Nic decided to raise the stakes. He was about to move in for the kill when the lady in the red wig abruptly stood up from her stool and started walking away from the bar, leaving him stupidly staring after her retreating back, her shapely legs, and her pertly rounded bottom. What the −? Nic decided to follow her. She wasn’t allowed to start a raging forest fire and leave him alone to douse the flames.
“Watch it, man!” an aimlessly loitering punk yelled as he quickly jostled him out of his direct path, as if he was in a polo match and he was riding the opposing team off, his eyes locked in on the red wig like a moving target. Nic’s relief was palpable as he spotted her lining up for the ladies’ room. She wasn’t leaving yet. He slumped on the wall at the back of the room beside several television screens, not caring if he looked odd. Hell, this was Vegas. Odd was the norm.
She was about tenth in line. He could see her because he had walked over to the corner at the back end of the room with a good view of the queue. Unlike the other women who were fidgeting, playing with their hair, or laughing with their gal pals, the lady in the red wig held herself quite still. Her arms were crossed below her breasts, a purse or whatever women called it dangling from one hand. Her gaze was fixed on the stage but she made no unnecessary movements. A flash of light from the door of the loo opening illuminated the women and backlit them. Nic spied red wig lady’s fingers drumming on her arm in an irregular rhythm. A nervous tell. Interesting, Nic thought, his eyes never leaving his target.
* * *
“Listen up, people. Let’s give our next performer, a first timer here at The Space Bar, a warm welcome.”
Lexie approached the stage nervously. Right foot step, left foot step. Easy. Now if she could only stop her knees from buckling.
“Let’s all hear it from Red from−,” DJ Twist frowned. He had forgotten to ask where she was from. He shoved the microphone in front of her face.
“I’m−uh, from, a principality,” Lexie blurted out nervously, “far, far away.” Idiot! She couldn’t believe she had just said that. There was snickering from the crowd. She licked her lips, which had suddenly become dry. Somebody wolf−whistled. She hoisted the edge of her bustier dress higher.
“Oh, a foreigner,” DJ Twist said glibly.
“Go kill ‘em, Lexie!” someone screamed. It was Blair somewhere by the far end of the room, judging by the way she was hollering, trying to be heard above the din.
“Good luck, sweetheart,” DJ Twist winked before removing himself from the stage. Lexie just barely stopped herself from clutching at his coat in terror. She felt all the blood pooling in her legs.
The familiar opening chord of the Britney Spears song started to play. Lexie felt faint. “Oh baby, baby,” she croaked, her frightened gaze glued to the monitor. The audience had gone strangely quiet. She cleared her throat. “Oh baby, baby,” she sang again, trying to look for Blair’s friendly face in the crowd, but it was too dark to make out the back end of the bar. Her eyes moved over the tables in front of the platform. Most of them appeared drunk, thank Zeus. Some were grinning at Lexie. A few were busy talking amongst themselves.
Where was Blair? Her eyes continued to pan the room while mouthing off the lyrics robotically, cringing. Her bravado had suddenly deserted her. Oh, please let this just all be a dream. She closed her eyes for an instant then opened them again. Nope, no dream. Just a foolish, embarrassing mistake.
Her eyes skittered to a stop at the right most side of the bar. In a corner stood the handsome, sexy stranger. He was clutching a beer bottle. Lexie, despite her performance anxiety or probably because of it, latched on to the fascinating detail of the cleft in his chin to keep her anchored and prevent herself from being carried away on a wave of massive embarrassment. As if sensing her stage fright, he smiled again and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
And at that instant, the alcohol must have kicked in because Lexie couldn’t explain why at that moment, her fears just melted away.
“Work it!” shrieked the still-missing but very supportive Blair.
She managed a smile. If she couldn’t sing, she would do the one other thing she knew she could do well. She glanced at the handsome stranger, grateful for his show of support, and then she worked it.
* * *
Nic had never in his entire life heard anyone singing as horribly out of tune as his lady in the red wig was now doing. He felt her pain. Clearly, she was not self-deluded, reading the embarrassment in her stiff posture, the reluctance in the way she opened her mouth to sing. Was it a dare? Because it appeared the last place she wanted to be was on that stage.
