A Beautiful Distraction(18)

A tangible current charged between them. It was heady and carnal. She swallowed. She didn’t lust. She didn’t. Yet her body begged to differ. Her pulse accelerated and a twisting started in her chest and worked its way into her stomach, spreading a warmth she never expected.

His eyes seemed to have that effect on her, though. There was a depth to them, like a secret or a promise or maybe even a threat, and it compelled her, confined her.

Forcing herself to desert the embrace his eyes had hers in, she lowered her gaze. She had to. His eyes were like quicksand.

His jaw was relaxed, his mouth parted, and his breathing still labored. There was a scar on his bottom lip. Deep, as if a slice of his beautifully crafted mouth had been removed. It continued down the side of his chin, down his neck, and disappeared beneath the buttoned collar of his shirt.

One shoulder blade was resting against the doorframe and his arms were folded across his chest. The intensity of his posture had eased some, no longer ridged and tense. He looked, unaffected, approachable.

Touchable.

Dropping his arms to his sides, he pushed off the door and took a cautious step toward her. “You okay?” he asked. His misplaced concern confused her. Why was he asking if she was okay?

“Me? I’m not the one who’s got blood dripping down my face.” As the words left her mouth she understood his worry. There was a quake to her voice, an uncertainty that apparently mirrored her expression, and she hated it.

She didn’t understand her body’s response to him. The confidence and control she survived on was faltering under his very presence—so, no, she wasn’t exactly okay.

Frowning, he moved closer. A faint heat flushed her neck and her mouth parted. She had the desire to retreat, but an undeniable need to remain where she was won out. He was overwhelming, tall and broad, and his nearness swallowed her completely.

She was a woman, raised to be poised and graceful, to exude femininity. Yet she had never in her entire life felt more feminine than she did at this very moment.

He was nothing but pure man, rough and masculine. His physique was raw and intimidating, confident in his movements—completely sexy. And there was a danger to him, a darkness. It was as if he was layered in pain, contoured in aggression. Yet she didn’t fear him in the least. As he remained focused on her, his mouth slack, his eyes sharp, she saw reassurance, tenderness.

It was a wanton urge, an electric physical attraction, and she felt it from her scalp to her toes. She didn’t think any woman would be capable of feeling anything less than attraction to him.

He lifted his arm and Fallon’s eyes flitted to the sleeves of his shirt, where red drops were splattered. His hand moved toward her as if he was going to wrap it around her nape or run it through her hair. But he stopped, his eyes darting to his knuckles, where crimson cracks of dried blood were already forming.

His brows pulled in and he turned from her, rubbing the back of his neck. He was struggling with his apparent need to comfort her—however unnecessary it was—and with his reluctance to touch her. Releasing a low, quiet grunt, he balled his fists and dropped them back to his sides.

“Dammit, look—”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. Rushing to the bathroom, she snatched the towel she had draped over her tub after her bath that afternoon. Good—it was still a little damp.

Latching onto the sides of the pedestal sink, she paused in front of the mirror and pulled in a deep gulp of air. A soft blush fanned across her cheeks, and her chest rose and fell with long breaths. She looked . . . not like herself. Straightening, she sucked in one last breath. Whatever hypnotic effect this man had on her was ending . . . now.

Once she was a little more composed, she strutted back into the office. She wouldn’t allow herself any more weakness. “Here,” she said, tossing the towel against his chest as she stepped back in front of him.

“Thanks,” he replied, already wiping the drying blood from his knuckles.

She rested her hand on his forearm and gave him a gentle shove so she could move him out of her doorway and get him the hell out of there. Controlling the situation—that was what she needed to do. She’d stood solid for far too long to get weak in the knees over a bad boy with addictive eyes.

“You can wash up in a few minutes but right now we need to leave.” Quickly, she locked up behind her. “Let’s go. I can guarantee my bartender has already called the cops, and if we’re lucky we’ll get you out of here before they show up.”

Simone, her bartender, didn’t put up with any man’s shit and she didn’t care about the who, the what, or the why—which was one reason Fallon liked to keep her around. So she knew that this knight in shining armor didn’t have much time to get out of there. Not to mention her VIP section was chock-full of influential men who could easily have him thrown behind bars in the blink of an eye.