Cousins: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance(10)

One amazing frackin' dimple.

His magnetic, black sable colored eyes are so deep and intense as they trace the lines of my face, I feel as if I could fall into them and end up somewhere in the land of Oz. He looks weathered, and frightening, and delicious all at the same time. The air seems to have been completely sucked out of the atmosphere, and I feel like I'm going to throw up, but in a good way–if that's even remotely possible.

"You all right?" The stranger asks while softly running two of his knuckles along the side of my face.

I nod my head up and down, speechless from his touch.

"You okay?" He turns to ask Sloan.

Sloan looks a little green around the gills but unlike me is able to find her voice.

"Yes–I just need a minute thank you. You ok Bitsy?" She asks me with one eyebrow raised. I can tell that she's trying to communicate with her eyes for me to, "get my shit together" in front of this man. This god. This man-god.

But that's Sloan. Confident and cool under pressure. Even under duress she still manages to look absolutely flawless. With her modern, auburn-dyed pixie cut which pops against her creamy caramel colored skin, God-given size D breasts, and a killer smile; for a moment I'm worried that the stranger is going to realize that he has his hand on the back of the wrong girl. Any given night of the week if we're hanging out, I'm Sloan's "wingman", never the main chick.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a slouch by any stretch, but I'm also a realist. I'm attractive, but like most women there are things that I wouldn't mind changing about myself. Like maybe the size of my very wide bell-shaped hips and probably my big hair. Sloan on the other hand doesn't need to change a thing. Heads turn when she enters a room. Men fall all over themselves to buy her a drink. She's Top Model beautiful and typically gets major attention when we hang out. So I'm kind of confused as to why the stranger doesn't seem to be as interested in her as most men are. But I guess the bigger question is, why do I even care about this? This is part of what's wrong with me. I worry about all the wrong things sometimes. I should just be happy that I've made it out of Club Lotus alive and with 20/20 vision. Not concern myself with who the man-god is interested in. Hell, my boyfriend just dumped me two seconds ago. I need to stay clear of all men. Especially ones like him.

"I'm good." I assure the two of them.

But I'm not good.

The stranger keeps staring at me in a way that is so electrically charged, that I am sure my skin feels hot to the touch. Flushed. I look away, because I feel like a colony of bats are swarming around in my gut. Blindly banging around inside my body like they're trying to find a way out but can't. I reluctantly look back up to meet his deep set eyes as he moves a few steps forward and gently lifts my chin with his strong, calloused pointer finger. It's like he knows that there is something else that I want or need to say.

"Thank you." I manage to fumble out softly. "You know for helping us out of there."

He grins in what I assume is a, “you’re welcome“ but says nothing. He just keeps staring at me.

Hard.

Sloan lets out an obvious fake cough to break the tension between us, but I am too flustered for it to do much good. My attention waffles between shifting my eyes from the stranger's perfectly shaped lips, to his ears, to the small mole on his neck, to the tip of his tattoo and everywhere else to avoid those eyes of his; clearly calculating every breath I take. I have a deep suspicion that if I stare into his eyes long enough, that he could tell me to jump off of the nearest bridge and I gladly would.

"Tell me your name." His tone has shifted. It seems more urgent and darker.

Suddenly I begin to nervously coil a few strands of my shoulder length hair around my fingers. I don't have a huge amount of experience with guys, but I know with great certainty that I'm in way over my head with this man. He looks hard and seasoned, like he's been around the block a few times, but in the best way possible. Every woman that walks by is gawking at him, and I imagine that most women are drawn to him like moths to a flame. Clearly I'm no better, since it's glaringly obvious that the stranger has the unique super power to turn me into a complete moron. I have yet to say one intelligent thing in his presence so far. It's ridiculous. I graduated on the Dean's List for goodness sake.

He reaches over to untangle the hair that I have unwittingly twined around my fingers and then moves forward to tuck the loose strands gently behind my ear. As his fingertips lightly brush the small area of skin behind my ear, I slowly blink my eyes and struggle for shallow breaths. His strong fingers move to raise my chin in order to refocus my attention on him, and when my eyes meet his gaze this time, my body betrays me in a most unmerciful way. My nipples tighten underneath my flimsy halter top and are on full alert like a pair of headlights. I don't know how he knew to take a look, but the stranger takes a sweeping glance at them, takes a small swipe of his bottom lip with his tongue, and smiles suggestively at me. That tongue move of his makes me wonder what it would feel like if he touched my taut nipples with those strong fingers and then next with that beautiful mouth. I bet it's deliciously warm and wet.