Chapter 2
Aurora
The man exuding danger sits alone at one corner of the bar, utterly still amid the chaos except for a single coin that dances between his long, nimble fingers.
Back and forth, over and under. Thick brown hair with a hint of curl frames a harsh, angular face, like a sculptor carved his features from stone.
He doesn’t fit the lounge’s usual crowd. Everyone else is performative. Laughing too loud, trying too hard, aspiring to play the part of someone having the time of their lives. He simply exists, comfortable in his solitude, claiming the space around him without effort.
And damn, this huge man does take up a lot of space. Broad shoulders and chest. Long legs. Muscular build. Even sitting, he’s taller than most women. He must be well over six feet.
I prepare a tray full of drinks and carry them to the bachelor party. On my return trip to the bar, I think my heart ceases to beat.
His bright blue gaze pierces me as I approach, the coin continuously dancing between his fingers without him looking.
Up close, I measure the breadth of his shoulders beneath a worn black leather jacket and the careful way he’s positioned himself to monitor both exits.
He tracks each newcomer before returning his attention to me.
Everything about this man screams “don’t fuck with me.” The kind of man my grandma always called bad news.
Then again, she said the same thing about wine. And everyone needs a good wine night once in a while.
“Your glass is almost empty.” I stop beside him. “Can I get you something else?”
He studies me, unhurried, a glimmer flaring in his otherwise chilly eyes as he finishes his meticulous perusal. Like a panther sizing up prey.
The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement. “Nice outfit.”
At those two little words, my skin overheats in both arousal and embarrassment. “Thanks. I decided to bring back a classic tonight. What do you think?” With one hand, I drop a little curtsy, remembering too late that I probably just offered him a VIP view straight down my dress.
The coin falters, then resumes its dance.
“No.” He shakes his head, eyes returning to mine. “You look good in it, but no. Maid doesn’t suit you.”
The comment catches me off guard. What does he see when he looks at me? A desperate waitress? A potential conquest? Worse?
I force a laugh. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m a cocktail waitress. Wearing the bachelor party special.” I gesture toward the rowdy group. “So, another drink?”
“Vodka soda.” Undertones of an Eastern European accent lace his low, guttural voice. “The good stuff you keep hidden under the bar.”
My mouth dries out when I imagine him using that throaty voice to whisper filthy words in my ear while we—
No, Aurora. Do. Not. Go. There.
Doing my best to shake my lustful fantasies, I raise an eyebrow. “That’s an expensive order.” Is he trying to impress me, or is he really that serious about his vodka?
He doesn’t blink. “It is.”
A commotion from the bachelor party distracts me. One of the guys whistles before motioning me over.
I stiffen. “Apparently some people think I’m a dog,” I mutter before squaring my shoulders. “Sorry. I’ll be right back, and then I’ll get you that drink.”
His gaze slides to the rowdy group, then back to me, expression unreadable.
I get the sense this man’s not in the habit of waiting.
I scurry toward tonight’s VIP customers, cognizant of the man’s gaze burning a hole in my back. When I reach the bachelor party, they’re already digging into the mountainous platters of onion rings, burgers, and fries Rachel delivered.
I plaster on a cheerful smile. “How’s everything?”
Ken—the groom-to-be—winks. “Best burger I’ve ever had.”
A man with short auburn hair chuckles. “Better enjoy it while you can. Amanda will have you eating kale salads and acai bowls the second you say, ‘I do.’”
Swallowing a bite of said burger, Ken grins. “Worth it.”
Mr. Handsy snorts, a fry falling from his mouth. “Don’t think about her right now. Tonight, you’re a free man. Next stop, strip club!”
The other guys at the table cheer, and the redhead elbows Ken in the side.
Things could be worse. At least I don’t work at that strip club.
“What else can I get you gentlemen?”
As I attempt to clear an empty glass, an arm snakes around my waist and hauls me against an inebriated man. Ken’s handsy friend. Again.
“How about another Manhattan and a lap dance.” He tightens his grip and leans close, hitting me with sour-beer breath. “I promise to tip well.”
Revulsion crawls down my spine as I try to extract myself. “I—”
A chilly voice rolls over us like an icy river. “Take your hands off her or lose them. Your choice.”
“Gladly.” Mr. Handsy releases me, and I stumble back. “This one’s no fun anyway.”
When I spin around, I come face to chest with the stranger. His bright blue eyes have darkened, his face etched with lethal fury.
Goosebumps erupt on my arms. I suspect that, if I don’t defuse this situation, tall, dark, and deadly might actually carry out his threat.
Not that I care about the handsy asshole. But if a fight breaks out and Nick blames me, he’s liable to fire me.
“Hey, babe.” I push onto my toes and peck his cheek, urging him with my eyes to play along.
“Let me take care of these guys, and I’ll come hang with you in a minute.
” A nervous laugh bubbles up my throat as I shoot Ken and his buddies an apologetic smile.
“Sorry about that. My boyfriend’s a little overprotective. ”
I jerk my chin toward the bar, hoping the stranger will get the hint.
Instead, a wicked grin dawns on his gorgeous face. “Is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”
I get all of two seconds to process the words before his lips land on mine. I gasp into his mouth, my hands instinctively settling on his biceps. One large hand splays over my waist while the other slides around to cradle the back of my neck.
He kisses me like I’m the only one who can save him from sinking. My body responds without my permission, and I find myself opening my mouth wider to return his kiss.
Passionate. Wild. All-consuming.
The music fades. Conversations wane. At this precise juncture in time, only he exists.
He tugs me closer, his toned body pressing against me. A faint musky evergreen scent wraps around me. Liquid fire gushes through my veins, the heady warmth spreading from head to toe as my core tightens.
