Page 7 of Savage Devotion
When he opens his mouth, the way his full lips move traps my attention.
“I don’t know of many women who would willingly send their friends off to claim the best prize of the night.PrizesI should add.” He looks over my shoulder to the group of men my friend is currently working her charms on.
“That makes you a damn good friend in my book.”
His accent is a unique blend of the Big Apple and the Big Easy—a long draw on the vowels and relaxed pronunciations. Maybe a bit of a country boy in there too, but not in appearance.
I turn my body a little more his way. His long, black shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal thick forearms bathed in colorful ink. The top three buttons close to his throat are popped open to reveal his forearms aren’t the only part of him with ink.
Diablos, Arabelle. Focus. Bad boy equals no bueno.
“Really? What makes them such a great catch?” I ask with genuine curiosity as I follow his line of sight.
My mystery man gestures to the stool beside me, and I nod in agreement.
Manners.Check mark.That has to counter a little bit of the dangerous aura he gives off. Right?
I take in the various arrangements of tattoos covering the back of his hand and tops of his fingers. He slides the stool to my left out and glides his massive weight close. I also catch the glint of light off the three rings on his left hand and a single silver one on the right—a skull with a ruby in its mouth and with what looks like chains rimming the raised edge. Beautiful and elegant if not a little bulky.
But it seemed perfect for him.
Sitting barely a foot from me, the gorgeous man’s crackling body heat penetrates my senses in ways that have my brain slowing down and my core revving up.
He signals for a fresh round and slides a tequila shot in front of me. I take it and offer it up in a salute of gratitude before I sip the amber liquid. Real top-shelf stuff, not gasoline.
Another check mark.
“Gracias.”
I might not have a whole lot of experience doing the college party scene right as seen on TV, but I know how to appreciate free booze from a handsome admirer. Laila’s plan is working out already.
Speaking of handsome admirers, mine cants his head and those dark, glittering eyes study my face a moment before he picks up his drink. The look in those dark eyes is as intense as the man. I study him right back and all those tattoos are front and center as he hammers back his drink. Some appear random, while others seem more thoughtful.
“For starters, they are part owners of this establishment. Friends of mine. Rich ones at that. There’s not a night that goes by that they’re not pushing women off ’em.”
“Really?” Worry for my friend crawls over me, but from the looks of it, the only thing I should worry about is how warm my admirer feels sitting so close. I can practically feel the power radiating off him.
“To know that I guess that means you come here often?” I’m surprised by how casual my voice sounds. Usually, this is aboutthe time I pretend to answer my phone and find the nearest exit. Yet I can’t seem to pull myself away from this stranger.
Despite sounding calm and relaxed, shivers climb the length of my spine. And a rush of adrenaline refuels my out-of-control heart pounding its way out of my chest.
I hold his gaze. Maybe it’s his arresting eyes holding me captive. Or the way the dark stranger’s warm, protective hand brushes over my smaller one that has me spellbound.
“I like visiting friends. They are good men in their own way. Something I think your friend has picked up on.”
I glance over to see that sure enough, Laila is already sandwiched between three men who appear smitten with her.
“Do you—” my words are cut off when a new crowd of boys my age elbow their way to the bar and I’m forced to move my stool before I catch a blow to my spine. Jerks. But really, the interruptions only save me from my boring chit-chat because really, I could not sound any more boring than a goldfish in a bowl.
Strong hands grip my arms and I’m effortlessly moved onto the stool my stranger occupied while he moves to mine. Only now, we are exceptionally closer. Like I can see the gold flecks in his eyes and smell the sweet scent of tequila on his breath kind of close. And fuck it turns me on big time.
“You were sayin’, baby?” Warm, callused fingers glide across the small patch of skin between the top of my skirt and halter top. Powerful. In control. Almost like he wants me to feel the emanating power of his arousing touch.
His dark eyes stare into mine and I shudder from the tingles of electricity. The move is so smooth, so gentle, it’s more of a faint caress than a firm touch.
And it electrifies my insides. I’ve been touched by a man before, but not like this. A whisper of skin on skin has never left me this breathless.
I shake my head. Booming shouts and laughter war with the loud music and it’s impossible to carry on a conversation.
