4: He is Hot??

Carmen's POV

From across the section I had confirmed the brown hair, the dark jacket, the confident posture, all of it matching Mirabel's description close enough that I was sure. But that was at a distance. Up close, as he leaned forward to say something to one of his companions and the light caught his face properly, the details filled in and they were better than the photograph. His jaw was sharper, his shoulders were broader, and his eyes were dark and warm. When they settled on me they lingered.

I turned back to my drink and took a sip and let myself feel it.

I set my glass down and looked at him again, slowly, deliberately. Then I let one corner of my mouth lift into something that was not quite a smile. It was smaller than that, more deliberate. I was sending an invitation.

He held my gaze for a long moment. Then he raised his glass to me from across the section, just slightly, and said something to the man beside him without looking away from me.

A few minutes later the bartender placed a glass in front of me. Dark amber, heavy glass. "From the gentleman in the section."

I picked it up, took a sip while looking directly at him, and let him see me enjoy it.

He stood and my breath caught. He was tall, taller than the photograph had suggested, and the jacket that had looked fitted from across the room was working hard up close. His shoulders were wide and his chest was broad. His body moved with ease. He had an athlete's build, unmistakable even under the clothes, the kind of body that made you think about what it looked like without them. His waist tapered under the jacket and his arms filled the sleeves and when he buttoned the single button as he stood I watched his hands and thought about where else they might end up tonight.

He walked toward the bar and every step confirmed what I was already thinking. This man is gorgeous! He is hot, sexy. I am speechless. The toxic part of my brain was working.

Just kiss him, right now, who cares. It suggested. He came to stand near me and his cologne reached me first, warm and clean, and up close his face was even worse, his skin clear and golden brown, his jaw carved, and his mouth, God, his mouth. I wanted to lean forward and bite his bottom lip and I had known him for less than five minutes. My toxic side was no longer whispering, she was screaming, and I was listening.

He signalled the bartender, ordered without rushing, and turned to me. His eyes moved down my body once, slowly, appreciatively, and came back to my face without apology.

"You've been at this bar for forty minutes and you haven't looked bored once."

"I'm not bored."

"I know, that's what I just said." He picked up his drink. "The question is whether you're going to keep sitting here or whether your evening is about to change."

"That depends entirely on what's being offered."

Something warm moved behind his eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted. "You haven't even asked my name."

"I didn't need to. You came to me."

"I did. And you don't seem surprised."

"Should I be?"

"No," he said. "You shouldn't be."

We were facing each other now, close enough that his knee was almost touching mine, and every time one of us spoke the other had to lean in slightly because the music gave us the excuse to get closer and neither of us was turning it down. He was even more handsome at this distance and I could see the detail of his arms through his sleeves and the warmth coming off his body was doing something to my concentration that I was choosing not to fight.

"I have a theory about you," he said.

"Already?"

"You put that dress on tonight knowing exactly what it would do to every man in this room, and then you sat at the bar and waited to see which one had the nerve to walk over."

"That’s a bold claim."

"Well, am I wrong?"

I took a slow sip of the drink he had sent me. "What if I say you're not?"

"Then I'd say I'm glad I'm the one sitting here."

"You should be."

He smiled, and it changed his whole face. 

"You're trouble," he said.

"You walked over here. That makes you the one looking for trouble."

"Maybe I found it."

I leaned forward on the bar and looked at him. "Maybe trouble found you."

We kept going like that, back and forth, every line a little closer than the last. The music had shifted to something slower and more intimate.

"You smell incredible," he said, low enough that I had to lean in.

"That's not a line."

"It's not. It's just true."

"And what does true get you tonight?"

He looked at me for a moment. "Whatever you want it to get me."

I held his gaze. My drink was almost gone. "You're very direct," I said.

"Is that a complaint?"

"No."

"Good."

He reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips barely grazing my skin, and the touch was so light and so deliberate that it went through me like a current. He let his hand stay near my face for a second before dropping it back to the bar.

