by Amy Lamont
Her smile fell and her gaze moved back to me. “Seriously, Em, he can’t take his eyes off you. And it’s no wonder—you’re gorgeous. You seem to be the only one who can’t see it.”
I shook my head. It wasn’t that I was ugly. Contrary to what Paige’s constant reminders might suggest, I did own a mirror that I looked into daily. Nobody was about to run screaming in horror at the sight of me.
But I definitely wasn’t gorgeous. I’d go so far as to say I was pretty. Just in an entirely forgettable sort of way. Nothing exceptional to hold someone’s attention.
Stealing one more quick look at the man at the bar, I might have to admit to being wrong. There was no doubt I held his attention.
“Go over there and get a drink,” Paige ordered. She guided me around with a hand on my arm. She took a few steps with me before moving her hand to the small of my back and giving me a gentle shove. “I’m going to get a table. You go talk to him.”
Given the choice between falling flat on my face or using the momentum of Paige’s push to move me toward the bar, I chose movement. Though for a second there, falling flat on my face sounded really appealing. Maybe I could stay down there and peer up at the snow and pretend I was anywhere but here.
Wishing the walk took hours rather than the mere seconds that passed, I slid onto the barstool next to him. I couldn’t quite work up the nerve yet to look over at him. At the same time, I was hyperaware of him.
Less than half a foot separated our bodies. His heat touched my side, as blatantly as if he pressed up against me. A hint of a warm, woodsy cologne I didn’t recognize teased my senses. I pulled in his scent with every breath. I didn’t need to look at him. I could feel him surrounding me.
My mind picked up and discarded a million and one different ways I could initiate a conversation. Saying hello seemed lame, especially as each second ticked past. All the cheesy pick-up lines my friends and I had laughed about over the years drifted through my thoughts. I’d even written a Brandi column about them.
Brandi. That was the plan for the night, wasn’t it? To become Brandi. From here on out, when in doubt I’d think WWBD—What Would Brandi Do?
I pulled in a deep breath and allowed my alter ego take over. I imagined the article I’d write—“Ten Tips to Get Him to Make the First Move.”
Okay. I could work with this.
How would Brandi get him to make the first move? And then it came to me. As naturally as breathing, I sat up straight, letting my ass come up off the stool slightly, and leaned forward, looking past him, down to the bartender on the other end of the bar. This move had two benefits. It caused my back to arch a bit, pushing my breasts out just enough to put my dress to the test. And it allowed me to catch a glimpse of him in my peripheral vision without actually making eye contact.
I raised a hand briefly when the bartender looked my way, and had to admit to a slight feeling of gratification when the bartender’s eyes dipped down to my cleavage and then he grinned and hurried over to me. I sat back on the stool, but kept my spine straight.
“What can I get you?” The bartender offered me a bright white, toothpaste commercial smile.
A quick glance from the corner of my eye told me that while I might have captured the bartender’s attention, the man beside me seemed to have lost interest. His back was now turned toward me slightly, his attention somewhere else.
Great. I held back a sigh and smiled weakly at the bartender. “Tequila and ginger ale with lime, please.”
“Rocks?”
I nodded. “Lots of it.”
Since the man who snagged my attention and set parts of me to tingling with just a look from across the room was no longer interested, maybe I could work off some sexual tension by chomping ice.
The extra ice had the added benefit of watering down my drink. If the man at my elbow was rejecting me, I didn’t need to lose my head completely. God only knew who I would walk out with in that case.
I heaved a big sigh and let my breath out slowly as I gave the hot guy another sidelong glance. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t on board with the whole sex with a stranger thing to begin with. If I couldn’t even talk to the first guy to catch my interest in forever, chances of me leaving here with anyone were slim to none.
The bartender placed a glass of icy amber liquid in front of me.
“Thanks.” I reached for the clutch I’d left on the bar.
“I’ve got this.”
I whipped my head around to see him placing cash on the bar. My gaze froze on the money for a few moments before sliding up to his face.
Mistake. Big mistake.
While he spoke to the bartender, his eyes remained on me. They were the most compelling eyes I’d ever seen. A darker amber than the drink just set in front of me with a bit of green around the center. The unique color and the way he fixated on me gave him the air of a predator.
I swallowed hard. Any idea of channeling my inner Brandi flew right out of my head. Apparently it took my ability to speak as well. I parted my lips, wanting to thank him or protest his paying for my drink or…something. But nothing came out.
As I stared at him, an emotion I couldn’t name crossed his face, his strange eyes danced with it. But as quick as it came, it was gone.
I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, my eyes wide and my gaze stuck on him. I was literally waiting with bated breath for whatever he chose to do or say.
“Come here often?”
It took me a minute as his low voice played havoc with my ability to think coherently. But eventually his words registered along with his deadpan expression. I wrinkled my nose and finally found my voice. “I wouldn’t say often. Did it hurt?”
A slight smile tilted up the corners of his mouth, but he played along. “Hurt?”
“When you fell out of heaven?” I kept my eyes wide and blinked once, very deliberately.
One corner of his mouth slid up even farther.
