CHAPTER THREE
LILIANA
Somehow, I manage to break the connection. I break eye contact and look away.
Although my pulse stumbles violently beneath my skin, I manage to find the words of the song again. My voice doesn’t waver as I sing, though chaos and confusion unfurl slowly inside my chest.
He’s tall. Broad shoulders stretching against a white button-up with the sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms, exposing skin inked heavily with tattoos that disappear beneath the fabric. He’s wearing no jacket despite the cold outside and then there’s his face.
He has the type of face women fall hopelessly in love with and sing breakup songs about. The type of face to break hearts and maybe arms while he’s at it.
There’s no missing the darkness swirling in his expression. I might be too far away to see but I imagine it parallels the lack of color in his eyes as well. I notice sharp cheekbones though. Sharp cheekbones and an aura that screams danger in every way possible.
Eventually I look away from him, trying to maintain all my concentration. But my eyes betray me again.
He’s not looking at me anymore. My gaze follows him as he moves through the lounge.
Every slow, deliberate step. I can tell his presence has an effect on everyone and not just me.
Quiet tension trails behind him like smoke.
Men glance up warily before quickly looking away.
Women stare for too long but when his gaze lands on them, they balk as well.
Bryan straightens subtly from behind the bar as he approaches. When he reaches there, he slides onto one of the stools, fingers resting lazily against the polished wood. And then suddenly like he can feel my eyes on him, he turns around on the stool.
His dark gaze lifts back to the stage, back to me. His expression utterly unreadable.
My heartbeat turns uneven beneath my ribs. I resolve to look away this time. To finish my song. I close my eyes and let the music take control and then I let go, trying to ignore the tension within my skin and the strange effect this man has on me.
Suddenly my music isn’t a magnetic force encircling me and keeping the world at bay. He’s the magnetic force. And for some reason, I’m impossibly drawn to him.
Unfortunately I can’t stay up on the stage forever. The song comes to an end and I know I have to stand up. He’s still looking at me. I can feel his eyes tracking me. My limbs feel like jelly but I manage to suck in a breath while reminding myself that he’s only a man.
Albeit an imposing one.
I can do this. I walk down the stage and head over to the bar. His eyes are fixed on me as I approach. It sends an electric thrill through me, being the subject of such rapt attention.
A part of me considers ignoring him and just walking behind the bar. But I’m too curious, and I want to know why he keeps staring.
He’s even more impossibly good-looking up close.
My eyes drift to his tattoos before I can stop them, following the dark ink as it winds up his arms and disappears beneath his sleeves, leaving my imagination to do the rest.
I’ve never really understood the need for excessive tattoos. But the ink rests on his skin like it belongs there. Adding to his dangerous appeal.
Looking at him makes me feel inspired. Like he’s a dam that could burst at any moment. Flooding me. And maybe I’d end up dead or overwhelmed. But I’d very much like to know where it would lead.
Warning bells chime in my head but I ignore them. For once I don’t listen to my gut. I sidle up next to the stool he’s seated on, my body turned to face him despite the tension churning in its depth.
“Is there something on my face?” I ask the first logical question that pops into my head.
Especially since he hasn’t stopped staring.
His reply surprises me, “It’s a nice face,” he says with a shrug in a low, smooth voice.
Even that has an effect on me, sliding beneath my skin.
A part of me hadn’t been expecting him to say something so flirty right out the gate.
The man practically oozes danger. Which is made clear by the fact that Bryan hasn’t moved in five minutes.
I’d been expecting something less refined from him, not a compliment.
Call it stereotypical, but I didn’t expect a man who looks like him to be gentlemanly.
When he stretches his hand towards me for a shake, I’m thrown off guard.
“I’m Rafaelle,” he introduces.
His eyes are devoid of any warmth, but the way his lips are pulled into a small smile is endearing enough that my guard lowers.
“Lily,” I reply blankly, telling him my stage name.
His eyebrows go up in disbelief, “What’s your actual name?” he questions, the tone of a man used to getting whatever he wants. It’s gruff and commanding.
I huff out an annoyed breath, surprised he called me out on it.
“Liliana,” I bite out.
