I slide onto the stool beside the target and set my clutch on the bar. Then I glance over for the first time at the man I’m supposed to entice.
Not just hot, but smoldering. Oh shit. My insides flip. I wasn’t prepared for hotness. He’s facing away from me and I can only see his profile: rich brown hair, a strong jaw, and the kind of sexy, arrogant expression that makes me think of one of those guys in a British costume drama: the kind with a massive country estate who looks great wading out of a lake.
Tonight, he’s all alone, sipping something that looks like whiskey. I look away, wanting to stay casual, but when I glance back, he’s looking straight at me.
My heart slams into my chest.
His blue eyes are cool, assessing. His suit is clearly tailor-made, or just expensive as hell, and the white button down molds to his muscular torso like threads of the gods.
I don’t dare look down to see how his pants fit.
He turns away and so do I, my cheeks burning as I grapple for something to say.
Not that it matters, really. Not with the way he looked at me just now, like I was uninteresting, mundane, plain, not worth a spark of interest. I reach for my clutch, wondering if I should give up and leave right now, when suddenly, fingers brush over the back of my hand.
“What’s your pleasure?”
My stomach clenches and my pulse quickens. Am I really going to do this?
“Highland scotch,” I say as naturally as I can with my head spinning and my heart pounding fast. I’ve ordered scotch before but never under the gaze of a man like this. My skin tingles as I catch his denim blue eyes, seeing a flash of interest now at my order.
Damn, those are great eyes. The kind that wouldn’t break a stare for a moment, not even if he was naked, that chiseled body bearing down on mine, my legs wrapped tight around his waist, my mouth exploring the dip of his collarbone—
The bartender arrives, jerking me back to reality. He places a glass in front of me, and I realize that while I was having dirty sex with the target in my head, he went ahead and ordered for me.
“Glenmorangie,” he says. His eyes are crinkling at the corners as if he’s amused. Then he raises his glass slightly, and I do the same, trying to hide my shaking hand. I forget to smell the scotch first, because who cares, I just need the whiskey in me, so I take a sip.
It coats my tongue with silken fire, both dry and sweet as it slides down my throat. We set our glasses down at the same time, and I notice the sharpness of his suit, how well tailored it is. The cuff sits perfectly on his wrist, the peek of a silver cufflink making me squirm on my seat. His persona speaks precision and control, while he wears an aura of raw sexuality like a second skin.
If he snapped his fingers and told me to drop to my knees, I’d probably do it without an ounce of forethought.
“Thank you,” I manage before hastily taking another sip and willing it to boost my flirting IQ by a few hundred points. Even though I need to lead him on, I need to be mindful of my response to him so I don’t get in over my head. His gaze falls to my necklace. It’s one of Emily’s designs, distinctive gold wire twisting around my collarbone and falling in a delicate chain to a single pearl drop that sits between my breasts. My skin tingles and I think he might reach out and touch me.
“My pleasure….” He pauses, waiting for my name. I think fast because I have no idea if I’m supposed to give him my real identity or not.