Shit.This was a mistake,I realize as Marc’s hand comes out to grasp my elbow, his fingertips rough against my soft skin. His friends are closing in around him, boxing us off from the rest of the room, but I’m not so sure anyone else would care anyway. Manuel is the only one who showed any friendly interest in me that didn’t seem purely sexual, and even he’d warned me that he wasn’t going to fend off every unwanted advance that came my way.
I’d planned on waltzing in here, buying drinks, and picking a man to take my virginity like I was choosing out of a lineup, like they’d all stand there and wait for my approval. I realize with a flush of shame and fear how ridiculous that idea was. Maybe some other womancoulddo that, but just putting on a dress and some lipstick isn’t enough to make me that woman, I realize, as Marc’s hand tightens on my arm, nudging me towards his friends’ table. I’d need to be older, wiser in the ways of the world.I can’t even order my own stupid drink because I don’t know what I like,I think miserably, my thoughts flapping in my head like a frightened bird as I try to think of a way out of this.I shouldn’t have come.
“I’m not really here to make friends—” I try to tug my arm out of his grasp, but he’s stronger than I am by a good bit.
“What a coincidence,” he says with a toothy grin. “We’re not either.” He tugs harder on my arm, his fingers almost painful now, my drink sloshing out of the glass and adding to the stickiness of the floor as I try to pull away. One of his other friends moves in towards me, and suddenly my drink is gone.
“Sorry about that,” Marc says insincerely. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
“I can buy my own drink—” But it’s clear he’s not listening, already maneuvering me away despite my best efforts.
Fuck. Fuck—my heart is in my throat, and I feel my eyes burning with threatening tears.I’ve fucked up—
“I think the lady is asking you to leave her alone. I suggest you listen.”
Marc’s head whips around at the sound of the voice, one that doesn’t really belong here. It has a strange accent to it, a rolling burr that’s authoritative and soothing all at once, and I blink through the burning haze in my eyes to see the owner of it.
He’s striding towards us, the most gorgeous man I’ve certain I’ve seen anywhere—in person, in movies, in my entire life. My eyes skate upwards, over slim-cut black jeans to a charcoal denim button-down and a black leather jacket that looks like it would feel like butter under my fingertips, all the way up to a chiseled face, dark blue eyes, and swooping messy black hair that looks like it would feel soft when I ran my hands through it.
I catch a glimpse of tattoos on the sides of his neck as he strides forward, his eyes only for me. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says crisply. “Looks like you found a little trouble.” The man pushes past Marc and his buddies as if they’re no one, coming straight for me, and the four men—boys, really, next to this guy—fall back, but not without protests.
“Hey. We were talking to her—”
“And now you’re not. Fuck off,truflais,” the man growls, that accent thickening as his harsh blue gaze settles on each of them in turn, as his hand slips around my waist and urges me forward. “I’m here for her.”
The words settle over me as he nudges me forward away from the boys, effectively rescuing me.Here for me.I look up at him as we move towards the bar, his broad hand on the small of my back with a heat that feels like it burns through the silky fabric of my dress. He’s terrifying and gorgeous all at once, beautiful and overwhelming and thrilling. I feel like what almost turned into a nightmare has become a dream instead.
He’s everything I imagined when I came up with my plan for tonight. And now he’s here, with me.
9
NIALL
Ialmost didn’t go out tonight.
I woke from my nap, groggy and thick-headed and still in need of that shower. I considered taking it and then holing up for the night with some room service and whatever I could find on the dubious cable. The idea of going out on the town felt like way too much fucking effort after the flight here and the day I’d had—scratch that, the last couple fucking months.
But then again, there was always the possibility that a stiff drink and maybe picking up a girl would feel better than sitting in my hotel, still nursing my heartbreak and getting more and more bitter with the passage of time.
If Liam were here, or if I asked his advice, I knew what he’d say. He wasn’t, and I bloody didn’t, but I heard his voice in my head anyway, urging me to move on. To get out there again, to get over Saoirse.It’s been the better part of a year,I heard in my head.There’s only been that one girl—what was her name? Oh right, you don’t remember.
I ought to; it’s not as if there have been all that many of them over the years. I mean—don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good fuck as much as the next man. I’m no stranger to Boston’s bars and the women there who are just as interested in a night or three of casual pleasure. But I’ve never been a playboy, never kept a speed-dial list of women in my phone ready to come over, or gone through so many that the faces seemed to blur together. The problem is, after Saoirse, I couldn’t seem to see any face but hers.
That was what happened with the one hookup I’d tried for after our “break-up.” At Liam’s urging, I’d gone to talk to a pretty blonde who seemed like my type at a bar. She’d been plenty interested, and we’d wound up at her place a few hours later, kissing drunkenly and peeling each other’s clothes off.
The desire wasn’t there, though. I’d gone through the motions, gotten hard just fine, my body seemingly willing to move on even if my heart and mind weren’t. I’d gone down on her, let her suck me a little, fucked her. Though my chest had been aching the entire time, her face overlaid with Saoirse’s, the knife twisting every time I remembered that I’d lost the chance to ever take Saoirse to bed fully, make her mine in any way. That she was gone forever, and when I ached for a woman,reallyached for one, it was really only for her.
After that, I hadn’t bothered. But before I’d left Boston, I’d told myself that Mexico would be different. That I’d try to overwrite my heartbreak with some new experiences, some casual fun. That I’d remember what it felt like to take a girl back to my place just for the pleasure of exploring someone new and having them enjoy the same, without all the messiness that came along with more. That I’d try to remember how to be myself again, the charming bloke who women loved and who loved them right back—for a brief time.
A bit of a ladies’ man, but a gentleman about it. That’s what I’d always fancied myself. Rough enough around the edges to entice the ones with a taste for danger, but without ever being cruel or harsh. That’s who I’d always tried to be—even with Saoirse, at the end, as she was ripping my heart to shreds.
That’s what had ultimately propelled me to shower and dress and leave my fucking hotel room, that nagging voice in my head that sounded like Liam, reminding me that the man I’ve been these past months isn’t really like me at all. That I need to get the fuck over it, especially since she certainly has.
She’s got the husband and marriage she wanted, a baby on the way, all of it—and none of it to do with you,I reminded myself harshly as I pulled on jeans and a charcoal-grey chambray shirt, pushing the sleeves up my forearms a little before shrugging on a thin black leather jacket over it, against the chill of the desert night.She’s not pining over you, so you need to stop. You need to find a way to get her the fuck out from under your skin and out of your head.
Easier said than done, but I’d shoved my feet into my motorcycle boots and forced myself out of the hotel and out to my rented bike, revving it up and heading further into town. The first bar I saw was one that seemed to fit my mood, a divey-looking, red-neon-lit joint that looked like it probably served good drinks but without the stuffy clientele of the nicer places. I’ve never been a posh bar or nightclub kind of guy, and the place called to me.Sangre de Ángel,a bit morbid, but I liked the vibe. So I parked my bike and walked in, surveying the inside—only to lay eyes on one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen surrounded by four men, with a look on her face that suggested she wasn’t interested in their increasingly pushy advances.
She’s a fucking knockout, I’d thought instantly, taking in her tanned skin, wide, lightly lined brown doe eyes, masses of black hair, and full red lips, with a body that a man would die to touch, poured into a silky scrap of a red dress. She looked like the angel the bar’s sign was talking about, and it didn’t take much to figure out that the men surrounding her were definitely out for blood.