Chapter One Saylor #2
The bartender slides our drinks across the counter. I pick mine up, swirling the amber liquid before taking a sip. The whiskey
burns pleasantly as it slides down my throat.
“And what exactly are your intentions?” I ask, my voice a purr. I don’t even sound like me, but my body and mind seem to be taking over, and I’ve lost all sense of control. Saylor is in charge now. Sara would have already run.
He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. “To unravel you. To see what’s beneath the perfectly polished exterior.”
His hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me closer. The heat of his touch sears through the thin fabric of my dress.
Who in the hell says things like this?
I should walk away. I should end the night now. I should . . .
I pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. My body constricts, but I try to remain cool and collected. I’ve played this game
before, but something about this man tells me the stakes are higher. I can already tell he’s three steps ahead of me, and
I find it slightly infuriating.
“Bold of you to assume there’s anything beneath the surface. I am perfect. Always polished,” I counter, taking another sip of whiskey to aid in the courage I need to continue this banter.
The scald in my throat matches the fire igniting in my veins.
His laugh is dark, almost menacing.
“Oh, I think we both know that’s not true. I saw you up there, singing. I know there are flaws—delicious imperfections.”
“And what makes you think you’re the one who gets to unravel them?” I ask.
I focus on his beard and, with the light cast from the neon signs peppering the bar area, I see now that it’s meticulously
groomed, the edges sharp and precise. It’s not just a beard, it’s a statement. A mask, perhaps, hiding secrets I’m suddenly
desperate to uncover. And then I see something more.
There’s a hue to the blackness of the hair. A midnight blue that catches the light. His beard is so black that it somehow
breaks the color spectrum and now shimmers with an otherworldly blue tint.
“Blue,” I say.
“I never told you my name.”
“Your name is Blue?”
He lifts my hand and kisses it, an oddly old-fashioned gesture that somehow fits him perfectly. “Nice to meet you.”
I laugh at the absurdity of the name, and yet it also somehow seems so right. “Blue what? Blue . . . Beard? What’s your last
name?”
His eyes flash with amusement at my question. “Just call me Blue. And what should I call you? Little songbird? Girl in the red dress who could very well send me to the gallows by the end of the night?”
I surprise myself by leaning closer, my lips brushing against his ear. “Tonight, you can call me whatever you want.”
Who. Am. I. Right. Now?!
He growls low in his throat, his grip on me tightening. “Dangerous words, love. I might just take you up on that offer.”
I pull back, meeting his intense stare. “I’m counting on it. I’m curious now. Is all your hair blue?” My gaze lowers as I
lick my lips suggestively.
Oh dear god, did I just say that? I’ve lost my mind. I’ve completely lost my mind.
“I don’t usually do this,” I say, surprising myself with my honesty. “Mix business with pleasure, I mean.”
He leans in closer, his presence overwhelming in the best possible way. “And what makes tonight different?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe it’s the music. Maybe it’s the whiskey.” I meet his gaze. “Maybe it’s you.”
Blue smirks, finishing his whiskey in one smooth gulp. He sets the glass down with a decisive clink. “Shall we take this somewhere
more . . . private?”
This man could be a psychopath. I’m actually on the run from killers. So while some people would go home with their one-night stands, there is no way in hell I’m going to, no matter how strong
this man’s pull is on me. I need to be smart. I need to—
However . . .
I could always . . .
I down the rest of my drink. Fuck it. I’m going to act impulsively for once in my life. Before I chicken out, I take his hand
and lead him to my dressing room.
The space is small, cluttered with costumes and makeup, but it’s private. As soon as the door clicks shut behind us, Blue
pushes me against it, his body pressing into mine. His lips crash against my neck, beard tickling my skin as he trails kisses
down to my collarbone.
“Tell me,” he groans against my skin, “what’s a beautiful girl like you doing with a man like me?”
I laugh breathlessly. “Looking for trouble, it seems.”
He pulls back, his gaze connecting with mine. “That’s the answer I was hoping for.”
In one swift motion, he lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. He carries me to the small couch in the corner, laying
me down with surprising gentleness. But there’s nothing gentle about the way he looks at me, like a predator eyeing its prey.
I reach up, running my fingers through his beard. “So, Mr. Blue, are you going to show me if the carpet matches the drapes?”
He smirks, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Patience, my songbird. Good things come to those who wait.”
As he reveals more skin, I see tattoos peeking out from beneath his clothes. Intricate designs that seem to shift and move
in the dim light of the dressing room.
He’s marking every single box on my must-need sexy checklist.
? Yes.
? Yes.
? Yes.
? Yes, please!
In one fluid motion, he sheds his shirt completely. The tattoos cover his entire torso, a tapestry of chaotic colors.
He leans down, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. His tongue explores my mouth, tasting of whiskey and something darker,
more primal. I moan against him, my fingers tracing the living artwork on his chest.
As we kiss, I feel a strange tingling sensation where my skin meets his tattoos. It’s as if they’re reaching out to me, trying
to pull me in. The room starts to spin, and suddenly I’m not sure if it’s from desire or something more sinister.
“Wait,” I gasp, breaking the kiss. “I need to know . . . are you going to kill me?”
He pulls away, visibly stunned but only for a split second. “Do you ask all the men you’re with this question?”
I freeze for a moment, not wanting to reveal that I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. One-night stands have never been my jam, but I’m enjoying this ruse of being daring, bold, and spontaneous.
“Only the interesting ones,” I reply with an impish raise of my lip, my fingers still tracing the tattoos on his chest. The
tingling sensation intensifies, and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or fear surging through my body.
He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. “Oh, I do want to devour you. But killing you? That would be such a waste.”
His hand slides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher. “I have much more . . . entertaining plans for you.”
I reach out and place my hand on his lower abdomen. “Maybe I have plans for you.”
“Are you going to kill me?” he asks.
I laugh, a husky sound that echoes in the small dressing room. “Maybe. But first . . .” I reach for the button of his pants.
With deft fingers, I undo his fly, sliding my hand inside. My breath catches as I feel him, hot and hard against my palm.
And there, in the dim light of the dressing room, I see it—a faint blue shimmer amidst the dark curls.
“Well, well,” I murmur, stroking him slowly. “Looks like Mr. Blue is full of surprises.”
He groans, his hips bucking against my hand. “You have no idea, little songbird.”
Suddenly, he grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one large hand. His other hand slides up my thigh, pushing my
dress higher until it’s bunched around my waist.
His fingers then hook into the lace of my panties and pull it aside. When his mouth finds my pussy, I gasp and my hips jerk
off the couch.
“Look at me,” he says against my skin.
I force my eyes open. He’s watching me while his tongue works, and something about that eye contact makes everything more
intense. His beard scrapes against my thighs—rough, then soft, then rough again.
“Blue,” I manage to say.
He makes a sound low in his throat that I feel more than hear. He releases my hands and grips my thighs hard enough to leave marks, spreading me wider. Whatever restraint he had before is gone now. This is hungry and desperate and nothing like I expected.
When he pushes two fingers inside and curls them, I come hard. My back arches and I actually cry out—loud enough that someone
in the club definitely heard.
He keeps going until I’m shaking and trying to push him away because it’s too much. He finally lifts his head, his beard wet,
smiling like he just won something.
“Tonight is just about you,” he growls. “I like to spread out my fun over multiple nights. Tonight . . . I just want a taste.”