She was looking for someone amongst the crowd. Nic had thought she had gone in alone. A boyfriend perhaps, he thought, surprised at his jealousy. But then he heard a woman’s voice yelling from the crowd; “Go kill ‘em, Lexie.” The accent was American.
He saw Red or rather Lexie trying to place where the voice was coming from. Her eyes met his in her search. He smiled and flashed her the thumbs−up sign. Good luck, rojita, he thought because whatever it was she was trying to do, she obviously had to work up some courage to see it through. Nic didn’t know how he knew without having exchanged a single word with her. Just like with the horses, he knew.
“Work it, Lexie,” the same woman hollered.
He saw her force a smile and then suddenly he sensed a change in her demeanor. She was still singing, about somebody hitting her one more time. Ridiculous song, Nic scoffed mentally, but then his thought processes screeched to a grinding halt when she started moving. Her hips started swaying sinuously, undulating sexily in perfect synchrony to the beat of the music. One hand was running in sultry slowness across the top of her breasts. Nic’s mouth probably dropped open. Bloody hell. He was getting uncomfortably turned on by her dancing. And so was probably half of the audience.
Glancing at them, Nic saw the hungry, leering looks of some of the men.
“Take it off,” one of them shouted lewdly. He scanned the audience, trying to locate the dickwad. Nic was about to stalk off and pound some sense into the man when he realized the song was coming to an end.
As the final notes played, he saw Lexie with her back to the crowd. She tossed her fake hair over her shoulder, smacked her bottom, and unbelievably, with a side twist of her head, pouted at the audience. The room erupted into cheers. She bowed gracefully, one leg behind the other.
“Whew!” DJ Twist came back on stage and made a show of mopping his brow. “That was hot!”
Lexie came down the stage on the opposite side of where Nick was, almost tripping on the uneven flooring. The lewd man had managed to get to her before Nic did and he swore, making his way across the whole length of the stage. He saw Lexie by a corner trying to shrug off a pale, meaty hand digging into her arm.
“Bugger off, mate” Nic growled to the inebriated executive-looking type, glancing pointedly at his hand still manacled to Lexie. “The lady is with me.”
“I saw her first,” Executive Type growled back, eyeing Nic’s much taller and bigger frame warily but refusing to back down.
“I said she’s with me,” Nic thundered, nostrils flaring as he shoved the man backwards in an attempt to pry him off Lexie. The man was tenacious as a barnacle. Nic’s shoving caught him off balance and he started tipping backwards, bringing Lexie, who gave a small yelp of surprise, down with him.
Nic helped her up. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she replied, a bit out of breath but still retaining her poise. “Yes. Thank you.”
Her cat eyes threatened to knock the wits out him. “Let’s get out of here,” he said and cupped her by the elbow.
But it seemed Executive Type had other ideas. Nic felt a tap on his shoulder and when he swung around, only his very fast reflexes saved him from getting jabbed in the face.
“Cabeza de pija!” Nick cursed, dropping Lexie’s elbow and lunging at Executive Type, flattening him to the floor in the blink of an eye. Executive Type wasn’t giving up without a fight. Grapplin
g on the floor, they managed to pull out some cables that were connected to the spotlight and plunged the stage into darkness.
“What the fuck?” Current wannabe singer on stage said over the microphone, stopping mid-song. Nic heard Lexie let out an unladylike shriek. He risked a quick glance and saw that she was walloping Executive Type with her bag whenever the prick managed to come out on top as they were rolling and tussling on the floor.
“Oww!” Executive Type yelled when she managed to land a solid one on his head.
The commotion drew the attention of the bouncers, who quickly separated the adversaries.
“Knock it off,” the massive bouncer told Executive Type, who was struggling to break free. The bouncer had him by the collar, but slippery as an eel, he broke off and quickly ran to a fire exit.
“Lexie!”A woman came running to the scene of the crime, trailed by a dorky looking young man. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Blair,” Lexie replied, tugging on her dress, which had ridden up higher on her shapely thighs. Her legs were bare.
