Inside, I had no idea what to expect. Apart from lots of teakwood paneling, crystal chandeliers, marble counters, and glass tables, it was pretty much like any other bar. The patrons were mainly suited men, with the occasional woman seated between them. I shrugged at the few skeptical squints my simple shirt dress, faded jacket, and sneakers received, and headed for the main bar. I took a vacant seat at the corner, away from the attentive looks some of the men sent my way.
“First time here, right?” I glanced up, immediately calmed by the attendant. She looked to be around my age, and her welcome smile was a relief. “What it’ll be?” I surveyed the rows of bottles on the glass shelves behind her and smirked. “You look like you could do with a tequila or two.” She grinned. I nodded.
Pretending I was engaged in my phone, I kept my gaze downcast until the bartender returned a minute later. When she placed ten shots of tequila in a neat row in front of me, I gawked at her, my bewilderment evident. “What the—”
She laughed. “The first two belong to your tab and the other eight. Two from each of the four gentlemen there.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
I peered behind her. A group of four men, ranging in height and smiles, tipped their glasses at me. Laughing, I mouthed, “thank you.” I should come here more often. As the thought crossed my mind, I picked up the first glass, toasted the four men still looking at me, and downed the shot before my nerves betrayed me. When the bitter liquid hit my palate, I shivered and sucked on the lemon. Glad the men decided not to approach me, I engaged with the bartender, loving her confidence and easy smile while I drank.
“Hey, sweetheart, you look like you could do with some company.”
I glanced up at the idiot with his thick black glasses and thinning hair. Thomas Crawford came to mind. Only, he was slightly better looking than the swaying drunk in front of me.
“No, thank you.”
He stared at me, reminding me of a snake ready to snatch its prey. Snakes don’t have eyelids, right? I grinned at my silliness. Perhaps I was a lot more drunk than I thought, considering I’d tossed back five tequilas one after the other in the last fifteen minutes. For an occasional drinker, that was serious floor spinning waiting to happen.
“Give me two reasons why I can’t buy you a drink.” He leaned closer.
I reared back, lifting a brow at his persistence. “Well, the first would be that I already have a drink, many to be exact.” I pointed to the five shots waiting to be downed.
“And the second?” He blinked profusely, trying to focus, then frowned at something behind me.
A puzzling hyperawareness skated down my spine before a strong, possessive hand slipped around my waist. “She’s with me.” I glanced up, recognizing the deep, commanding voice, even before I saw his face. “You’ve been waiting long, Princess?”
Princess? My eyes flared for just a second. Okay, I liked it. My very own Prince Charming to the rescue. Again. I liked that even better. “Yes.” I had the sudden urge to lick his smiling face. Oh, God, I am so drunk.
“I’m sorry I’m late. You look beautiful as always.” He leaned forward to kiss my cheek, and the heat from the tequila had nothing on the fire in my belly that little gesture initiated. Wisps of his spicy cologne floated through the air, stealing the limelight. I squeezed my thighs with an inaudible moan. He turned to the man. “What are you still doing here?” There was no mistaking the controlled authority in that dangerously low voice.
“Excuse me?” I had an inkling the drunken man’s alcohol boosted his courage to take on a man nearly two heads taller than him and a good deal bulkier in build. I smiled.
“Walk away. Now.” The underlying threat in his words was evident.
“Whatever.” The drunk man finally got the message and stepped away.
“So, third time’s the charm?” I offered my rescuer a playful smile.
“And what are you doing here alone?” Did I imagine the hardness of his tone? Was he angry with me?
“H-having a drink.” I winced at the break in my voice.
“More than one by the looks of things?” He cocked a brow. “Are you even old enough to drink?”
I choked out a laugh then blushed when his gaze fell to the empty shot glasses. “Would my age bother you?” Did I look younger than my soon to be twenty-two years? I leaned back, crossing my legs. His gaze dropped to my dress, riding high on my thighs before coming back to rest on my bottom lip, now caught between my teeth. The feral burn in his eyes fanned the flames of abrupt want inside me and beaded my nipples. I looked away. He took the chair next to me, his hand moved from my waist to rest on my knee. I was suddenly conscious of the warmth the skin on skin radiated. I glanced down, noting the strength in those firm fingers. The thought of his hands moving further up, touching, stroking, pinching. I blinked. Holy shit. I uncrossed my legs and forced myself to concentrate. “Tell me, Prince, assuming that is your name, how is it that you keep finding me?”
“Does it matter?” His slow smile filled with distinct wickedness. My stomach muscles knotted. Was it possible for a man to be this sexy?
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked him but flicked me a knowing smile, as though approving my chosen company.
“Whiskey on the rocks and a bottled water, please.” He shifted slightly. The movement positioned one of his legs between mine. I was suddenly a lot more conscious of his presence. The soft brush of his fingers on the inside of my thigh had me swallowing when his hand slid up an inch, the light caress elicited succulent tingles I had no idea were even possible. When I lifted my gaze, it was to find his eyes on me, beautiful yet piercing. “What are you celebrating?” He pointed to the tequila.
“Celebrating?” I frowned.
“You don’t look like a drinker to me, so it must be a celebration.”
“Do drinkers have a specific look?”
“They certainly don’t have your innocence.”
“What makes you think I’m innocent?” I was surprised by my quick response. I wasn’t usually this brazen with men I didn’t know. Maybe it was the alcohol.
He uttered a low laugh, the husky sound, a soft echo against my heated skin. His gray eyes sparkled with intrigue, he leaned forward. “Forgive my assumption.” His fingers moved at a lazy pace, teasing the inside of my thigh. I fought to keep from trembling. He reached for his whiskey that the bartender had placed on the counter without me noticing. Eyes locked on mine, he took a drink then set his glass down. “Me touching you will do nothing, correct?” Focused on his fingers—just inches away from the apex of my thighs, I wanted to answer. Only a barely audible whimper slipped past my lips. With his back to the rest of the bar and me hidden by a large ornate feature, we were concealed from the other patrons. “Does it turn you on,” he continued in a tone as smooth as silk, “if I touch you here?” His fingers grazed my cotton panties. I couldn’t hold back the moan. “Does it, Princess? Knowing that I can make you come right now, onlookers be damned?” I swallowed, shaking my head. Another chuckle rumbled out his chest. “Because you’re experienced with this sort of thing, right?” He was baiting me.
I nodded, but I was just fooling myself. My knees quivered, the tremble ricocheting through my body when his finger feathered lightly over my slit. The soft material of my panties no barrier to the velvet touch. My breath escaped on a shocked gasp. What was I doing, allowing a stranger to manipulate my senses I didn’t even know I had? Electrified by his touch, I squeezed my thighs together, but his firm hand kept them apart.