Page 2 of Lorcan's Obsession

The Macallan in my hand was far superior to any other liquor the man could offer. But this bartender always had a territorial gaze on Glorious Thing, and I needed his attention away from her. While he ran an exhaustive list of what beverage would please me, I could snatch some alone time with her.

I positioned my drink to the left, behind my elbow, tracking the bartender’s movement. He reached up for a bottle placed on the top shelf and—

"Come on! Could you watch it? Now I'm going to be all sticky. Urgh!" Glorious Thing uttered, her butterscotch-syrup voice giving me goosebumps.

Her head lifted.

Saints. I stopped breathing. All the stolen glimpses from a distance had not prepared me for her ethereal beauty up close. My eyes were immediately drawn to her luscious lips, a pink-rose color with a hint of cognac-brown around the edges.

They’d look so perfect wrapped around my—

I shook my head out of the stupor, moving my gaze past her cute button nose until our eyes locked. She had the most stunning green eyes I’d ever seen. Rare, like the finest vivid emerald.

She was out-of-this-world stunning.

My brain finally kicked into gear. I scrambled for the nearest bunch of napkins and stretched out my hand.

"I'm so sorry. Please, let me help you clean that up."

"Thanks," she breathed.

The drink had spilled on her leg and down the sides of the leather stool. A gentleman would have stayed clear of her thighs and cleaned the surrounding areas. But I needed to feel her. I wanted to be sheathed in that charm that had me in a chokehold.

I started rubbing the mess off her thighs, waiting for her to stop me.

She didn't.

I gripped her leg for better cleaning. She fit perfectly in my grasp. Her honey-golden skin was like fine silk, rich and flowing. It took all my willpower not to caress her.

Our hands became a mess of entwined limbs holding dry white tissues, but neither of us moved an inch. When I craned my neck to look at her again, the outside world ceased to exist.

I took a long inhale, wishing I could bottle up her scent—a fusion of lilacs and…cotton candy? She was definitely good enough to eat. For the first time ever, I was too stunned to talk to a woman. This one had captivated all my senses.

Her soft hands gripped my wrists, balancing herself as she stood up. Her pillowy breasts nestled in front of my face as the little black dress bunched across her tiny waist. My eyes delightedly swept over her full cleavage as I quickly assessed her mouthwatering set: undoubtedly perky, D on the double. I’d played with enough tits to become a free consultant.

Glorious Thing narrowed her eyes and glared at the object of her irritation: me. I stepped aside and moved out of her path.

Her departure to the bathrooms stole our charged air, and I strained to catch the fading click-clack of her heels as she traipsed across the shiny marble floor.

Starstruck, I thudded on the stool next to hers and stared at the fresh whiskey cocktail like it could cure my stupefaction.

I wasn’t some pimpled teenager on a first date. I was an experienced ladies' man. Yet, at this moment, my extensive fuckboy resumé felt inadequate. What would I say? What was an acceptable topic of conversation? What would make her smile?

Wrong question. This means you care.

Curiosity about her corrupted my veins faster than blow. Despite shadowing this woman long enough to earn me a spot at a crappy PI academy, I was raging for more with her. I would get her to talk to me, laugh with me, lie in my bed beside me. Not because I wanted it, but because I needed it.

Fucking her was playing second fiddle to knowing her, and I couldn’t give two shits. I would have her no matter the cost.

I made myself comfortable on the barstool, resting my back against the wooden slats and craning my neck toward the direction Glorious Thing had disappeared to.

Two minutes turned to five, and I restlessly started tapping my shoe against the footrest. What was taking her so long? Had she used another exit and left the hotel?

What would I say when she returned? Ask if her dress was dry?

That’d be too lame.

I pondered my better options. To make this a pleasant and long night, I had to ensure she didn’t find out I spilled the drink on purpose. The best way to do that was for me to act like I’d moved on from the accident. I beckoned the bartender.

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