“Goodness! You sure know how to make up for years of lost excitement.” He presumed the excitable new arrival Blair was the supportive, hollering woman from the crowd.
“Nothing to see. Nothing to see. Carry on.” The other bouncer, the smaller one, interrupted the reunion. “He says you’re with him, miss?” The muscle man turned to Lexie.
Nic paused in the act of wiping what he suspected was blood from the side of his mouth with a napkin. Their eyes locked.
“Yes, I’m with him,” she replied.
A rush of relief, staggering in its intensity, flooded Nic with her words. And then came the sense of rightness of it all. She was his.
“Uh-uh. Not so fast.”
Nic’s head swiveled to the one called Blair. He noticed the fake bob. What was with the atrocious hairpieces and these two? He decided to be charming to Lexie’s friend.
“Hello. I’m Nic.” He extended a bruised hand for Blair to shake. Nothing felt broken. Gracias a Dios. Rupert would lose it if he couldn’t play at the finals match.
“I’m her cousin, Bl−oh my fucking God.” Blair’s eyes widened as she got a good look at his face for the first time. “Um, Lexie,” she said, her fascinated stare never leaving him. “You do know who he is, right?”
Nic’s eyes flicked back to Lexie, who was now watching him with a puzzled frown, as if trying to place him. “He says he’s Nic. Do you two know each other?”
“Nooo,” Blair said slowly, her voice sounding strangled as she pulled her gaze away from him to swivel her neck and glance at her cousin.
He waited several beats for Blair to enlighten her. He could see Lexie’s friend subtly widening her eyes, wiggling her eyebrows and cocking her wigged head several times in his direction in a mystifying non-verbal series of signals. Lexie stared back blankly, looking for the world as stumped as he was. In frustration, Blair rolled her eyes.
“What the hell,” she huffed, giving up. “You two have fun.”
“I’ll take care of her,” Nic said firmly, daring Blair to contradict.
Brown eyes speared him with warning. “Make sure that you do.” She turned to Lexie, a sudden naughty grin splitting her face and whispered loudly enough for Nic to hear, “Honey, let him take care of item number two on your list.” And with that parting shot, she was gone, the dorky man trailing after her like a lovesick puppy.
Even with the dim lighting inside the bar, Nic noted the blush that bloomed on Lexie’s cheeks. A list? Item number two that he could take care of? He grinned. Curiouser and curiouser.
Chapter Three
Stepping outside The Space Bar, Lexie inhaled the dry, bracing desert air. It was a small shock how quickly her nose had adjusted to the odors inside the bar. Now the air smelled somewhat astringent. She risked a peek at Nic, who had fallen in step beside her as their footsteps crunched on the sidewalk pavement.
He shot her a side glance. A small smile was playing around his beautiful lips. “Here,” he said, taking off the navy blue sports coat he was wearing. “You’re cold.”
They paused in front of a brightly lit convenience store. Lexie took the coat without hesitation and covered herself with the lingering warmth from his body. She was indeed cold, more used to the Mediterranean climate of her island home. She looked up to thank him and the words died in her throat.
He appeared taller standing close to her. His plain V-neck shirt emphasized his broad shoulders, tapering to narrow hips hugged by denims. His dark hair was a bit longer than she was used to seeing on men, and the edges would have just touched the collar of the coat he had removed. In the reflected fluorescent light from the store, his cheekbones appeared more brutal, his jawline a slash of jagged masculinity. His skin was tanned, almost olive. But the single most arresting thing in his face were his eyes. The contrast of his electric blue eyes with his dark hair and skin was so unexpected Lexie couldn’t stop staring. Again.
And he was staring right back. Lexie’s breathing grew labored. She wanted to break the intensity of the moment, but she could not move. Was loathe to. All she could manage was to bite a corner of her lip and inflict pain on herself so she could snap out of this enchantment. He caught her small movement and his eyes drifted leisurely down to her lips.
“I−I want to thank you,” she found her voice at last. It sounded thin, tremulous. “For what you did back there.”
With seeming reluctance, he tore his gaze from her lips. “There is no need to thank me.” Lexie detected an accent in his deep baritone. Not American.
