Page 9 of Devil's Tulip

By 10 PM, we’re open for business and customers slowly trickle in. 2 AM and I’m dead on my feet but we still have an hour to go. At least it’s a slow night, being the middle of the week and all. But that also means my tips tonight are going to suck. Can’t win.

Thirty minutes to closing, I’m wiping down the bar when the door opens, and I start my usual closing-time spiel: “We’re closing soon, so we can’t—” The words die in my throat as I look up and see him.

Holy mother of sin.

An aura of danger oozes off him like sweat in the summer heat, and it’s not just the tattoos covering his muscular frame.

He carries himself with the entitled nonchalance of a man who has never heard “no”—wealth and power in human form.The custom suit should scream civilized, but not on him. If anything, it only emphasizes the raw danger beneath, like a tiger trying to pass itself off as a house cat. And no one’s fooled. His hair is shaved on both sides, leaving a thick mass of dark blond curls on top, surrounded by dark lines of tattoos.

The inked lines stretch down from his skull to the back of his neck, his muscled throat, and disappear into the crisp white collar of his shirt. Drool pools in the corner of my mouth when he shoves curls off his face, revealing more of the cryptic patterns inked on the sides of his skull. I squint as I try to make sense of the scribbled lines and words, but my brain short-circuits somewhere between “art” and “Jesus Christ, that’s hot.” So I move on.

Gold studs wink from his earlobes, matching the piercing in his brow and the gold circle in his nose. By looks alone, he’s the living, breathing cliché of every stereotypical bad boy teenage girls crush on.

Except this is no teenage fantasy. This is a grown-ass man who could probably snap me in two without breaking a sweat. And fuck me, if that thought doesn't make me clench…

I’ve never seen a more handsome man in my life.

As if sensing my appreciative stare, he turns his full attention on me. Pale blue eyes, sharp as icicles, knock the breath clean out of my lungs. Fuck, it should be a crime to be that gorgeous. No,really. His beauty borders on angelic.

He’s getting closer to the bar, and I can feel my brain turning to mush, my heart stumbling over itself, and—lord have mercy—little pools of liquid leaking from my core.

I squeeze my thighs together and quickly look away from him before I can embarrass myself. A surreptitious swipe across my cheek confirms no actual drool, thank God. But still, I keep scrubbing the same spot on the bar over and over, hyper-aware of his gaze searing into me as he closes the distance.

Shit. Shit. What do I do? What do Isay? ‘Hi, welcome to the bar I can’t even pretend to manage because I’m too busy picturing you naked’? Hell, no.

Then his scent hits me, and my whole thought process goes up in smoke. He smells like dark chocolate, bergamot mixed with cigarettes, and sinful nights. It’s dizzying... It’s delicious. I inhale deeply, greedy for more of it, even as more arousal dampens my panties.

“Hi, there.” The rich baritone of his voice is the final nail in my coffin.

I make the mistake of looking up, and those striking eyes capture me completely. The slight quirk of his lips—not quite a smile—sets off fireworks in my stomach. And suddenly I’m desperate to see what a real smile would look like on that beautiful face. Dangerous, probably.

My pulse kicks into overdrive and I go stock-still, hardly daring to breathe, when he reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. His warm fingers barely graze the shell of my ear, but I shudder. My breath hitches, and he notices. Oh, he definitely notices.

His eyes kindle with amusement, but that maddeningly restrained smile doesn’t budge. Damn it.

“Bree! What are you doing?” Vince’s grating voice, far too close, jolts me out of my trance. Literally. I jump a little, heat flooding my cheeks as I realize how blatantly I’ve been staring. Ducking my head, I scuttle away from the handsome stranger and escape to the other end of the bar, putting as much distance as possible between me and him.

What the hell is wrong with me? It’s not like I haven’t seen a hot man or two in my lifetime. I’m not some bumbling virgin, for crying out loud.

From the corner of my eye, I see him lean over and say something to Vince that I miss while attending to anothercustomer. Whatever it is, it has my boss rolling his eyes as he stalks over to me. “He wants you,” he mutters, jerking his head back towards my handsome stranger.

My heart skips at his choice of words.He wants me.Could a man like that really want someone like me? No, don’t be ridiculous. He looks like he could have any woman. All he’d have to do is snap his powerful, tattooed and ringed fingers, and panties would drop—mine included.

“Did you hear me?” Vince barks. “Go take his order. And be quick about it.”

My feet are moving on autopilot, taking me back to him—back into his orbit. I have to force myself to meet his gaze, instantly getting lost in his electric blue eyes again. “What–what would you like to order?”

He tilts his head just the slightest bit. “What are you offering?”

I freeze. Is he… flirting with me? No, no way. I clear my throat, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “You can, uh, check the menu if you’re not sure what you want yet.”

“What if I want you? Would you give me yourself?”

My core clenches, nipples pebbling beneath my bra.Fuck. He’s definitely flirting with me. This glorious man is hitting onme. Is this a joke? A dream? Did I slip in the shower and crack my head open? Because no way this is happening.

I stare at him awkwardly for a moment, trying to remind myself of rule number three—or was it number four? Never make any meaningful interactions. Don’t let anyone remember you.

Just walk away Gianna. Tell him to fuck off. Donotengage.

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