Married to the Bad Boy(21)

Tony.

The man who I slapped just a few days ago.

He’s the biggest guy in the bar by far and he sits in his seat, twirling his cocktail with a small smile as he looks across the beer taps, right at me. His eyes strike at me with the force of a javelin. I feel immediately warm, and my face flushes as I smile back at him.

He’s not pissed.

That washes over me in a wave of relief.

Despite his immaculate suit, there’s something rough about him. Maybe it’s the dark hair, flying around his head as if he intentionally mussed it up—or his hooded, unflinching eyes, or the way he watches me with a thrilling confidence. I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

A slow burn builds up over my face as I watch him closely, unable to sustain his heated gaze. What a joke. I slapped him when he hit on me the other day. It was one of my first few days in Montreal, and I was stressed out of my mind. He still deserved it, but he’ll probably laugh in my face if I ask him out now.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a grin and his eyes flick down to my cleavage, slowly raking up my body until he meets my gaze again. His eyebrows lift and he gives me another devious smirk, one that sends a hot line of desire all the way down my back. Holy fuck, if that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.

Then I know that he’s the one I have to go home with. Just like that, my mind is made up.

My cheeks flush when I think about straddling his waist, his full mouth kissing a line down my throat. I wanted to go home with the meanest-looking man in the bar, and he fits the bill exactly. He turns his head and the smile evaporates from his face. Suddenly he looks like a viper, ready to strike. Like he could fuck up the first person who touches him.

Jesus.

I’m startled by the transformation, and I lose my nerve for a moment. Suppose he’s worse than Rafael?

Don’t really have a choice. Yeah, I’m that desperate.

So how do I do it? Do I just ask him now? Apologize first?

I’ve never done this before. Rafael was my first, and he was the one who pursued me.

It shouldn’t be that hard—just pretend you’re someone else!

I grab a glass from the counter and pour a beer, blushing hard as I walk from the bar to give him a drink.

No, this won’t work if you act like a blushing virgin. You need to be desirable. Be desirable.

Right. I compose myself for a moment and head for his back, trying to ignore the wildly flying butterflies in my stomach. The bar is so packed that I have to squeeze my body beside him.

My heart pounds somewhere in my throat as I take his shoulder with my left hand and slide the drink under his nose. God, this guy has muscles. I can feel them through his suit. His shoulder is rock hard.

His head turns slightly. “Who is this from?”

I smile at him, cocking my head. “Me.”

His lips pull slightly. “If you’re here to hit me again, think again. You got me once, sweetheart. You won’t get me again.” He takes a sip from the drink politely and licks his lips slowly. Damn. The way he looks at me sends shivers down my spine.

“I really—I wanted to apologize for that. It was rude, I’m sorry.”

Actually, you kind of deserved it.

“Are you? Or are you just here to ask me for something?”

There are other women looking at him hopefully from across the bar, and a spasm of fear suddenly clenches my heart.

Now what do I do?

My heart pounds absurdly hard against my chest as he leans on the bar, turning his body toward me. I’m struck by his size, and his closeness momentarily robs me of breath. His eyes watch me with an unrelenting intensity, and he smiles, deep dimples carving into his face. A swooping feeling in my stomach makes me weak, and I forget about my brazen plan.

“I am really sorry. I was just—really stressed.”

My fingers brush his shoulder again, and he turns his head. Heart hammering, I lean closer and touch my lips to his cheek. The smell of his hair surrounds me for a moment and then I pull back, already blushing hard.

He doesn’t smile. “Look, I told you before. I can’t help you.”

“I know.” I sit down next to him, not knowing where the hell I should start. He was all over me the other night, but now he’s keeping his distance.

You did slap him, idiot.

“I—I want to take you up on your offer.”

“Take me up on my offer?” He smiles, laughing through his nose. “It’s called fucking, Elena. You want me to fuck you. Say it.”

The word slams through me. Fuck. From his mouth, it sounds so damn dirty. I won’t lie, the thought of going home with him and stripping off all my clothes scares the shit out of me. The man’s gorgeous, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that the only man I’ve ever been with is Rafael. I’ve never had a one-night stand. Never would have considered jumping into bed with a guy this quickly.