My anger is relieved slightly when I take in her body language. She’s not interested. She tries to push him away, but it’s not happening. And that’s my cue.
I leave, not bothering to look back at either of them. I know they’re going to be watching; I don’t give a damn what they think.
It only takes six long strides, turning my body ever so slightly between two small tables, until I’m beside her.
I lean forward, laying my jacket down and bracing my hand on the bar between my Rose and this fucker.
“I leave you alone for one night and you’re already replacing me?” I look into Rose’s widened eyes and wait for her to respond. Her breath hitches, and that sexual tension I’ve felt the last two times between us rises to a nearly unbearable level. My back is to the asshole who’s still not taking the hint. I completely ignore him.
Before she can answer me, I hear the prick clear his throat. “Hey-” His weak tone comes to a halt as I stand and turn to face him. I’m a full inch taller than him. He’s got a little muscle to him and could probably get in a good hit if he wanted, but he’s got nothing on me. I make it a habit to keep my body in shape. I have to. The thought makes my hands ball into fists until my knuckles turn white, but I release them just as fast.
“Yes?” I ask in a low, threatening voice, daring him to utter a response. I narrow my eyes and wait for him to make his move. He’s drunk, but he’s not stupid. The intimidation he's feeling is clear on his face, and he struggles to respond. He opens and closes his mouth without saying anything. His forehead’s pinched and I can tell he’s debating on how to handle it without looking like any more of an ass. I can feel eyes on us and the bar’s noticeably quieter. We’re all waiting to see what this asshole’s going to do.
But he doesn’t get a chance to do anything; instead, my eyes are drawn to Charlotte’s small hand gripping the front of my shirt. Her other hand comes around my other side to rest just above my hip. She presses her front to my back and I stifle my groan at the feel of her breasts pressed against my lower shoulders.
I look down at her as she peeks her head around my arm to look at me. Her voice is soft but strong, and on the verge of being casual. “You wanna go?”
I look back at the asshole and he takes the chance to turn on his heel and walk off without a word. Smart move on his part. When I look back at my Rose, her eyes are on him as he leaves, and she visibly relaxes, releasing her grip on me.
I miss her touch instantly. I want it back.
As soon as I turn to face her, everything changes. A spark ignites between us and she takes a hesitant step back, suddenly realizing how close she is to me for the first time. The stool behind her scratches against the floor and her hands fall behind her to grip onto it. As though it can protect her from me.
A heated moment passes as her eyes wander down my body. I let a smirk kick up my lips and enjoy the fact that she obviously likes what she sees. The same is true on my part. Up close, she’s even more beautiful. Her skin is sun-kissed, but also flushed. She has yet to disappoint me.
I wait for her eyes to find mine again. There’s a blush on her cheeks, but the confident woman that took command of the stage is staring back.
“Thank you…” she says, eyeing me warily. “For that.”
I hold her gaze. “No need to thank me, Rose.”
“It’s Charlotte-”
“Charlotte Rose… yes, I know.”
“How do you know my name?” she asks suspiciously. Her breathing picks up, making her chest rise and fall a bit faster and I find my eyes drawn to her gorgeous curves. I quickly lift my gaze back to her eyes, but I know she saw.
“I saw your presentation,” I answer simply and pull the stool out for her to take a seat.
“I saw.” A knowing look crosses her face as she slowly sits down. She parts her lips as if to say more, but the bartender brings a drink and sets it down in front of her. He looks at me and starts to ask if I want a drink, but I wave him off.
She sees and purses her lips. There’s an air of distrust around her and I can tell she’s debating on getting up and walking away. But I can’t let that happen.
Before she can come up with an excuse, I say teasingly, “I think you owe me at least one drink.” I set my hands on the bar as I say, “I’m Logan, by the way.”
“But you aren’t drinking,” she says, still eyeing me with caution.
“I’m not,” I say easily, although the fact that it makes her suspicious pisses me off. “I’m done drinking for the night.” She rests the tip of her finger on the rim of the glass as if debating if she should drink it.