That’s all it took for me to lose the air of innocence I affected and a smile to break free. “Do you always start conversations with women in bars with cheesy pick-up lines?”
He leaned closer. My instincts were at war, at once warning me to take flight and at the same time urging me to lean forward and close the distance between us.
“I don’t usually start conversations with women in bars.”
“No?” I tilted my head toward my shoulder. I guess it wasn’t surprising. There was something about him, beyond just his handsome face. From the moment I set eyes on him as he brushed past me, I could almost feel him. I could sense his warmth, his restrained power, his focused intensity. I’m sure other women sensed these things about him, too, and had the same reaction.
It made my knees wobble. And it made me want to rub myself against every inch of him like a cat.
I blinked at the thought and heat flooded my face. He smiled, his white teeth flashing for the first time.
Oh, boy. I was in deep trouble here. Could he read my thoughts or was it my blush that caused the smile?
“Not really,” he said.
Not really? Not really, what? I replayed our conversation over in my head six times before I realized he was responding to my question.
This. This is why I stayed at home in my flannel pajamas and ate Chinese food out of the carton.
“What thoughts are going through that beautiful head of yours?” He shifted closer to me as he spoke.
I turned wide eyes up to him and then heard myself blurting out the truth. “This is why I stay home in my flannel pajamas and eat Chinese food out of the carton.”
That startled a laugh out of him. Normally my idiocy would make me sit there and wish for the floor to open underneath me. But I was too fascinated by the way he looked as he threw his head back and laughed to think straight.
When he looked down at me, his eyes had warmed considerably. “You don’t look like the type of woman who sits at home in her pajamas too often.” He reached out and ran a finger over the hem of my flirty litt
le dress.
My head dropped and I watched his fingers moving over the silky material. My breath caught in my throat and I tore my eyes from his hand and lifted my head to look at him. Now I knew how those deer felt when they got caught in the bright lights of an oncoming car.
Helpless, weak, wracked with fear or some emotion close to it.
I pulled in a shuddering breath. God. God. Normally I had zero interest in guys who approached me at bars. Their intentions were obvious and I wanted no part of it. I’d like to think it was because I came out tonight with “sex with a stranger” burned on my brain that I remained sitting there while he touched me.
But that wasn’t it. It was all him. There was something magnetic about him, pulling me to him. I couldn’t move if a train were headed in my direction.
I tore my eyes from him, hoping that losing that connection would help me get my senses under control.
I immediately sought out Paige. Maybe I could send up the flag and she’d come rescue me. I was beyond out of my league. Why did I think for a minute I could sit here and flirt with this man?
As I looked for my friend, my eyes wandered over several men sitting alone or in groups of two or three. They all looked like what you’d expect from this type of place—businessmen, travelers, most well dressed. And any of them would have been a safer bet to sit down next to.
I finally located Paige.
Hmm. If I tried to give her a signal to bail me out, there was a good chance she’d miss it. And the reason she’d miss it sat indecently close to her at a small table in the corner. The only man in the room who could come close to rivaling my current companion when it came to good looks and pure magnetism. What the hell? Was there a convention? The Mona Lisa smile playing over her lips let me know she was quite happy with the attention.
Definitely no help coming from that direction.
I twisted my head back to my own Mr. Magneto. And sighed inwardly. He’d pulled his hand away from toying with my dress, but I would swear I could still feel the heat emanating from his hand racing along my thigh.
A picture of the garters I fastened on earlier flashed through my mind. I glanced down and relief surged through me seeing that the tops of my stockings and my garters remained covered.
“Am I boring you?”
I quickly looked up and held back a gulp when I saw all the laughter had faded from his expression. His face was a total blank now.
“N-n-no.” Great, now I was stuttering. Maybe I could spill a drink down his shirt and make myself officially the biggest dork that ever lived. I shook my head. “Sorry. My mind just wandered.”
He turned and scanned the room. His eyes paused on each of the men I’d looked at in my search for Paige. Shit.
“Looking to see if there’s a better prospect here perhaps?” His voice dripped ice and he turned and pinned me with his gaze once again, only this time there was nothing there but cold. “Wondering if you missed out by letting your friend get to the rock star first?”
My mouth dropped open and my head twisted back to where Paige sat, looking up flirtatiously from beneath her lashes at the man sitting close to her.
I turned back to my companion. “He’s a rock star? Who is he?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”
“Um, he’s with my best friend. And rock stars are not exactly known for their strong moral fortitude. I need to know if I should wade in and try to save her from herself and whatever he has planned.” Not like it would be the first time.
“Your friend looks like a big girl who can take care of herself.”
“Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving.” My gaze dipped back down to my own outfit. Suddenly I felt like a high-priced call girl, all dressed up and trolling a bar for a man to hook up with. Despite the appeal of the man sitting next to me, I once again had a strange longing for pink flannel.
“Hey.” He reached over and used a finger under my chin to pull my eyes back up to meet his. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Paige and the rock star leaned close together, talking. He was right. Nothing too sinister there.
I turned back to him and butterfly wings brushed my stomach as I saw the hint of warmth back. Can you say mental whiplash?
