Page 72 of Undone, Love Times Three

I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a man looking at me before. It’s as if he is undressing me with his eyes, the ghost of his hands on my skin.

Oh God, what is going on with me? I finish the wine and decide its time to go.

The bartender appears with the bottle of red wine. I really shouldn’t.

“Compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar.”

“What?” I gasp, my eyes darting back to him.

“Do you not want to accept it?”

Flustered, I look back at the bartender.

“Uh, yes. That’s fine. Thank you.”

He pours me another glass and I take a fortifying sip. I have to thank him now, right? I imagine myself doing that whole raising my glass and giving him a sultry look, but I’m not sure I can pull that off.

He must have seen something he liked, if he sent a drink my way.

The bartender walks away. I blow out a breath and count to five, then move my attention back to the end of the bar. The man is no longer there.

My heart plummets and I turn on the stool to search for him.

Oh.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Clearing my throat, I nod, because my voice is faulty. His eyes take me in, from my toes to the top of my head, then back to my eyes. He says nothing, but I feel as though he’s just stripped me naked. I’m not freaked out by that, which takes me by surprise.

He focuses on the camelia flower tattoo on my shoulder cap and collarbone. Delicate branches with half open flower buds twist upwards behind my ear. It’s beautiful work, done by one of the most talented artists I’ve ever known.

“How far does it go?” he asks.

My breath hitches. The dress hides the rest of the tattoo, which curls over my shoulder blade. I still remember lying on the tattoo table, completely unclothed to my waist as he tattooed me. Hisprofessional hands would feel nothing like how it would if this man were to run his hands over my art.

“Waistline,” I say.

His eyes move over my bare shoulder again, before he pulls out the stool beside me and takes a seat. Touching his collar, his fingertips trail over the ink snaking out of his own collar. I want to see it.

My heart is pounding so fast, I feel light-headed. He’s barely spoken to me. Why does it feel like I know him intimately?

The bartender returns and pours him a glass of red wine. He lifts it towards me. We clink and I watch his fingers around the glass, the way he lifts it and takes a few sips, his throat working as he swallows.

Good god. I’m about to combust. I’ve never done anything like this before, never felt this turned on by a man who has done nothing but sit beside me. The way he is staring tells me he knows the effect he is having.

I can’t help but wonder how often he does this. How many women have fallen under this spell?

“I saw you come in and I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

What do I say to that? Instead of bumbling an embarrassing response I smile, hoping I’m pulling off sultry and not flailing for a way to handle this man.

“I didn’t want to interrupt if you were waiting for someone, but you’ve been alone for a while. I can’t imagine that anyone would stand up a woman as beautiful as you.”

I shake my head. “I’m not meeting anybody. I left a party and came here for a quiet drink.”

“You weren’t enjoying the party?”

“It was with people I don’t know very well and, if I’m being honest, a little boring.”

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