She dug her hands into the pocket of his coat and avoided his eyes. “I might have incited it.”
She saw his jaw clench and then his answer came out swift and angry. Lexie was startled by the sudden change. ”Don’t make excuses for that twat’s behavior. He was out of line. I’m glad I was able to land several on that arsehole.” Strangely, she was fascinated by this show of volatility. It was such a contrast to the men she came in contact with. Stefan was taciturn. Her male cousins were polite, amiable. Her bodyguards were probably advised not to get too friendly with her.
“Nevertheless, you have my thanks.” Her eyes sought his once more. Dear God, here we go again, she thought, bracing herself for the discomfiting effect he had on her.
At the Royal residence in Seirenada, there was an old tower that had served as the lookout for marauding invaders during the Middle Ages. It was so high that on clear days you could see all the way to neighboring Malta. Lexie was ten when she was deemed capable enough to ascend the hundreds of steps all the way to the summit. Reaching the top, Lexie got her first look out of the open window and gasped in awe at the panorama of the sky, sea, and the hundreds of sienna-colored rooftops that was typical of houses in the principality. She leaned closer and looked all the way down. The sheer drop to the courtyard below made her suddenly dizzy. Her heartbeat started racing in fear but she couldn’t look away. She imagined herself climbing on the ledge and jumping off the window. Stefan’s hand on her shoulder broke the disturbing hold of the yawning chasm. It was the same strange pull she felt looking into Nic’s eyes.
“You’re hurt,” she said, her words coming out thick and slightly slurred, intoxicated more by this man than any substance she had ingested inside the bar. She spotted a small cut on the corner of his lip and the outer edge of an eyebrow. She felt guilty for just noticing. Before she even realized it, her hand had shot out and she was already tracing the gash by his mouth with a trembling finger. She heard his sharp intake of breath and noted the darkening in his blue eyes.
“It’s nothing,” he dismissed, catching her hand with his own before she had a chance to pull it away, guiding her palm flat against the landscape of his jawline and cheek. Pinning her with a hot, intense gaze that made her tingle in several places all at once, he murmured huskily, “There is one thing you can do to make it better, though.”
The last thought Lexie had was that she was thankful she didn’t hav
e onion rings to go with her burger before his hands cupped the nape of her neck to draw her in and claim her for an all-consuming, soul-destroying mating of lips, tongue, and mouth.
He started out gentle and warm, his seeking lips all over her face, tenderly brushing her forehead, then her eyelids, her nose, each cheek, and then her chin. Lexie smiled at his tender thoroughness then jerked in shock when his tongue swept from one end of her upper lip to the other before doing the same thing to her lower lip. She gasped in surprise, and Nic took the opportunity to plunge his tongue inside her mouth. As his actions grew bolder, Lexie’s knees grew weaker. Her arms clamped tighter around Nic’s back to prevent herself from collapsing like an accordion on the pavement. In return, he grasped her bottom and pressed her hips flush to his. And that was when Lexie felt his arousal.
Nic broke off the kiss, his breath sounding ragged. He drew Lexie to his chest, his chin resting on top of her head. She could make out the rapid beating of his heart and guessed hers was just as fast.
“Holy shite,” he uttered, and Lexie chuckled weakly because he perfectly encapsulated the giddy wonder she was feeling at their instant, total connection. A connection she could not, should not, allow to go further after tonight.
* * *
Nic took her hand firmly in his. She could feel calluses on his fingertips. She squelched her curiosity – she didn’t want to break the spell. If she started the questions, she would then have to answer his. No. Tonight she would be Lexie the…the Fearless! Yes, Lexie the Fearless. It had a very nice ring to it.
“You have a very determined look on your face right now.” Nic gave her hand a firm tug and anchored her closer to him, maneuvering her away from an uneven crack on the pavement. She smelled a hint of his crisp cologne, overpowered by the clinging notes of secondhand cigarette smoke and beer. Lexie suspected she didn’t smell any better.
“Do I?” she sidestepped the implied question. Out of the corner of her eye, he saw his lips pull into another smile.
The Princess Finds Her Match Page 4