"You're doing that on purpose," I said.

"Doing what?"

"That. The touching. You're testing how close you can get before I stop you."

"Have you thought about stopping me?"

"No."

"Then I'm not testing anything."

The air between us was doing something now, thickening in a way that had nothing to do with the room or the music or the drinks. His eyes dropped to my mouth and came back up and he didn't try to pretend they hadn't. My heart was going faster than it should have been and I could feel my skin responding to his closeness, every nerve ending awake.

"Tell me something," he said, leaning in close enough that his lips were near my ear and his breath was warm against my neck. "What were you actually hoping would happen tonight?"

"This," I said.

He pulled back just enough to look at me and whatever he saw in my face made something in his expression shift, the composure cracking just slightly, patience giving way to something less patient underneath.

The second drink was almost gone. I had stopped performing somewhere in the middle of it, stopped running the script Mirabel had given me, stopped thinking about the plan at all. The toxic version of me had fully taken the wheel and she did not care about plans or scripts or morning-after consequences. She cared about the man sitting in front of her and the way his voice sounded when he leaned in close and the fact that his hand was now resting on the bar next to hers, close enough that she could feel the heat from it.

"I want to do something to you right now" I said.

"And what is it that you want to do to me?"

"Kissing those lips of yours while I take the opportunity to feel those abs you've chosen to hide behind the fabric." I was actually surprised at whatever was coming out of my mouth.

He smiled. "I've been looking forward to this, querida. Do it"

The way he said 'querida' made me feel a pulse in my pussy. What effect does this man have on me?After making the decision, I finally leaned in and kissed him. He returned the kiss immediately, kissing like he had been waiting for it, like the entire conversation had been building to this and he had known it before I did. His hand came up to the side of my neck and his thumb traced my jaw and I felt my whole body respond. The kiss deepened and his other hand found my waist and pulled me closer on the stool and I let him because I wanted to be closer. Every inch of distance between us felt like a waste.

His hands were everywhere after that. On my back, on my waist, in my hair, like he was mapping the shape of me through the fabric. The bar was right there and the room was right there and people were watching but I didn't care. I could feel the heat coming off his skin and his mouth was warm and he kissed the way he talked, confident and unhurried and completely focused on me.

I grabbed his collar and squeezed it, pulling him closer and it still wasn’t enough. I needed him inside me. He gently bit my lower lip and I gasped. He took the opportunity to kiss deep, our tongues intertwining. 

We pulled apart and his forehead rested against mine for a moment, both of us breathing harder than we should have been in a public place. His eyes were darker than before and his lips were slightly swollen. He was looking at me like I was the only person in the building.

"We should go," I said.

I leaned in close, my lips brushed his ears as I whispered.

“I want you to take me home and fuck me until the only thing I can think of is your dick inside of me”

He gasped and squeezed my waist, as if doing that would help reduce the effect my words had on him.

I continued “I want those athletic body of yours to pin me down while you bang me without mercy”

I pulled back to look at him, then my eyes moved to his trousers. I could see the evidence of his arousal. I followed my instincts and grabbed him through his trousers, not caring if anyone was looking.

He let out a gasp and collapsed his head on my neck. "Fuck!" He whispered.

"Yes, I will fuck you" I said it like I was responding to a question he asked.

He got up after a minute and stretched his hand to me.

"Get up. Let’s go” he said. I obeyed immediately.

Outside, the night air hit my skin and I felt everything at once, the cool air, his hand in mine, the heat still sitting low in my stomach from the bar. A black car was already at the kerb and he opened the door.

I got in.

He followed.

The door closed behind us and we were alone and the city was on the other side of the glass and everything I had whispered to him at the bar was now a promise hanging in the warm dark of the back seat.

I looked at him. He looked at me. Neither of us was smiling. We were past smiling.

The car pulled away from the kerb and he pulled me to himself kissed me.