or hiding from someone. He stalked toward the bar with confidence as if challenging someone to stop his progress, his dark gaze scanning the room.
Fiona’s hopes soared when she considered he might be the new bartender. They dropped when he slid onto the stool with the prowess of a panther, directly in front of Fiona like any other customer. He studied her as if he expected her to swoon. She wasn’t going to do that, although her knees did feel a little flimsy.
She sent him a smile. “What can I get for you?” Coffee? Tea? Me?
“Coffee.”
Darn. “Black?”
“Yes.”
This did not surprise Fiona, nor did the fact that his voice was deep as a water well. She had never seen such a perfectly chiseled face covered by skin the color and texture of melted milk chocolate. Obviously black was his signature color, right down to the shadow of whiskers framing his full lips and the long dark lashes outlining his eyes, which Fiona considered totally unfair. Her lashes showed up after applying two coats of mascara. A slight indentation to the right of the bridge of his straight nose, as if it had been broken at one time, was the only true flaw in his face. But it sure as heck didn’t detract from his incredible looks.
Forcing her gaze away, Fiona turned from the counter to the back shelf housing the coffeepot and realized the temperature had just risen about a hundred degrees. She poured some of the muddy brew into the mug, glanced in the mirrored wall, then tightened the band securing her hair high on her head as if that would improve her appearance. Her ponytail looked like a spastic bird’s nest, random tendrils falling around her face like loose springs. Her sleeveless blue blouse revealed the results of happy hour and displayed all the freckles on her pale arms. Just her luck. Hank the Hunk had walked into her life and she looked like warmed-over deer dung.
Fiona gripped the cup in both hands, hoping it didn’t slide across the damp surface and land in his lap when she set it down. Of course, then she would be forced to hop over the bar and clean it up, not an altogether unpleasant thought. But hot coffee on his crotch did not a good impression make, not to mention it might be painful if it seeped through his pants. Then he would have to take his pants off—
Earth to Fiona.
She turned back to the bar and set the cup before him, fortunately without incident. “It’s kind of strong.”
He kept his intense eyes fixed on hers. “I prefer it that way.”
He might as well have said he preferred randy sex, considering the way Fiona’s body reacted with a series of hot flashes and a fluttering heartbeat.
Fiona realized she should probably stop staring at him as if he’d grown a third eye. Moving a few feet down the bar, she pretended to straighten glasses that didn’t need straightening, sending subtle glances in his direction now and again. He swiveled around on the stool, one arm resting on the bar, his large hand wrapped around the mug as he focused on the television suspended in the corner above the pool table.
How silly that she should be having such a strong reaction to this guy. His gold loop earrings, one in each lobe, and collar-length dark hair hanging down from beneath the cap made him seem just a little bit too dangerous. Of course, she hadn’t been involved with anyone since the breakup with her erstwhile fiancé, Paul the potato farmer. Unfortunately, for the past few years, she’d been in a man famine. But Paul hadn’t been the adventurous sort, and he hadn’t given any credence to Fiona’s dreams of owning and managing her own hotel. He’d simply told her goodbye when she’d asked him to come with her. Granted, that farewell had stung like a hornet, but now that she’d had some distance, she realized that she wasn’t suited for a man like Paul. He’d preferred the quiet life and crops; she preferred bright lights and big city—and craved adventure.
Adventure was sitting only a few feet away in the form of a demigod with a black clothing fetish. A man who could probably show her the time of her life, if she worked up enough nerve to make the suggestion.
Fiona mentally cataloged all the bad pickup lines she’d experienced in her twenty-five years. Mind if I suck your lips off your face? Too obvious. Could I show you the back seat of my sedan? Too Benny Jack. Besides, her car was temporarily out of commission. And apparently so were her seduction skills.
Come-ons were not her forte, but she decided it was now or never. She would engage him in a conversation. Something simple. The weather. Jockeys or briefs?
Inhaling a cleansing breath, Fiona grabbed a moderately clean rag and began working her way back in his direction. When she was only inches from his hand, she asked, “Would you like more coffee?”
“Not presently.” He subtly surveyed the area, something that might be lost on any casual observer, but not on Fiona.
“Are you looking for someone?” she asked.
He shifted back around to face her. “Yes.”
A man of few words. But that would not deter her. Tonight she would become Fiona the Fearless Flirt. “A woman?”
“No.”
Fiona wanted to cheer. “Okay. What does your friend look like? Maybe I’ve seen him around.”
“He is definitely not a friend.”
From his acid tone, Fiona wondered if she would soon have a fight on her hands. “I’m guessing he’s an enemy, right?”
He gave her a questioning look. “Are you interested in astrology?”
A totally unexpected question. Fiona didn’t see him as an astrology kind of guy, and frankly she was hard-pressed to believe that planet alignment controlled fate. Where was the tall dark stranger who was supposed to enter her life when Mars was in retro-something? Sitting right in front of her.
What the heck. She’d play along. “I find astrology somewhat intriguing. In fact, I’d bet you’re a Scorpio.” The oversexed sign.
“Correct.”
Bingo! Darn, Fiona, you’re good.
His eyes narrowed. “Are you a Leo?”
No, she was a Pisces. But if he wanted her to be a Leo, she could do that. She liked lions. In fact, he made her want to growl. “How’d you guess?”
He hesitated a moment then said, “I did not realize you were a woman.”
Ouch. Did she look that awful? And did he think she had bowling balls stuffed in her shirt? Granted, she’d always considered being a bit top heavy somewhat of a curse for someone with such a small frame, yet she’d never expected anyone to believe they weren’t real, or that she was a cross dresser. But, after all, this was Vegas. And it would be just her luck if he was gay. “Yes, I’m a woman. If you want a drag club, you might try downtown or the Strip.”
“My apologies.” His gaze settled on her breasts. “It is quite obvious you’re a woman. I meant I was not informed of your gender.”
Okay, she could forgive him. But she was still a trifle confused and a whole lot warm when he leaned forward and asked, “Have you seen anything?”
She saw the crease framing the right of his mouth that probably turned into a dimple when he smiled, something he had
