From the Author
It was a shot glass. Iwatched as the bartender filled it with vodka. "You look like you could usethis."
I looked up, a littlehigher than the glass, and caught a set of bronzed rock-solid abs. My eyes lingeredand then traveled upward, past the rippling muscles, the smooth, defined chest,past the black bowtie around his neck to finally land on his face.
I understood now whyhis body was so mouthwatering.
A face like that couldonly be attached to near perfection. Square, smooth jawline, prominent nose andcheekbones, full lips, olive-toned, sun-kissed skin, and eyes that looked likemelted chocolate. I couldn't tell what color hair he had because he wore ablack fedora that was slightly tilted to one side, giving him a devilish air.
If he were an all-you-can-eatbuffet, I'd unbutton the top of my jeans and dig in.
I stared at him dumbly,my brain refusing to form a cohesive thought, so I knew speaking wasn't goingto happen.
He smiled, placing his handspalm down on the bar and leaning over the top slightly, bringing his manlygoodness a little closer. "Bottoms up."
"I'm not drinkingtonight," I said, proud that I found my voice.
His dark eyes sweptover my face and he smiled. Then, still watching me, he picked up the shotglass and emptied it all into his mouth in one great gulp. He set it back downin front of me. "Most girls would have just taken the shot."
"I'm not most girls."
He leaned both elbowson the bar and stared at me. "So I see."