Chapter 4
Knowing When to Quit
Kane
This is one of the few places where I can actually breathe. No tourists, no whispers about who I am, no unwanted eyes tracking my every move. Just a low hum of conversation, the scent of aged whiskey, and the kind of anonymity that’s hard to come by.
That’s why I come here.
But tonight, the air feels different. And I know exactly why.
From the second she walked in, the entire atmosphere shifted.
It wasn’t just her looks. Though, fuck me, she’s beautiful.
The kind of natural, effortless beauty that isn’t drowned in pretense.
She has long, dark, wild hair that looks too soft for its own good, and a body that could make a man stupid.
This woman is all curves and confidence wrapped in something entirely untouchable.
Then she walked by, and I nearly fucking lost it.
Those leggings? A goddamn crime.
Her perfect curves were impossible to ignore, and trust me, I tried.
But it was more than that. She had this energy, an unshakable presence, the kind that sent a warning down my spine even as it pulled me in. She was trouble. The kind of trouble I should stay far away from.
They settled in a few tables over, but still close enough for me to hear bits of their conversation. Close enough for me to catch her name.
Her friend must’ve shouted it five times already, making sure it burned itself into my brain.
I’d spent most of the night trying not to look at her, but it was fucking impossible. She commanded attention without even trying, like the whole place was drawn to her without understanding why.
And she sure as hell didn’t seem concerned that this wasn’t the kind of bar where people come to dance.
No, she danced anyway. Like she couldn’t care less if anyone was watching.
And that? That was dangerous.
Normally, we don’t pay much attention to tourists. When they do come in, they keep to themselves, grab a drink, maybe snap a few photos before they move on. We’ve seen it a hundred times. But these two were different.
When I walked away from the bar and our eyes locked, it was like time slowed.
Freckles dusted the bridge of her nose, softening the sharp edges of her exotic features.
She wasn't trying to be anything other than exactly what she was, that much was obvious.
And that damn hair. Thick, unruly strands were clinging to her flushed cheeks like they had a right to touch her.
It framed her face like a fucking halo, though there was nothing angelic about her.
No, she looked like temptation itself—like sin in its purest form.
Full lips, high cheekbones, and eyes that made a man forget why he should stay away.
She was a goddamn contradiction. Beautifully and completely undone. A mess of laughter and energy, and I’ve never seen anyone look so fucking hot and unbothered at the same time.
My body responded before my brain even had a chance to process what was happening. Heat surged through me, rushing south as my dick stirred, pressing hard against the seam of my jeans like it had a mind of its own.
Shit.
I shifted my stance, trying to get my body under control, but my mind was already useless, spinning with nothing but images of her with her hands in her hair. Stirring at the way her body moved with the music and how she looked when she laughed, completely lost in the moment.
I hadn’t even spoken to this woman, and my cock was acting like she was already coming home with us.
I needed to get a grip.
This wasn’t what I’d planned for tonight. Hell, I came here to unwind, not to lose my mind over some stunning, messy-haired American. It had been years since I’d met someone at a bar and decided to bring them home. Years. But apparently, my body had decided tonight was a great time to fuck with me.
I did everything I could to avoid looking at her while she danced. I focused on my drink, the game, and anything but the way her hips moved and the way her head tilted back when she laughed.
Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore, and neither could the pressure straining against my zipper.
In a desperate move, I downed the rest of my whiskey in one go and ordered another. I’m not the kind of guy who gets drunk at the pub, but desperate times and all. It was shaping up to be a long fucking night.
They weren’t doing the usual tourist routine, either. They weren’t drinking to fill the time before heading to their next stop. No, they were settled in, like they had no plans of leaving anytime soon.
I run a hand down my face, groaning under my breath. I need to get my shit together. She’s just a woman. One drink, one night, and then it’s back to normal.
Just as I’m about to regroup, Cam saunters up with his usual shit-eating grin, looking far too entertained by whatever the hell was about to come out of his mouth.
“If ya stare any harder, they’re gonna think ye’re a creep. And then they won't come over here.” His grin is infuriating. “I already went over there to warm them up a bit.”
Of course he did.
By now, I'd pieced together that the one Cam was practically drooling over was Rachel. Dark brown hair, tattoos on her arms, and the kind of boldness that made it clear she had no problem taking up space. Her energy mirrors Raven’s.
Honestly? They could be sisters.
But Raven…Just watching her dance is enough to tighten my grip on my glass. There’s something about the way she moves, like she owns the room. A girl like that doesn’t need to beg for attention. She simply exists, and the world bends around her.
Let your imagination run wild for half a second, and you’d know exactly how she’d move in bed.
And if you know what you’re doing…
Fuck.
My lower half stirs again at the thought, and I down another gulp of my drink, willing my body to behave. I don’t have time for this.
Setting my glass down, I step forward and take my turn at the board, forcing myself to focus on anything other than the two women closing the distance between us.
Then she pops off, throwing down a challenge like she actually thinks she can win.
Adorable.
I lean against the table, watching her with a mix of amusement and something much darker. She has no idea what she’s just walked into. The fire in her eyes and that sharp edge in her voice is making me want to test just how much of that attitude she can back up.
And beneath it all, there’s this wild urge in me to grab her, pin her against the wall, and tell her exactly what she’d get if she won.
The image hits me like a wrecking ball and for half a second, I actually choke on my drink.
Fuck.
Now she’s looking right at me with those hazel eyes locked onto mine like she can sense the shift in my thoughts.
She has no idea what’s running through my head right now. No idea what I’d do to her if I got her alone. And that’s a problem.
I need to stop looking at her.
I fire off the first thing that comes to mind. The one thing I know will get under her skin, just so I can see that fire in her eyes again.
If I win, I get her name and number.
I don’t even hesitate before agreeing, keeping my face neutral and my voice smooth. Like I don’t already know her name.
We start the game, and I know from the first throw that she doesn’t stand a fucking chance. But I’ll give her credit, she’s stubborn as hell.
She bites her lip when she focuses, and the way she scowls at the board like it personally offended her, isn't doing anything good for me.
And when she finally lands that bullseye? The way her face lights up is the kind of shit that makes men weak. Makes them stupid.
But I’m not that kind of man.
I let her have the moment. Let her bask in it. Let her think she won something. Because in the end, the game was never actually about winning.
Cam, of course, has been laying it on thick all night, flirting like it’s a damn sport. As if no one can see exactly what he’s doing. The man doesn't even try to hide it. I’ve known him my whole life. I can spot his moves from a mile away.
I don’t make time for distractions. And I don’t care to.
Everyone around here already knows who I am. Every woman within a fifty-mile radius has already tried, and failed, to hold my interest.
It’s all fun and games until the next day, when they start calling. Maybe that makes me a dick, but I don't really give a fuck.
It’s hard to find someone who can actually hold a decent conversation without an agenda. So I don’t bother anymore.
I focus on work. Keep to myself and handle my shit. It’s easier that way. This is actually the first time I’ve been out with everyone in months.
As the game wraps up, the noise dulls to a low hum, the kind that signals the night is winding down. That’s when Cam stumbles over, clapping me on the back, grinning like a fucking idiot.
“Aye, I think I’m in love,” he declares, nearly tipping over. I catch him just in time, gripping his arm before he face-plants.
“Nah, yer just drunk,” I reply, shaking my head as I steady him.
I’ve dealt with enough nights like this to know exactly how they end. But tonight feels… different.
My attention shifts back to Raven, I know I should look away, forget about her. But I don’t. I just watch as she leans in, laughing at something Rachel says.