“So are you going to tell me more about flannel pajamas and Chinese food?” he asked.
I shook my head, more to clear the mental cobwebs than in answer to his question, but yeah. No way was I going to share my usual evening routine. Time to change the subject. “Are you going to tell me your name?”
He sat back just a bit, the move so subtle, if I wasn’t hyper-focused on him, I might have missed it. Was he surprised by my question?
“You don’t know my name?”
I tipped my head to the side and pulled my brows together. “Should I?”
He gave me a hard look before answering. “My name’s Nate.”
The words came from him slowly, as if he was reluctant to share. Or maybe he gave me a fake name. Not unheard of. A debate waged in my mind in that moment over whether I should give him my real name or my pen name. Being Brandi had served me fairly well up until now. Maybe I’d continue to hide behind her.
But when I locked eyes with him, he regarded me so intently, almost as if he was searching for something. I couldn’t bring myself to give him a fake name. Maybe I could gloss over it unless he pushed me. Didn’t “sex with a stranger” imply names weren’t all that important?
“Nate, huh? Is that short for Nathan?”
An odd emotion once again raced across his face, so quick it was gone before I could even begin to guess what it was.
“It’s short for Nathaniel.”
His strong, quietly spoken words made me shiver. I peered at him from under my lashes and shivered again at being the singular focus of this man’s intense scrutiny. I reached for my drink in an effort to give myself a little time to get my reactions to him under control.
I took a pull of the tequila and ginger ale through two red cocktail straws. The icy liquid hit my tongue and I relished the tangy taste along with the chill it carried down my throat and into my belly. If only I could get away with rubbing the chilled glass over my hot cheeks.
When I turned my attention back to him, I could see amusement crinkling the corner of his eyes. I guess I wasn’t playing things too cool. The man obviously knew the effect he had on me. I rolled my eyes and had to grin at my own dorkiness. What else could I do?
“I’m Emma.” I figured at this point there was no hiding behind Brandi. I might be able to write good sex, but in person, nobody was going to confuse me with a sex goddess. Might as well go with the straightforward approach.
“Nice to meet you, Emma.” The way he said my name made the butterflies in my stomach take up flight and start a whole new migration pattern.
I swallowed. Hard.
I searched my mind for something to say. In an instant I rejected the weather, politics, current events and sixteen other topics. This was so much easier in college when you could ask about majors and career plans and whether or not someone lived in a dorm or off campus. What the heck was I supposed to ask someone in real life? Nate looked young but powerful. Probably around twenty-six or twenty-seven. But despite his age he looked like he’d long since put away chatter about campus life.
The silence grew and became almost uncomfortable. For me anyway. He seemed perfectly at ease and genuinely amused at my discomfort. I pressed my lips together and glanced around the room once more, desperate for a topic of conversation.
Taking in the winter wonderland that surrounded us, I almost blew out a sigh of relief. How could I forget we were in such amazing surroundings? I turned my eyes back to Nate.
“Are you staying at the hotel?” I asked.
His lips twitched. “No. I had a meeting here earlier and decided to stop for a drink before I head home.”
“Me too. Not about the meeting,” I rushed to explain, “but stopping in for a drink.”<
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“So you do come here often?” he teased.
I laughed and shook my head. “No. I do try to stop in every year around Christmas to see the magic.” I cast a wistful look around the room, the beauty of the scene causing a little pang of homesickness in my heart. “It’s sort of a tradition for me.”
His gaze followed mine before he gave a casual shrug, apparently dismissing the whimsical décor. “Just one more thing bringing hordes of tourists into the city this time of year.”
I blinked at his cynicism. How could anyone sit here surrounded by the winter magic and not be enchanted? Not to mention all the city had to offer around the holidays. Granted, the tree in Rockefeller Center and the holiday-themed store windows could make walking down some streets a little hairy this time of year. But if you lived in the city, it was easy enough to figure out times to take in the sights and avoid the crowds.
I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth. I didn’t want to admit to this man that the idea of the city at Christmas was one of the deciding factors when I chose to go to college here. It didn’t hurt that my closest friends made the same decision. But I’d always loved the wonder of the city when every inch of it was decorated and a Santa waited around every corner.
“I guess I can understand not liking the crowds, but this,” I let my eyes roam the room again, enjoying the sense of wonder seeping into me again, “it’s pure magic.”
He glanced around the room and shrugged. “It’s good business for the hotel.” He turned to the bar and took a long sip of his drink.
My eyes grew wide. His bah humbug attitude almost made my heart hurt. I wanted to jump in and explain about the magic of Christmas. How celebrating this season the way I celebrated with my parents, kept them with me always.
But I bit my lip and kept my eyes trained on his profile, studying his carefully controlled expression. He didn’t give much away, but something about his posture, his too-blank features, made me question his cynicism. The grief-stricken fourteen-year-old girl that lived inside me, the one who still pined for the parents taken from her too soon, recognized something in the man sitting beside me. I couldn’t help but feel his careful control hid something, hid the same kind of sorrow I knew all too well.
