“Until I saw you drinking alone, I was only in here for the white noise and to drown my sorrows,” he said.
“Is that when you zeroed in on me as a gullible guppy?”
“Not even close. I always pictured guppies as the water equivalent of sheep, and you’re most definitely neither. You strike me as more of a siren. Gorgeous and alluring from a distance, but dangerous if someone unsuspecting gets close.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “That’s a bit over the top. Not quite at the level of the shark analogy, but close.”
“I’m being sincere. I was before, as well, but like I said—sometimes I hold onto an idea longer than I should.” He hovered a finger it millimeters from her lips before dropping his hand again. “I wanted to talk to you, and one-too-many drinks convinced me smooth and cocky was the way to go.”
Talking to him was a new kind of captivating. He was sexy-as-fuck on the physical scale, and intriguing on top of that. She couldn’t guess his intentions or next move, and she wanted to find out more. “Why are you drowning your sorrows?”
“Boring business stuff.”
“That’s not super specific.” She intentionally mimicked his reply from earlier.
“I don’t want to sound like everyone else in the room. But since you’re prodding... My investors want me to do one thing with my business. I want to do something else. They won. First thing Monday morning, they’re sending in a ruthless, heartless killer to determine how many ways we’ve fucked up. It’s not the executioner, but the judge and jury. Someone to report back to the men up top, about whether our fuckup is small enough to gloss over or they should sacrifice my whole company.” His bitter tone put most she’d heard to shame.
She pitied the poor person who got in his path Monday morning. “Sounds brutal.”
“It is. I may be a shark, but I’m not the biggest one in my ocean.” He frowned, then shook his head, and his smirk flitted back in. “I’m getting fucked, we’ve both been stood up by the people supposed to have our backs, and you’re sure you don’t want another drink?” He waved the bartender over.
“On second thought, I’d love one. Something with ice in it.” Maybe that would cool the heat flowing over her. Then again, maybe she didn’t want the warmth gone.
“Two Jack and Cokes on the rocks.” He ordered, slid a bill across the bar, and turned back to her.
“Why the shark analogy?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe I’m in aJawskind of mood.”
She pursed her lips. “Is this the point where you tell me we should compare scars? Am I Robert Shaw or Richard Dreyfuss?”
“It’s not a bad suggestion, but...” He tugged down his collar, exposing more of the tattoos. They scrolled around the back of his neck and vanished beneath his shirt. This wasn’t fair. Every new hint he showed of himself was another layer of tantalizing.
He exposed his right shoulder and—without looking—pointed to a shark in the middle of a collage of cartoon characters, map pieces, and foreign characters. “Really, I’m a fan of the movie. First tattoo I got was when I visited Martha’s Vineyard. Some tourists collect shot glasses. I wanted my memories to be more permanent, so every tattoo is from a place I’ve been.”
The glimpse she had said there were a lot of tattoos. “Wow.” She reached up and traced the edges of color on his skin, some more distinct and others faded. He’d done the traveling she only dreamed of. Her fascination grew several notches. “I bet you have some amazing stories to go with each of these.”
He covered her fingers and drew them down his collarbone and across his chest before letting go. “I do.”
“I don’t have anything to show you in return. I’ve only got the one scar, and it’s going to take a couple more drinks, or a bit more witty banter, before I show you proof of my appendix surgery.” Though at this point, she was hoping for a lot of the latter, and the opportunity to show him more than just the pale white line running along her side.
Something caught her eye, and she brushed his neck again. His skin was smooth against her fingertips, coaxing her nerve endings to life. She nudged aside the fabric of his shirt for a closer look at one of his tattoos. “A phoenix?”
“Shit. Now you’ve discovered my dorky side.” Amusement sparkled in his eyes. His expression was mischievous, and a new level of alluring.
That didn’t mean she understood why he thought the bird was dorky. “It’s a symbol of death and rebirth. Of rising from the ashes. That’s magnificent.”
“And exactly what I’ll tell the next person who asks why I got it. Your answer is a lot better than mine.”
She laughed. “What’s the real reason?”
“I love comics, and I’ve got a thing for redheads who have an uncanny ability to see past what’s on the surface.”
He could be talking about her or Jean Grey. Probably a little of both, and she wasn’t sure she cared what the ratio was. The compliment danced over her skin and made her pulse race. “Sirens and psychics. You like your women exotic.”
“I never thought of it that way. I prefer the termunique. But the right magic powers make for a good fantasy.”
“I can’t argue with that.” In fact, visions filled her mind as they spoke. Of how this man’s lips would feel, pressed hard and hungry against hers. Of his fingers roaming her body, stripping away her clothing a piece at a time. Of what came next.