Always With You - Part Two(14)

He's easily as tall as Cash, which puts him almost a head above every other man in the club. But his darkness-the midnight hair, the honey-gold skin, the jet black clothes-make him stand out all the more. He's flawless.

I acknowledge that in the most clinical way possible because Cash is still by far the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. Hands down. That's why I don't feel like noticing this guy's physical perfection is a betrayal. It's more like noticing that the sun is bright or the sky is blue. It's factual. Accurate. Honest. Even as happily married as I am, there is just no ignoring or denying the breathtaking beauty of the stranger when he walks in. Even the men seem to notice him. I'd say they're taking note for totally different reasons, though. There's a calm, confident quality to him that makes me think of extreme competence. Or maybe extreme danger. Like he has nothing to fear from anyone. Ever.

I let my eyes roam his long, muscular physique in a lightning fast skim during which I fully expect to see the bulge of a gun somewhere. That might explain this air of … dominance? Certainty? Fearlessness? I'm not sure what to call it, but whatever it is doesn't stem from carrying a gun. That much I can see. His body shows only the smooth line of his superb build, covered in snug black material from head to toe.

Back at his face, I see his eyes scan the room. Something in his expression makes me think he managed to take in and catalog even the tiniest, most insignificant of details in that one quick sweep of the space. As though he's now made an assessment of it all, he begins to weave his way between bodies in a slow, serpentine path. Every woman he passes leans slightly toward him, drawn to him without even realizing it. Every man he passes gives him a slightly wider berth, wary of him without even knowing why.



       
         
       
        

As he walks toward me, his eyes find and come to a stop on mine. He holds them as he approaches and I note that they're just as breathtaking as the rest of him. I suspected that they were a light color when I first saw him, and now I see that I was right. They're a fascinating pale caramel color, like Cash's favorite whiskey when he pours two fingers into the bottom of a glass.

There's no smile in those warm depths, but there's a solidness that tells me whatever men fear in him is no threat to me. And I'd say men definitely fear him. The ones unlucky enough to piss him off. The ones unwise enough to find themselves on the wrong side of him.

I'd say there's plenty for a woman to fear, too. At least one that's not as taken as I am. This guy isn't the bar type. He's the dark corner type, I bet. The kind that could talk a girl into pretty much anything without even trying. The kind that gets his hooks in so painlessly you don't even know you're hooked until it's too late. Until he's gone. Gone without a trace. Just a memory you can't shake. Makes me glad that my heart belongs to someone else. And that he is mine without question. Even when people like Sophie show up every now and then to put us to the test.

It's on that uncomfortable note that I become aware of practically every head in the joint turning in our direction as the tall stranger leans an elbow on the bar and gives me a crooked smile. I wouldn't doubt that just such a smile has probably dropped more panties than Wilt Chamberlain, as Ginger would say.

"Hi," he says in a voice as dark and rich as the oak of the bar.

I take a deep breath. "Hi."

He turns that crazy-hot grin on Ginger next. She's already wobbling on her barstool beside him. "So this is where all the beautiful women gather," he says offhand. When Ginger says nothing, he laughs in a rumble that dances through the air like the sexy thump of a bass drum. "What are you drinking?"

Ginger continues to stare at him for a few seconds before she stammers, "V-vodka martini, extra dirty, extra olives."

"Extra dirty?" he asks, one smooth black brow arching.

She nods as he holds her wide eyes. When he turns back to me, I see her shake her head, like she's clearing a fog from it. I can't help laughing, too. I've never seen Ginger at a loss for words before. Not. Ever.

I recover more quickly than everyone else. It seems that bit of levity snapped me right out of the weird thrall that has undeniably captivated the patronage of Dual. "What can I get you?"

"Another vodka martini for the lady. Extra dirty, extra olives."

"Yes, sir," I say as I start to make her drink. "Anything for you?" 

"A club soda, please."

"Straight? Or do you want that cut with water?" I tease.

"No, I take it straight. I like the hard stuff," he says, playing along.