Rain
The sleazy, traitorous, arrogant little bastard wasn’t here.
I tried my best not to look angry, anxious, or out of place at Club 39. The truth was the basement bar on George Street wasn’t really my kind of hangout. It was too trendy and attracted too many yuppie types. Like my sister, Darcy’s, fuckwit of an ex-boyfriend.
I’d never understand what it was she saw in Angus York. She’d been dating him for a few weeks by the time I eventually met him, and I’d been ready to love him since Darcy was so smitten with him. The night we met he said, right in front of her, that I was—and I quote—“Absolutely stunning and incredibly fuckable.” And he did it in this leering, lascivious way that I thought would have prompted Darcy to slap him and tell him to get the hell out of her life. Instead she’d just nodded uncomfortably and changed the subject.
I’d disliked him ever since.
Now . . . now I hated him.
And I was going to find a way to destroy him.
Darcy had told me he loved this bar—he was there almost every weekend. But tonight there was no sign of him. Again.
I sighed, feeling impatient. I wanted to get the plan in motion so it could all be over with. Last night I’d felt like a complete idiot standing at the back of the bar on my own, watching the doorway for Angus. I needed to be more natural.
I needed a bloody drink.
I’d arrived earlier this evening so there wouldn’t be any chance of missing the disgusting ex if he did decide to show up. There were empty seats at the bar but I knew those would fill up soon. I slipped into one, catching the attention of a tall and exceptionally beautiful strawberry-blond bartender.
She smiled prettily at me. “What can I get you?”
“I’ve got this, Jo,” a deep, masculine voice said.
My gaze flickered down the bar and I tensed as I watched the bartender from last night stride toward us.
I’d noticed him watching me last night.
His interest was unsettling, and even more unsettling now that I was up close to him.
He was too good-looking.
Tall, very tall—and I liked my men tall since I wore heels that usually put me at five ten every day. He had thick dark brown hair that he wore in this unkempt, sexy, messy way that was real and not artfully made to look real with hair products. Warm blue-green eyes stared intently at me out of a ruggedly handsome face. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and it looked delicious on him.
The girl, Jo’s, quizzical gaze moved between us before she shrugged and moved out of her colleague’s way.
He took her place, his broad shoulders lengthening as he splayed his arms out, palms to the bar. It was as though he was trying to block out anything from distracting me from him.
My gaze ran up his long arms. They were muscled in a way that told me he visited the gym, and I had a sudden longing to see him without the black T-shirt he wore.
Heat flashed through me.
Bugger.
“You’re back,” he said, giving me a flirtatious smile.
So he wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t been watching me like a hawk the night before. He was either really damn sure of himself or he was a bit of a creeper. I really hoped it was the former.
“I am,” I said, not flirtatiously. “And I’m thirsty this time around.”
His light eyes gleamed at me. “And what can I get you?”
There was no mistaking the deepening of his voice, or the innuendo in it.
I stubbornly ignored it. “Do you have Fuligni wine? A glass of Brunello di Montalcino if you have it.”
His mouth kicked up at the right corner. “Coming straight up, Ms. Bacall.”
I tried to hide my amusement as he alluded to my penchant for the forties era in my personal style. He turned away from me to pour a glass of wine and I drank in his broad back, feeling the lust stirring in my lower belly.
Bugger, bugger.
He turned back to me, his eyes glimmering with flirtation as he slid the drink slowly across the bar to me.
“How much do I owe you?”
“We’ll put it on a tab.” He leaned his elbows on the bar, bringing his gorgeous face closer to mine.
I found myself falling into the blue-green depths of his heated gaze.
Wine!
I snatched up the glass and took a rather unladylike gulp.
For some reason this made the bartender chuckle. He held out a hand to me as I lowered my glass back to the bar. “I’m Craig.”
Not really wanting to shake his hand, but not rude enough to ignore it, I slipped my hand into his and sucked in a breath when his grip tightened. He pulled me gently forward in the stool.
“I’m Rain.” I tugged on my hand and he released it, but only after brushing his thumb over my skin and making it tingle.
“Rain.” His lips twitched again.
What was it about me he found so vastly amusing?
“Rain Alexander.”
“Rain Alexander,” he repeated. “Stunning name for a stunning woman.”
I cocked my head to the side and studied him. Last night when he wasn’t watching me he was flirting with all of his female customers. Flirtiness just exuded from this man’s pores.
Unfortunately for Mr. Flirt, I didn’t know how to flirt back.
In this case that was fortunate for me because I didn’t want to flirt back!
“You should really stop flirting with me,” I said matter-of-factly.
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I don’t know how to flirt back. I never learned the art of it.”
“I find it hard to believe that a woman as beautiful as you doesn’t know how to flirt.”
“That right there is why I never bothered to learn to flirt. It’s all bullshit.” I shrugged.
Craig laughed. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Glancing around the quiet bar I realized he really was settling in to listen because there were no other customers to distract him. I looked back at him, hoping what I had to say next would offend his sensibilities enough to get him to leave me to my “work.” “Last night I watched you flirt with every female customer. I bet my life on it that you call them all ‘gorgeous,’ ‘beautiful,’ ‘stunning,’ no matter if they’re any of those things or not. So . . . when you say those words to me, they mean absolutely nothing. The flutter I would get in my belly if another man said them to me, that flush of pleasure I’d feel along my skin, it doesn’t happen when a man like you says them to me . . . because the words have become so throwaway, so overused, they’ve lost their meaning entirely.”
I studied Craig as he processed my words, and he seemed genuinely perturbed by them. He leaned farther across the bar and I got a whiff of the delicious, spicy cologne he was wearing, and that flutter his compliments didn’t provoke suddenly awoke in my belly. I flushed and then thanked my mother’s Puerto Rican heritage for my tan skin that didn’t blush.
“See, that’s where you and I disagree,” he said softly, and the low timber of his voice, combined with the heat in his eyes, only wreaked more havoc on my body. “I believe that there is something beautiful about every woman, so when I say they’re gorgeous, or they’re beautiful, I do mean it.”
I liked that. But I wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a line. “You’re a connoisseur of women,” I guessed, curling my top lip at the thought. “You know just the right thing to say.”
His eyes were drawn to my mouth and I shivered at the naked thoughts in his gaze. “I just say what I feel in the moment.” His gaze flicked back up to my eyes. “Right now I’m thinking you have the most luscious fucking mouth I’ve ever seen in my life.”
A shiver rippled down my shoulders and around to my chest. My nipples tightened and their reaction caused that telltale tingling between my thighs.