Page 3 of Stricken

So, I incline my head in assent and reply, "Why not?"

He slides a little closer and I can smell his cologne?fresh and woodsy, with a hint of spice. Intoxicating. And so fucking pure male.

It sears my senses, makes me dizzy with need, and I'm more than ready to see where this is going to lead us.

He signals the bartender, and before I get to say anything, whiskey splashes into a tumbler before me. Oh, interesting. He wants to take charge by assuming what I drink. Then he has the wrong idea of who I am. Even if his guess is correct.

"So what brings you to the City of Angels?" he asks, sitting on the stool beside me. There's a subtle accent to his words I can't quite place. Not the kind of accent a foreigner like me has, but something a lot more deeper that says he was born here, and his family is from elsewhere and speaking another language is a tradition among them. But I don't let my imagination wander further. It's not an important detail.

"Is it business or pleasure?" the stranger asks a follow-up question. Names are never exchanged. This isn't about forging a connection.

"A bit of both now that I have your company." I take a sip, let the liquor linger on my tongue before swallowing. "You?"

A shrug of broad shoulders beneath an impeccably tailored suit. "I live here at the moment. Contemplating my next move."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Not enough to want to stay for good."

"A man of mystery." I take one more sip. "I can appreciate that."

His eyes sweep over me, dark and assessing. "Something tells me you have your share of secrets... Ones you're not keen to spill to a stranger in a bar."

"Don't we all?"

"Not want to share our secret desires?"

"Have secrets."

He laughs softly. A throaty, hard laugh that has my blood going down to my cock immediately. I shift on my stool, trying to keep calm. But his presence—the smell, the heat, the sounds he's making—is too overwhelming. I drain my glass, the burn chasing the shadows that want to make an appearance from the corners of my mind.

"Fair enough." The stranger signals for another round, his gaze never leaving my face. I like this. I like that he's so daring.

"Then let's talk of other things."

"Let's." I lift my tumbler in mock toast.

He smiles with the corner of his mouth. "I take it you're not going to tell me where you're from."

"I take it my accent isn't that strong anymore for you to guess?"

"Oh, I've guessed a long time ago."

"Have you, now?"

"But we all come from somewhere else to this place for various reasons."

"What are your reasons?"

"Business opportunities… Not mine. My family's. I'm just a nepo baby, so to speak."

"I can relate to that."

There's a moment of charged silence between us. It's a balm. A temporary anchor against the riptide of dark memories threatening to drag me under. The infectiousness of his laugh, the teasing challenge in his eyes... For a second, I can almost forget.

Almost.

"You seem… burdened," the stranger says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

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