Page 6 of Remy

“You’ve piqued my curiosity,” he admits. “Indulge me a little.”

My heart pitter-patters.

Pitter. Goddamn. Patters.

It’s ridiculous. Top-tier insane.

And the rest of my body? It tingles like I’ve been hooked up to a low-voltage live wire.

“What would you like to drink?” He keeps staring. Keeps casting his magical trance with those dark eyes.

Like an idiot, I clear my throat again, unsure if I should run or ask him to impregnate me.

I hear myself say, “Champagne,” the word spoken by whatever man-hungry demonic force has possessed my body.

I rarely drink. The last time I indulged was four years ago at my twenty-first birthday, and the only reason for the indulgence was to ease my way through the forced social activity when Ivy and Allison dragged me to a club.

“Champagne for the lady.” He instructs the bartender.

The woman nods and gets to work on our order.

“So who are you looking for?” My new deity friend grabs a coaster from the bar, drawing my attention to the rings on his fingers. Thumb, pointer, and pinky.

A confirmation of the bad boy trait, no?

He has strong hands. I bet they’re talented, too. Rough. Warm. A pretty necklace.

“Ollie?” He grins. “Tell me who you’re looking for.”

I shake my head, trying to think of a less embarrassing response than the truth when my gaze catches sight of my father seated at a table in the far back corner of the building.

Shit. I lunge toward the stranger, crowding into his larger frame, using his personal space as a hiding spot.

“You okay?” He stiffens, standing taller, broader, creating more of a shield. “Are you in trouble?”

“No. Nothing like that. I just don’t want to be seen.”

He inches closer, wrapping a protective arm around my waist, the delicious scent of his woodsy aftershave sinking into my lungs. “Need me to get you out of here?”

“No.” I chance a peek over his shoulder. “Just, um… don’t move. Please.”

My father’s back is to me, his younger dark-haired companion facing the room. I don’t recognize the guy, but like the man beside me, he’s wearing a suit, the strong stance of his shoulders and posture speaking of power and prestige.

“How ’bout I do you one better?” The deity protects me from view as he pays the bartender and hands me my flute of champagne. “I’ll walk behind you to keep you hidden while you lead the way to the free booth at the front of the building.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” I stare up at him. At such close proximity, he towers at least a good six inches above my five-three height.

“Trust me, I have no intention of letting you out of my sight until I learn your secrets.” He taps the bar, murmurs to the waitress to keep our drinks coming, then indicates the booth with a nod. “I’ll follow close behind.”

I should decline the offer.

Should’ve declined the drink and those to come, too.

I’m not sure what has me acting outside my normal hibernation regime—maybe the guilt over Dad’s birthday or Ivy’s taunts that I don’t have a life—but I lead the way, downing half my flute of champagne in the few yards it takes to reach the booth.

“He’s going to recognize me.” I absently touch my braid. “I always wear my hair like this.”

Now that it’s confirmed there’s no date, I don’t want my father knowing I was crazy enough to follow him.

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