Page 10 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

Delilah.

There’s an attractive man sitting next to her, young, late twenties maybe.

A smile splits my face. Next to her, I’m so not overdressed.

She beams when she sees me, waving a hand to join them.

“Dels.” I lean in to air-kiss both cheeks before sliding in next to her. “You look like a sin I’m dying to commit.”

Delilah’s laugh is throaty and a little too loud. “Oh honey, you’re not too bad yourself.”

She gestures to her companion. “Luna, this is Eduardo. He’s an art collector.”

I offer my hand with a polite smile. He takes my proffered hand, holding it longer than necessary and flashing me a slow, appreciative smile that’s supposed to melt me.

I settle into the booth beside Delilah and whisper, “Client?”

Delilah’s eyes twinkle as she replies into her drink. “Just old friends, I promise.”

Over the next half hour, Eduardo makes his interest clear with lingering glances and effortless, suggestive charm. I flirt back out of habit.

When he leaves to get drinks from the bar, Delilah turns to me. “Luna, stop leading the guy on. We both know you’re not interested.”

“Who says I’m not?”

Delilah arches a perfectly plucked brow. “Please. Not unless they bring something to the Guilty Pleasures table, you never bite.”

I find her straight-talking refreshing. “So, I prefer to kill a few birds with one stone. Shoot me.”

She grins, shaking her head, then says something, but I can no longer focus. A sudden chill crawls up my spine, along with the unshakeable feeling of being watched.

I turn my head, my gaze drifting across the crowded room. And then I see him.

Seated in the shadows, a glass of something dark cradled in his large hands, is a man who looks like he could snap a person in half.

He’s massive, even sitting down. Broad shoulders, tattoos snaking up the back of his hands and disappearing under the sleeves of an expensive black leather jacket only to reappear at his neck. Dark blond hair, tousled in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch it, and a five o’clock shadow covering a jaw that looks sharp enough to cut glass.

But it’s his eyes that stop me cold. Icy. Unyielding. They’re like twin barrels of a loaded gun, pointing right at me.

My breath catches in my throat as I meet his gaze. There’s something dangerous about him, something controlled—like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike—and I can’t look away.

“Dels,” I whisper. “Who the hell is that?”

Delilah follows the direction of my gaze, and her face instantly tightens. “Oh, him? That’s Rocky Savage. He’s bad news. Like kick-off-your-heels-and-run kind of bad news.”

Rocky Savage.

Thename sounds all wrong. Like a WWE wrestler, not the coiled spring of a man sitting across the room, radiating a force field of energy.

“Mon Dieu, il fait chaud.”The French slips out before I realize it, and I quickly translate. “He’s hot.”

“Oh oui,” Delilah snorts, her French thoroughly butchered. “He’s like a bonfire you want to dive into. But if you’re smart, you’ll stop staring.”

“Why?” I look away, but the pull of his gaze is impossible to ignore.

Delilah’s voice is sharper now. “Because he’s not interested in you.”

“What do you mean? He’s gawking at me like I’m his main course.”

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