Page 2 of Fire

She received a friendly smile in return before he placed two bottles on the bar in front of her. Being free, she’d assumed she’d get glasses of tap water, but they were fancy bottles in a brand she’d never heard of before.

Nice.

“Thank you.”

That earned her another smile. He really was cute with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes. Not her type and probably too young for her, but cute, nonetheless. She knew Allie would go gaga over him. Hewasher type. She even liked them a little young. Gwen, on the other hand, liked them tall, dark, and handsome. And older. At least in their thirties. Until then they were boys. Fun to hang out with. Flirt with. But not relationship material. She’d learned that the hard way with boyfriend one and two while in college. After that, she’d steered clear.

Not that her last couple of boyfriends had been much better. While more mature, they’d still been hesitant to make a commitment. And with twenty-eight just around the corner, she was ready to settle down.

But she wasn’t ready to settle.

She was waiting for the guy who would make her pulse race, give her goosebumps, and make her legs wobbly. She wasn’t sure if someone like that existed or if it was a myth made up for romance novels, but she wasn’t willing to give up hope yet. She still had a good chunk of time left on her biological clock—she could wait.

And if time started ticking down and she never found him? Well, she’d cross that bridge if she ever got there. She was a romantic—but a practical one.

Scanning the seated area for Allie, her eyes stopped in their tracks when they landed on a man. And not just any man. He was, by far, the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on. Even her imagination would have a hard time conjuring up someone better looking. He leaned against a half-wall that separated the regular clientele from the VIP section. His stance was relaxed—his elbow and part of his forearm resting on top of the wall, a drink dangling from his fingertips—but his focus was sharp on the room.

Watching.

Scanning.

Observing.

Suddenly, his head turned as though he’d felt her eyes on him, and his gaze locked with hers, gaining her his sole attention.

He was even more devastating head-on. His dark-brown hair was swept back from his forehead, a little longer on the top than on the sides, and had a bit of a curl that made it look more unruly than neat. His features were so damn perfect, it was hard to believe it wasn’t some trick of the light he was standing under—dark, thick eyebrows, defined cheekbones, and a chiseled nose that wasn’t too large nor too small for his face. And a five o’clock shadow graced his slightly squared chin, strong jaw, and upper lip.

He was in all black—ebony-dyed jeans and an untucked dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. The shirt had a bit of a sheen that reflected in the light and looked buttery soft. High-end cotton.

He seemed to be scrutinizing her as thoroughly as she was him. Her body grew warm at the same time a shiver shot down her spine, sending goosebumps up her arms.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

It had to be a figment of her imagination because she’d just been thinking about weak knees, goosebumps, and tingles. She did a slow blink, but he was still there.

Still staring at her.

Still having the same effect on her.

She took a step forward—almost feeling compelled his direction—but movement caught the corner of her eye. She turned her head. Allie was flagging her down. Gwen raised a hand, acknowledging her by holding up a finger, asking for a minute. She wasn’t usually brave enough to walk up to a guy and introduce herself, but forhim, she’d make the exception.

Gwen could’ve sworn she’d only looked away for a second, but when her eyes landed back on the spot where he’d been standing, he was gone.

Heart sinking, she quickly looked around and spotted his retreating back as he headed deep into the bowels of the club until he was swallowed from sight.

Melancholy engulfed her senses, disappointed he hadn’t had the same life-altering reaction she’d had. That she’d felt something and he hadn’t only proved her earlier theory—his effect on her had been her fanciful imagination.

Or, more likely, the tequila.

Dusting off the rejection, she plastered a smile on her face and weaved her way to Allie.

That her cheerfulness was only skin deep she wouldn’t examine until later that night in the wee hours of the morning when she couldn’t sleep.

Blake pulled his eyes away from the brunette on the dance floor to look over his shoulder when a knock sounded on his office door. “Come in.”

Reggie, his head of security, popped his head in. “Mr. Stone, there’s been an incident. The police were called.”

He turned from the one-way mirror that looked down onto the club, furrowing his brows. “What happened?”

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