Page 5 of Creed

I turn and smile my practiced, polished smile at the redheaded bartender. “Bourbon, neat.”

Her lips tilt in an approving smile. She bends over, more than needed, to fix my drink, giving me a clear view down her shirt. Given the exaggerated perkiness, as well as the big rack on her rail-thin frame, her tits are veryenhanced. There’s nothing authentic or natural about her—even her red hair looks fake.

But I can’t fault her. She’s like a lot of women nowadays: fake tans, fake lashes, fake tits, even fake ass implants.

I eye her, though, with a slight stirring of interest. Maybe this won’t be such a dry, painful event after all.

“Maybe after you’re done showcasing your niblets, you could get me my drink?” a pissed-off voice says from behind me. “I’ve only been waiting almost five minutes.”

The bartender rolls her eyes, and I turn around.

“I’m sorry if I butt in front…” I trail off, staring at the most beautiful, alluring woman—no, screw that,angel—I’ve ever seen.

Sweet Christ.

It’s like my soul has been holding its breath my entire life, and now I can finally exhale in relief.

Her dark hair is brushed back from her face; her tan-colored skin has a bronze sheen. Her dark brown eyes look like they’re blended with streaks of copper. They’re the most captivating eyes I’ve ever looked into.

The slight interest that had bloomed with the redheaded bartender dies a swift death; in its place, a deep gnawing hunger is awakening for the dark-haired beauty in front of me.

She isnotmy type. Innocent, sweet, prim-looking in a skirt suit.

Yes, absolutely not my type, but there’s no doubt of the want and need clawing through me. There’s no doubt that my cock is hardening simply by gazing at her. I’m hit with a craving like she is a potent drug that’s been dumped into my bloodstream but worn off too quickly, and my body is instantly greedy for the next hit.

I’m staring at her, but I don’t care. Not when those gorgeous brown orbs swirled with copper, previously blazing with fiery anger, now burn with arousal and lust as she stares up at me.

Being stared at with curiosity, or often with lust, because of my tattoos, my body—tall, big, muscular—and the handsome looks I’ve inherited from my father, isn’t new for me.

But the way this angel looks at me—like she is drinking in the sight of me, and it’s affecting her more with every second—starts a fire in every molecule of my body. It pleases me that the want and need that’s coursing through me is mirrored back in her look.

“I didn’t realize there was a line.” I finally find my voice and remember I can’t just stand and gaze at her for the rest of eternity. “I truly am sorry.”

And I am. I’ve never been concerned about what others thought of me outside of my family, but I suddenly care what she thinks.

Her eyes widen as if taken aback by my voice.

“Your bourbon, sir.” A hot breath is in my ear as the bartender leans in close.

I take the drink without taking my eyes off the sweet-looking angel in front of me. “What are you drinking?”

Her tongue darts out to lick her lips—pouty and full—and I want to lean down and bite the bottom one, suck it into my mouth, and run my tongue and teeth over it. I want all these people gone, and I want to pin her against the window glass, press her naked front against it, and torture her nipples in the best way possible. I want to slam into herruthlesslyandrelentlessly,making her shatter and scream against the glass with the black night and water as the backdrop.

She licks her bottom lip again, staring up at me. “Half soda, half ginger ale with lime.”

Twisting around, I repeat the order to the bartender, who looks pissed off at the other woman, but she quickly mixes the drink. I put a fifty on the bar and say thanks.

“It’s an open bar, sir.”

“Well, then, it’s a nice tip for you.” I smile my practiced, polished smile at the bartender. She bats her eyes at me, but I only want to get back to the sweet-looking angel.

The angel is frowning at me, though. “Thanks for getting my drink.”

Then she starts to walk away, and I can’t have that.

“Wait.” I may sound desperate, but I don’t question it. There’s something about this woman. “What’s your name?” I close the distance between us, which makes her breath catch. “Or should I just call you angel?”

Her eyes widen, and then she laughs before she scowls. “This isn’t a pick-up event.”

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