Page 36 of Omega Artist
Our eyes meet. The intensity of his brown eyes makes them appear darker than they were a minute ago when his arm touched mine. I flush, thankful for the dim light, and gawk when my whole body goes rigid as it dawns on me that I’m facing Tig. For real. I watch him watch me, his drink still in my hand.
That’s when I realize that Leonard Cohen has been replaced by Roberta Flack’sThe First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. How fitting! I suspect that Mike’s playing a trick on us, considering my earlier confession.
Maybe I’m imagining things…
The most heavily tattooed man I know runs his hand through his messy hair. That mundane gesture transforms into a sexy one when he performs it.
Come on, Aliénor, get a hold of yourself!
On the bright side, I can tell that I’m not the only distraught one. So many emotions flash across his face that I lose count. Bewilderment. Confusion. Sadness. Excitement. Calmness. Determination…
“Alie…” It’s a statement, not a question. “Nice toseeyou.” I don’t miss the emphasis that he puts on one word.
Flustered, I sigh and collect my thoughts before replying; he patiently waits. “Likewise.” I squint at the drink. “Channing said to ask you if you really wanted this.” Saying that, I extend my arm to offer the vodka anyway, pretending to be unaware of his usual drink of choice.
He shrugs and lets out an amused yet strangled noise. “Channing, huh?”
It’s my turn to shrug, worrying the corner of my lip as I grasp my mistake. Silently, he takes a step towards me, entering my personal space for the second time in less than five minutes. He’s standing so close that I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to capture my mouth. He does no such thing, and I ignore the pang of disappointment that washes over me. Truth be told, I would have probably slapped him for it.
Ignoring the drink, he leans towards my ear to murmur, “I’m glad I found you,” and engulfs me in an overtly sensual hug. We’re almost cheek-to-cheek, and his hand caresses my back, making my sweater ride up and show a sliver of skin. I twist a bit, but don’t fight him.
The unexpected physical contact is intrusive, sweet, and disturbing. Still, I lean into it because it would be hypocritical of me to refuse it after everything that we’ve already shared online and over the phone.
Lost in his arms, I forget the outside world for a second. I study him, and it’s safe to say that my eyes are instinctively drawn to his well-defined, full and tempting mouth. The neatly-styled scruff surrounding it only enhances its fullness that I never noticed when I stalked him online.
I hate that Sybil’s description doesn’t match his actual looks. I hate it that he ended up winning this game and unearthing me tonight. I hate that my initial reaction to him screams lust when all I truly want is to teach him a valuable lesson. It’s all the more reason for sex to be off the table for the time being. It would be too easy to join him in the bathroom, fuck his brains out, and dump him immediately after. Additionally, it would be pointless—because I’ve put so much effort into teasing him—and taxing—because no matter what my body says, I’m well aware that I ultimately can’t bring myself to have sex with a guy that revolts me. And more importantly, it would be wrong to give him the pleasure of a cheap, quick, and dirty conquest like he’s used to. If he wants to have anything to do with me, he’ll have to work for it. He might not know it yet, but I’ll find a way to make him submit.
Once upon a time, he could have been my type. Minus his player side. Minus his deceitful side. Minus his tattooed side… Anyhow, that’s way too many negatives. All in all, it’s a relief to know that my plan will unfold smoothly since he’s so not my type.
The heat that previously coursed all over my body is settling between my legs, and I silently scold my traitorous body to get a grip. I’ve never had such a violent reaction to anyone, but then again, this is the first time I’ve pursued a man with such persistence. No wonder my body misread the signs. As for his, I can’t miss the evidence of his own excitement that’s pressing into my upper thigh.
As if it hits him at the same time, he releases me from his powerful hold and takes a small step back, tearing my attention from my thoughts. “I’m sorry.” He cocks his head, giving me a thorough once-over that doesn’t fit with his words. I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for. His odd behavior? His unabashed ogling? His raging hard-on? At this very moment, I wish that I were a mind reader. “I’m just happy to see you… at last.”
Yeah, I definitely felt your happiness. Who claimed that men don’t think about sex 24/7?
He threads his fingers through his unruly hair again—a sexy trademark gesture that apparently betrays his nervousness—and glances at his other hand while a strange expression flashes across his face; he seems to be realizing that I still have his glass in my hand. “The drink was for you, actually.” He sounds guarded all of a sudden. “Vodka?”
“You remembered?” I hate that it comes out as a question when I should be happy that he did. He shrugs as I down my third shot and welcome the buzz.
He slides his hand into mine. Again, an intimate gesture that I’ve not braced myself for. I can’t say that I’m surprised; along the way, we acquired a false sense of intimacy that’s now playing out in real life. “Let’s get out of here.” He squeezes my hand lightly and offers a sheepish smile. Is he embarrassed?
“Where to?” I nod approvingly. If his plans include nailing me in a cheap hotel, I’m out.
He leaves me hanging there, telling me that he’ll return in a minute. Gone is the empty glass. Gone is his prior engagement. Gone is what we’ll be shortly.
Tig leads the way out, with a beanie and coat in one hand and the other securely placed at the small of my back. This affection both irks me and pleases me. As my mind battles to decide which emotion is stronger, my stupid body has already caved, and I can’t ignore the pressure that’s slowly building between my legs.
Please, don’t let me embarrass myself yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that later, right?
A tight smile is all that I can manage as I take short breaths to control my inappropriate thoughts, all the while waving at oblivious Mike, who looks at us with a knowing smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He winks.
My stammering response comes out at the same time as Tig’s. “Loved it!”
“Man, you’re gonna pay for that later!” A wrinkle settles between his brows for a second before he bursts out laughing. Meanwhile, Mike makes a terrified face right out of The Actors Studio… or rather, an impression of Macaulay Culkin on theHome Aloneposter.
“Where are you taking me?” I inquire as the gentleman that he pretends to be helps me into my coat.
“Somewhere quiet.”