I don’t even know him, yet this man has already ruined me for everyone else.
I’m still drowning when he breaks the kiss to a round of cheering and hoots. “My day just got a thousand times better. Thanks for asking.”
Without another word, he releases me and stalks back to the bar.
I touch my tingling lips, heart racing and mind reeling. The music and surroundings return full force.
What the hell just happened?
A few seconds later, Rachel appears and hip bumps me. “Holy hotness. Want to tell me what that was about?”
Sure…once I figure it out myself. “Later. Right now, I need to take care of this table.”
“I’ll refill their drinks.” She jerks her chin toward everyone in the group, who all seem unfazed by my PDA. “You go do your thing with…whoever that was.”
When I return to the bar, the stranger’s regarding the bachelor party with cold appraisal.
I fix his vodka soda in silence before setting the cocktail on the polished wood counter. “Here you go. And thank you for…what you did back there.”
I wince once I realize that I basically just thanked a stranger for kissing me.
His gaze lingers on my mouth, and his lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. “No need to thank me. He shouldn’t have touched you.”
“Agreed. But thank you all the same.”
He sips his drink. “Busy night?”
And just like that, we pretend that kiss never happened.
“They’re all busy.” I shift my weight, conscious of how exposed I am in this absurd getup. “Need anything else?”
“Just wondering what brings someone like you to a place like this.”
Bristling, I bite back a defensive retort. “Someone like me?”
His gaze trails down my sleazy outfit again, lingering just a tad too long. “Someone smart enough to be doing something else, lyubimaya.” The foreign word rolls off his tongue like a term of endearment.
No idea what it means, but paired with his accent, I peg the guy as Russian.
Awareness dances up my spine. “You got all that from watching me carry drinks?”
He cocks his head. “I got all that from watching you scan the room every thirty seconds, track the hands of every man you serve, and calculate distances to the nearest exit. And from the way you jumped in to help your friend.”
My pulse quickens. He’s been following me that closely? I’m not sure whether I’m flattered or terrified. “You’re very observant.”
Not regular observant, either, but stalker level. Who the hell is this guy?
“Yes.”
He doesn’t elaborate, just holds my gaze as he drinks his vodka.
When he sets the glass down, a bead of liquid clings to his bottom lip. It’s all I can do to not reach out and swipe the drop away. With my tongue. Then press his mouth to mine again and sip the rest of the vodka directly from his lips.
Get a freaking grip. A hot guy rescues you from a handsy customer, and you’re ready to jump the poor man’s bones.
“So what do you do? When you’re not analyzing strangers in bars, that is?”
His expression sharpens, like he’s choosing his answer carefully. “I solve problems.”
Another reply that begs more questions. “What kind of problems?”
A customer at a nearby table raises a hand, trying to flag me down. I pretend not to notice.
“The kind people pay generously to have solved.” He tosses the coin and catches it without looking. “The kind that don’t have easy solutions.”
We’re flirting, I realize. But it’s more than that. An unseen force sizzles between us. A spark. His eyes devour me like he wants to peer deep into my soul, and my body responds as if his hands are all over me.
This isn’t like me. The girl who hasn’t had sex—or even gone on a date—in over a year.
But we seem to share a weird connection. Maybe we can just blame our incredibly hot kiss.
He reaches into his jacket, extracts a bill, and slides it across the bar top. A hundred. “For the most intriguing woman I’ve met in a long time.”
The warm and fuzzy thoughts deflate like a popped balloon, indignation rendering me momentarily speechless.
I glare at the money. “Seems like a lot of cash for one drink. And just to be clear, I only sell drinks. What happened with us back there?” I gesture behind me. “I don’t normally do that.”
“Make out with a stranger in front of a dozen horny, half-drunk guys?” He shrugs, the movement fluid beneath the supple leather. “I never thought it was.”
My neck burns with embarrassment, though I’m not quite sure why.
I slide the bill back toward him. “I’ve seen hundreds of guys like you come through here, none as impressive as they believed.”
He glances at the money, then at my face. His expression shifts, cool calculation replacing the earlier amusement. “No. I very much doubt you’ve seen anyone like me.”
The certainty in his voice spikes my pulse.
The worst part is, he’s right. I’ve never heard of one of our customer’s tipping a hundred dollars for a single drink.
Never come across someone who surveys a room the way he does or notices the things he’s noticed about me.
Never encountered a stranger who senses my distress and races to my rescue.
Never met another man who makes me feel so…alive.
He stills, his attention captured by activity across the bar. The coin stops spinning between his fingers, disappearing into his palm. His jaw tightens, and a frigid mask shutters his face.
The sudden shift startles the hell out of me. Yet somehow, heat still rushes between my legs.
Since when do I find the threat of danger sexy?
Without another word, the man throws down five more hundreds, the bills fanning across the bar top like a royal flush. His eyes collide with mine one last time and flare with an undecipherable emotion before he rises and leaves, cutting through the rowdy crowd with ease.
My fingers hover over the stack of bills. Six hundred dollars. More tip money than I’ll probably earn all week. I scoop the cash into my pocket, wondering why a strange hollowness opens in my chest when his broad back disappears into the sea of people.
I should feel relieved. Men like him are trouble.
But as I return to the swirl of bodies and the endless cycle of drinks and fake smiles, I can’t help but glance toward the door again. Everyone leaves the bar eventually…so why does his departure trigger an inexplicable ache in my chest?
I straighten my ridiculous apron and get back to work. The hundreds burn in my pocket, a reminder that for a few minutes, someone saw past the costume and the job to the actual person.
Even if that someone might be more alarming than all the other men in this bar combined.