs of slowing down. She might feel good now, but come tomorrow, she’d have one killer hangover. After she ordered her last drink, I gave the bartender the signal to cut her off. She might think she had a hollow leg, but I kept a watchful eye, waiting for the moment she crashed. I’d already made the decision to drive her home. There was no way I’d let her get behind the wheel, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable putting a drunk woman in a cab with a stranger. She’d be much safer with me, hence why I stopped drinking an hour ago.
“On set?”
“Well, yeah, silly. I’m an actress.” She gave her hair a toss, then grabbed hold of my arm for support when she started to sway. I’d given up counting the number of times we’d touched each other. Suffice it to say, the number was high, yet something told me I’d never get enough of having her hands on me. “That’s how I met Gavin.”
Tension rolled through me at the mention of another guy. “Gavin?” It was strange how I’d only known this woman a few short hours, yet I’d already laid
claim to her. As if buying her drinks and dancing had somehow allowed me to mark my territory. “You mean the asshole?”
She answered with a sharp nod and then went off on a wild tangent, waving her hands all about. “Where does he get off thinking she’s the one? What could she possibly offer him that I didn’t?” I started to interject, but she cut me off. “So what if she’s taller or her boobs are bigger.” My gaze involuntarily dropped to her boobs, which were perfect by the way. “I’m very limber. Which means I’m great in bed. See?” She bent in half and touched her toes, leaving her perky little ass pointing straight at me. Fuck. Me. Sideways. “And… I know for a fact I give a better blowjob. I do this thing with my tongue.” She formed a fist in front of her mouth and mimicked giving head. I remained rooted to the floor. All I could picture was her on her knees between my legs. My dick twitched obnoxiously, reminding me how long it had been since I’d been inside a beautiful woman. Or any woman for that matter.
People were beginning to stare. I couldn’t say I blamed them. She put on quite a show. I was willing to bet a dozen dicks were standing at attention, each owner visualizing her performing that technique on them. The caveman in me sized up each guy, rationalizing I could probably take them. I grasped her hand in mine, ending her performance, and I swear I heard a collective groan from around the bar.
“Listen up, Tiny. I don’t doubt your mad oral skills, but I’m gonna have to ask you to stop doing that thing with your mouth.”
“Why?” She looked up with the most innocent expression on her face. Drunk but still innocent.
“Why?” I stalled, rubbing furiously at the back of my neck. “In case you aren’t aware, most every guy in this place is ready to line up and have you drop to your knees for a little reenactment of that… that thing you were doing.”