watched as the ex-convict demonstrated the proper way to do the shot. Lick, salt, lick, shot, then lime. The pixie mimicked him, except she sputtered and coughed around her slice of lime.
“Not bad,” the man told her, once she’d stopped gagging. His eyes roamed over her, and Rhys could tell that the comment was as much about the woman herself as her drinking style.
The ex-convict’s eyes lingered on her legs, and that suggestion of lovely thigh. Lust mixed with violence quivered just under the surface of his friendly good looks.
Rhys suppressed a wave of irritation—aimed as much toward the woman as the convict. Why was she here? She should be with her family in front of a twinkling Christmas tree, singing carols. Hell, what he wouldn’t give to be with his family one more time.
The ex-convict snapped his fingers and requested two more shots.
Rhys shifted on his seat. He should step in. Instead he sipped his own drink. He remembered the prostitutes. He’d done his good deed for this year. With a few days to spare, even.
“Hey, Joey, you gonna spend the night scammin’ on chicks, or are you going to hang with your boys?”
Joey gave the pixie a sheepish look. He was as deceptive and dangerous as any of Rhys’s kind. “Sorry, I’ve got money on this game.”
The woman nodded. “That’s fine. Thanks for the instruction.”
Joey’s smile deepened; arousal laced with a cruelty flashed in his eyes. “No problem. And who knows, maybe you can show me a trick or two yourself sometime?”
“Okay,” she agreed, completely missing the innuendo in his words.
Joey returned to his buddies, and Rhys made up his mind that the ex-convict would be his Christmas dinner.
The bartender arrived with the two shots Joey had ordered, placing them before the pixie.
She opened her mouth as if she was going to tell him to take the drinks back, but instead she sighed and then, almost reluctantly, licked the expanse of skin between her forefinger and thumb. She dashed a liberal amount of salt to the wetted area.
Rhys watched as her small, pink tongue reappeared and lapped over her skin, and for the first time in a long time, desire unrelated to the hunger shot through him.
She swallowed the shot, managing to down all the golden liquid with only a violent shudder as she reached for the lime.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him staring at her. With the lime still in her mouth, she turned to frown at him. Her eyes showed only the briefest flash of wariness before she glared at him.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded, after she had plucked the citrus fruit out of her mouth.
His eyes moved from her lips, glistening with juice, and he shook his head. He returned his attention to his drink, although his body was still fixating on how that mouth would feel sucking on him.
What the hell had gotten into him tonight?
Jane Mary Harrison could not believe she had just yelled at a complete stranger. She’d never been that rude in her entire life. But then, she’d never been in a big city either. Or in a bar. Or done tequila shots. Oh, the difference a day makes.
And what a day she’d had. She’d been in New York City only one day, and in that time, she’d lost the job she’d just gotten, which in turn caused her to lose the apartment she had lined up. When she was leaving the realtor’s office, some man had stolen her purse, and she’d had to spend nearly six hours in a police station with all sorts of frightening people, waiting to place a report with a very uninterested officer. If she was going to start doing tequila shots, this seemed like the time.
Today was supposed to be the beginning of her new, adventuresome and fun life. So far, it had been long on adventure, and very, very short on fun.
But she was determined to have a little fun tonight. It was Christmas Eve, for heavens sake. And, thankfully, she’d had the foresight to put traveler’s checks in her suitcase, so she wasn’t destitute—yet.
She looked at the one full and three empty shot glasses in front of her. Was she going to have to spend her precious money on four shots? Three of which she didn’t order.
She sighed. Ah, well. At least Joey had been nice—the nicest person she’d met so far in the Big Apple. She glanced at him, leaning over the pool table, lining up a shot. He was sort of cute, too. And he’d flirted with her—at least, she thought he’d flirted.
Her eyes darted briefly to the man sitting beside her. He wasn’t flirting with her. In fact, he’d done nothing but cast her cool looks since she entered the bar. And she would never describe him as cute. She’d be willing to bet that cute wasn’t even used to describe him as a child. No, he was stunningly, dauntingly beautiful. She couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone that—perfect.
He had long hair that just brushed his broad shoulders. She’d never been that crazy about long hair, but on this man, it looked amazing. Glossy and thick in shades of sable threaded with burnished gold.
In profile, she could see the cut of his jawline, the wide, sculpted shape of his lips and slight arrogant flare of his nose. But it had been his peculiar eyes like whiskey in flickering firelight that had taken her breath away. They were so beautiful, so intense—almost predatory.
He was gorgeous.
She cast him another furtive look. In his black turtleneck sweater and black trousers, he didn’t seem to fit in here any more than she did, although not for the same reasons. He looked too affluent for a place like this. Too cultured. But under all that beauty and urbaneness, she still sensed something dangerous about him—that feral quality that lurked in his strange eyes.
She snorted quietly. The stress of today must be addling her mind. She was sure the only thing this man would be dangerous to was the female heart. With those looks, he was the definition of a heartbreaker.
She regarded the full shot glass in front of her. Her throat still burned, but she was starting to feel a nice, soothing heat in her limbs. Who would think such a small amount of that stuff could make her feel so much more relaxed. And after the day she’d had, she needed to relax.
She reached for the salt shaker.
The third shot went down so smoothly, she grinned with pride. For a nondrinker, she was a pro.
She lined the glasses up in front of her and tried to decide what to do next. She didn’t want to go back to her hotel. But she didn’t exactly feel comfortable here.
Plus, she kept having this uncontrollable urge to look at the man beside her. She shifted on her stool, peeking at him quickly. Maybe she should apologize to him.
“Oh, baby”—Joey suddenly reappeared at her side, startling her—“you drank my shot.”
She looked at the empty glasses guiltily. “I did. I’m sorry.”
“Well, I guess we just have to order another round.”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” a deep, husky voice said from beside her.
