The Lover's Game(25)

Holy pearls!

He was tall, around six-two. So tall I had to push my head back to see all the way up. Peering up into the darkest eyes I had ever seen, I swallowed hard.

He had a wolf’s eyes. The kind of eyes that could undress a woman with as little as a glance—the kind of eyes that would haunt you in your daydreams. His raven hair was still wet, as if he had just stepped out of the shower. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing strong arms, which were crossed over his chest as he regarded me with a frown. Dressed in a black shirt and black pants that accentuated his broad shoulders and his narrow hips, he looked as magnificent as the night.

There was something dark and brooding about him, something dramatic, something I was drawn to. His forehead was creased with lines, and his mouth was soft but unsmiling. Without a doubt, he was attractive—not sexy so much as mysterious, maybe even untouchable and unattainable.

I instantly knew that he was the kind of man who would take a long time to figure out. The kind of man I’d probably date as a rebound, only for fun and to boost my confidence, without giving away my heart. He was someone who could see me through hard times and make me forget—if only for one night.

The possibility flashed in my brain.

If only I wasn’t scared as hell...

“I’m sorry.” As I glanced back to my friends, my eyes searching for them in the crowd, I realized they were gone.

Of course.

They had done their job, and now I was left with a complete stranger.

“Sit down.” He pulled a curtain aside, his hand touching the small of my back, leaving me no choice but to enter the empty booth.

I knew I should get far away from him, but for some reason I couldn’t. I sat down on one of the chairs, my pulse racing so fast I was sure he could hear it. Nervously, I scanned the small space. His jacket was thrown carelessly over the back of a third chair. Car keys rested on the table next to a glass of scotch. The string curtain shielded us from prying eyes, but it also made the entire experience strange, almost intimate. The booth was small and poorly lit, and for a moment, I was happy that there were no walls—just hundreds of tiny black strings surrounding us. In case I needed to get away, it would be easy enough to make a mad dash.

The stranger pushed his chair close to mine. With my heart pounding against my chest, I watched him quickly close the distance between us and sit down. Maybe it was the violet lights reflecting in his eyes, giving them a brilliant, cold blue hue, but the way he looked at me, his gaze seemed to penetrate every layer of my soul. For a few seconds, I felt something between us.

Something clicked. Hot and tangible.

Passion?

Gina’s words came to mind.

This is your chance, Jenna. This is him: your guy of the night.

I realized she might have been right about that.

“Your name?” he asked. Even the way he asked me screamed dominance, as though he was entitled to all—not just my name but also my body and mind.

“Jenna,” I said my sister’s name without hesitation and stretched out my hand in what I thought was a confident manner, though truthfully, all my confidence had flown out the door the moment he had turned his gaze on me. He made me nervous, even more so because he was hard and beautiful.

Beautiful to look at, hard to hold on to.

He was like a beautiful angel carved in stone—not a peaceful seraph but the punishing kind, one who wouldn’t hesitate to draw his sword and go to war to fight anything or anyone that stood in his path. An angel to fear. And fear was what I felt.

“Check.” His hand reached out, and the moment his fingers curled around mine, an electric tingle ran down my spine. His hands were strong, warm, and callused. The kind of hands I wanted to grab and hold me right there, in that space, where I was floating.

My pulse raced.

“Check?” I asked, unable to stop the amusement from creeping into my voice as I repeated his name. “Check, as in...paper money?”

“Yeah, but more like a bill of exchange.” He nodded slowly and for the first time, he smiled, revealing two rows of perfect, white, gorgeous teeth—teeth I could imagine nibbling on my lips. “It’s not about the money though. It’s about getting what others owe you. Do you like owing, Jenna, or would you prefer to be owed?”

My heart skipped a beat at the way he looked at me, and his voice sent shivers up my skin.

He leaned forward, closer, until I almost choked on my breath.

“How about I give you something so you’ll owe me?” he asked quietly.

His words spun in my mind as I struggled to make sense of them. He looked like a lone wolf: wild, powerful, ready to pounce and ravish my body in a hard way. He was what Sylvie liked to call a DBM: a dark, broody, moody guy—someone who couldn’t be held on to.