Page 6 of Dirty Pucker

Whoa…

This guy is tall. Like, probably six-three or six-four. It’s also clear that he’s built like a brick wall.

Even the hoodie and jacket he’s wearing can’t hide how muscular he is.

And he’s hot. Like, really, really hot.

I take in the broad spread of his shoulders, the thick sheet of dark scruff on his impossibly square jaw, how his dark hair is thick and messy. Like he’s always running his fingers through it.

But it’s his eyes that I can’t stop looking at.

They’re a rich mahogany brown with flecks of caramel gold. And despite the way he’s glaring at the creep, I could swear I see softness behind all that sharpness in his stare.

His thick fingers clamp into the creep’s shoulder as he spins him around. The drunk winces. My gaze bounces between them.

“I think you should leave her alone,” the guy says, his voice low and rough.

“Look, mate, this isn’t your concern,” the creep snaps.

The guy leans forward, invading the creep’s space. His glare turns razor sharp. “If you’re gonna harass a woman and ignore her when she asks you to leave her alone, I’ll make it my concern to remove you. Now leave. And take your drink with you.”

The drunk creep finally seems to register that this guy is bigger than him and could likely kick the shit out of him if he wanted. He stumbles away, drink in hand.

I glance up at the ruggedly handsome stranger who saved me.

“Thank you,” I finally say.

Instead of smiling like I think he will, he frowns. Not like he’s mad. More like he’s confused about why I would thank him. My stomach flips. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me. His eyes are focused, like he doesn’t see anything or anyone else in this bar except me.

“Thank you’s not necessary,” he says.

I take in the softness in his deep brown eyes, how they contrast nicely with the sharp angles and ruggedness of his handsome face.

The peppery evergreen scent of his cologne hits me. I almost moan. Whoa. He smells incredible. And it’s making it impossible for me to think straight. I clear my throat and hope he doesn’t notice that I’m struggling to stand upright in his presence.

I smile at him. “Buy you a drink then?”

His forehead relaxes as the corner of his mouth tugs into a half-smile. My heart skids in my chest.

Holy hell. This guy is dangerously handsome when he smiles. And he’s not even full-on smiling.

What would my reaction be if he grinned at me?

There’s a faint pulse between my legs. Heat flashes across my skin. Well. There’s my answer.

He gestures to the half-full glass of beer on the bar top. “No need. I’m good.”

His half-smile fades. His gaze on me focuses, like he’s studying me. “You okay?”

Warmth pools at the center of my chest at how he’s concerned about me, a total stranger.

I nod. “Yeah, I am. Thanks for asking.”

He nods once then glances off to the side, like he’s not quite sure what to do or say.

I touch his arm. “You sure I can’t get you anything?”

His gaze falls to my hand touching his wrist. I instantly pull away. I probably shouldn’t have done that.

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