My full name isn’t exactly a secret. It’s just easier to go by Lily. Anonymity is a song I lived and breathed by growing up. A lesson my mother drilled into my head. Although I’ve never really been sure why.
After I moved away from home, I became a little bit looser with exposing my identity. Whoever mama is running from, they haven’t caught up yet. Perhaps they’ve given up on the chase. Or maybe no one was ever chasing and she’s just paranoid.
“That’s better,” Rafaelle says, satisfied. “Take a seat, Liliana. Let me buy you a drink.”
“Actually, I’m supposed to be behind the bar,” I inform him. “It’s my job.”
I’m trying not to be too rattled by the conversation and his obvious interest in me. And God help me, I’m just as interested.
I usually stay far away from the patrons at this bar. It has to do with not shitting where you eat and all that bullshit.
But even I can admit, it would be almost impossible to stay away from a man like Rafaelle.
He shrugs, the movement smooth and easy before looking up at Bryan who is staring at me with a barely concealed worry in his eyes.
“He’ll handle it. Am I right?”
There’s an element of danger in his tone.
And his eyes promise a lot of pain should Bryan refuse him.
The air in the room grows slightly chiller as he stares down my co-worker.
Who I immediately feel bad for. He shouldn’t have to be threatened into taking over my shift for me.
And no matter how handsome or menacing this man is, he doesn’t get to call the shots.
“Actually, I’ll handle it. It’s my job after all,” I state.
His eyes narrow as they land on me. I fight the urge to turn around and bolt. Not because I’m scared but he’s so intense. I’m worried he’ll consume me with one look.
“Sit down, Liliana.”
My name sounds nice on his lips. He pronounces it in a sexy way, drawing out every syllable like each one counts in some way. His tone grates on my nerves though.
“I’ll pass.”
The look in his eyes grows impossibly darker.
“But maybe I could talk to you from behind the bar,” I hurriedly start to say. “I only have about an hour of my shift left. And after I can devote some time to you.”
Technically, my shift lasts for two hours but Carlos isn’t here and it’s a slow night. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me taking off early.
“You think I’m going to wait until you’re done?” he asks, the amusement in his tone not matching the dark look in his eyes.
“Yes,” I answer confidently.
He smirks before leaning back. He moves like a panther waiting for prey to land in his clutches. And when he looks at me, I feel every bit like prey, and I’m worried what that could mean for me.
“The rest of the night,” he says after a few seconds.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“After your shift, you will devote yourself to me for the rest of the night,” he clarifies.
“Actually, I said I’d devote my time,” I correct warily.
“Go on, Liliana,” he ignores me, waving me away. “And while you’re back there, make me something strong for my troubles.”
He has a lot of fucking nerve. Usually, I’d never let anyone talk to me like this but there’s just something about this man with his dark, soulless eyes.
His looks aside, he’s intriguing. I want to find out more about him.
I want to know what makes him tick. And why his eyes look so haunted.
I also want to know if his intensity translates into the way he fucks.
That last thought is a bit unwelcome but certainly not untrue. Since he walked in I’ve been feeling warmth in all the right places. He looks like he’d be fun in bed and I’ve never been one to turn down some fun. My life is already depressing enough, I take what I can get when I get it.
So I do his bidding like a good little soldier, heading behind the bar to start up my shift.
Bryan practically bolts as soon as I reach him. He exhales in relief and walks away without another word and without turning back, which is weird.
Why is he so scared of Rafaelle?
I’m not completely stupid. A part of me realizes the man in front of me is definitely dangerous. He could be anything from a gangster to a loan shark to some form of business tycoon. He looks like old money with his expensive cologne, suit and the arrogance wafting off him.
But his dangerous aura aside, I have no clue why there’s actual fear and trepidation wafting about in the room with his appearance. Self-preservation tells me it would be smart to find a way out of this mess I may have unwittingly gotten myself into.
But considering the way he’s staring at me with rapt attention, it might be a bit too late to back out. So I make him a drink like he wanted.
He watches my every move, eyes following me like he wants to dissect me. I’ve never been the subject of this much attention before. My heart keeps stuttering underneath his gaze.