Page 204 of Dagger in the Sea

He shook his head and sighed. “No.”

“You should.”

My gaze swept over him once more. A tattoo crept across the base of his neck from his shoulder. Was it a feather? I tried not to stare at it too long. He looked to be around my age. There were lines around his eyes and mouth to match my own budding crow’s feet. His face was a bit weathered. A wise, dry humor flashed from the crooked angle of his brief smile, which I liked. No, he wasn’t some young’un hoping to score a cougar. My eyes rested on the bulky silver ring of a sculpted eagle’s head he wore on the hand that was wrapped around his glass. I frowned.

He leaned over the bar and plucked a thick slice of lemon from the tray of condiments and dropped it into his glass. He swirled the vodka around the ice and the lemon and took a swig. His attractive lips puckered.

“It adds a little something without overwhelming it. I like it.”

“I’m Grace, by the way.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Pretty name. Nice to meet you, Grace.” He tipped his glass in my direction. “I’m Miller.”

“Hi, Miller.”

He signaled the bartender for another round for both of us.

“You don’t have to do that.” My hand darted out to his long arm. The wiry muscles under the plush softness of his hoodie tightened, and I snapped my hand back right away as if I had been burned.

“Why not?” His eyes scrunched together. He leaned in closer, his one elbow grazed mine on the bar top, his warm breath fanned my neck. “I usually don’t do this sort of thing, but tonight, for a woman like you, I’m going to splurge.”

“Oh, a woman like me?” I smirked into my empty glass. What did that mean? Mature? Older? “And why does a woman like me get the formal treatment?”

His eyes gleamed. “Because I admire your respect for that whiskey,” he said in a smooth, honeyed voice that melted right over me.

I straightened my back as I absorbed his dark gaze. A buzz zipped through my veins. I knew I was already in trouble here, but this was ... fun. Isn’t this why I came here tonight? To unwind, distract myself before the hell of tomorrow? What’s a little flirting? It had been so long since I had actually felt attracted to a man.

Really attracted.

“I appreciate your appreciating it,” I said. He grinned, and my mouth abruptly went dry.

The bartender slid our new drinks in front of us and took our empties away. My gaze shot up at Miller. His eyes were softer this time, like dark pools of full-flavored coffee. There was something calming to me about his gaze, like the calm that suddenly comes after a violent storm. Or was that before the storm?

He held up his glass and clinked it against mine. It might as well have been an alarm bell heralding our move into new territory. We had shifted gears, and we both knew it.

“To appreciation, then,” he murmured.

His eyebrows bunched up for a second, and he let out a laugh at the banal sentiment. I liked that small, unfettered laugh of his. He immediately segued into serious once more, and we swallowed our liquor, our eyes fastened on each other.

Danger, Will Robinson.

My face heated, and I quickly diverted my gaze to scan the increasing number of patrons lining the bar. All I really wanted to do was look into those rich eyes again. I held my breath and tamped down the urge. Blake Shelton’s “Ten Times Crazier” blared loudly through the Roadhouse.

Miller’s glass slammed on the bar. “Come on, Grace. Let’s dance.” My head jerked back to him. He seized my hand and tugged me off my bar stool, his long calloused fingers pressing into my flesh.

“Dance?” My eyes widened, yet all the while I enjoyed the firm heat of his hand over mine. He led me through the crowd to the dance floor.

“I’ve got you, no worries,” he whispered in my ear.

His arms slid around me and pulled me close to his solid frame. I tried to ignore the shiver that zipped across my skin, but it was useless. His very masculine scent of leather and musk intoxicated me immediately. My stomach fluttered as we moved easily to the music across the floor, his hand pressing against my back. He tucked me in closer, and our hips swayed against each other.

I blinked up at him. Miller was tall. I was five foot seven and considered myself average. But there was nothing average about me dancing with this gladiator. His large, hot hand at my lower back singed my skin through the thin cotton of my T-shirt. His face had softened, and his dark eyes seemed to shimmer over me. It was as if he were a different person from the somewhat brooding figure at the bar.

My long silver earrings prickled the suddenly sensitive skin of my neck as we danced to two more songs. Miller teased me about the two old cowboys at a table near the dance floor who had been allegedly ogling my ass, and we laughed over the melodramatic lyrics of the current song. My breathing began to return to normal.

Well, a more intense level of normal.

I liked being held in the long, lean arms of this man, a man who sent that glorious buzz humming through me. It had been years, hundreds of years, since I had been rendered nearly speechless by that rush.

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