Page 16 of The Keeper

“Just having a chat with the lovely representative from the New York Legends,” Bennet answered. “She was actually the one hiding up here. I found her by accident.”

A lopsided grin pulled at the newcomer’s lips as he sauntered closer. I’d seen this type of walk before. Too many times to count. This guy fancied himself to be on the prowl. I bit my lip to stifle a laugh.

“Gallagher. Cade Gallagher,” he said in his best 007 voice. “Renowned striker for Royal City Athletic. Often imitated, never duplicated.” His hazel eyes sparkled with self-satisfaction.

“Did you rehearse all that or was this just a spontaneous eruption of verbal nonsense?” I giggled, unable to reign in my sarcasm.

Bennet turned his head to hide a smile.

“The mouth on you,” Cade said with a good natured grin. “I respect that. Brains, wit, and beauty. My three favorite qualities. And you are?”

“Victoria,” a sultry, baritone voice revealed my name.

I stilled. Its tone washed over me, quickening my pulse. Taking a deep breath, I glanced to my left. Getting caught up in Xavier’s heated blue stare was not something I thought would happen tonight, or ever again for that matter.

Dressed in gray pants and a white button down shirt, he stood with his arms crossed. The sleeves were rolled up to expose his defined forearms. And more tattoos, just like he’d hinted at. He was motionless except for the subtle way his ring-clad thumb stroked his lower lip.

He didn’t wear a tie and the shirt remained unbuttoned at the top, but my assumption that he’d look hot in a suit, or some variation of it, was correct. I finished the rest of my bourbon in one swallow and put the empty glass down.

“Nice to see you again,” Xavier said with a sly grin.

“Alright, wait a bleeding second,” Cade interjected. “How do you—” His eyes widened. “This is the one from the pub, isn’t it? The one that got you all hot and bothered.”

Bennet draped his arm over Cade’s shoulders. “How about you and me go downstairs for a drink.” Without waiting for a reply, Bennet guided him to the stairs, where they disappeared down into the crowd.

“You seemed pretty involved in your conversation with those two.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Did I miss anything good?”

“Not as good as what just walked into the room.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. Hitting on him wasn’t an option.

Or maybe it was.

Yep. It definitely was.

I’d blame it on the bourbon but that was a lame ass cop-out. He was hot and I felt more than a little frisky.

“I see.” He slid his hands into his pockets and before I knew it, stood inches away from me.

He smelled so good. Not of cologne or body spray or any of the manufactured crap some men seem to think they need. Just soap, shampoo and him. His scent reminded me of the outdoors. Fresh and earthy, like vetiver.

“Shouldn’t you be doing the rounds with your friends?” I asked.

“Not necessary.”

“Are you a soccer player too?”

“Soccer,” he mimicked with a grin. “Yes. I play football.”

I bit my lip to stifle a laugh at his correction.

He leaned toward me, invading my personal space the way a five star general crosses enemy lines, with precision and a healthy serving of arrogance. I was essentially caged between him and the railing.

It took quite a bit of effort not to slide my fingers up his chest and unbutton the rest of this shirt. Or tear it open and watch all the buttons scatter.

“Did you come here with someone tonight?” he asked.

“Like a date?”

“Yes, like a date.”

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