Page 8 of The Verdict

“Him.” He jerked his chin toward the far corner of the room, and my smile dimmed.

Les.

“Real,” I said easily.

I felt his low hum, the sound tracing the wordwrongover my skin.

“Fake,” he corrected with a low rumble.

I shook my head and laughed.No.He was wrong, and yet it didn’t stop the shiver of uncertainty that went through me.

“And what about you?” I charged, facing him fully. “Real or fake?”

His gaze darkened, and his voice turned impossibly husky. “What do you think?”

Don’t do it.I bit my lip, watching lust shine clear in his eyes as I pretended to think. As I fought to say anything but the word that slipped out. “Real.”

“What gave it away?”

My tongue slid over my bottom lip, his eyes tracking it like it was his prey. Heat pooled between my thighs, a ravenous ache churning inside me that had been starved of food for more than half a decade.

“This.”I lifted my handand ran my fingers along the zippered edge of his leather jacket—another mistake when I felt the heat of his chest pulsing under the thick fabric of his tee.Damn you, Don Julio.“You didn’t even pretend to dress like apingüino—a penguin.”

“Not a prim and proper kind of guy,” he rumbled, something fierce and brutal reaching from his gaze and gripping mine, the whole of me threatening to turn into a puddle of lust.

For a single second, I wished I’d met this man in a bar in Barcelona…before. We would’ve shared a drink. Shared aconversation. And then I would’ve asked him to show me his bike—to take me for a ride.And then I would’ve ridden him.

It would’ve been simple.So simple.But not anymore.

“No.” My voice cracked. “I don’t imagine you are, Motorcycle Man.”

His jaw flexed, a low noise escaping from the depths of his chest. “And what would you imagine about me?”

This time, the shiver was hot. Burning. An electrical charge reaching to every corner of my skin.

The taste of his mouth. The feel of his full lips on my skin. The texture of his hair pulled between my fingers. And the power of his body as it pleasured mine.

What if I don’t want to imagine?The question—the sultry insinuation burned on the tip of my tongue like a fire I needed to put out. But I couldn’t. It was too risky. A decade ago, I would’ve continued down this path to an easy fling with a seductive stranger, but not anymore.

Before I did anything foolish and blamed it on the tequila, I stuck a proverbial knife in my desire and plastered a smile on my face.

“I wouldn’t imagine anything about you,” I said simply.

His gaze flashed. “Fake.”

It was as good as calling me a liar, and that was when I realized this man wasexactlylike the ocean in his eyes. Utterly transparent but deceptively deep.

My breath hitched. I quickly pulled my hand off his jacket and back into my lap and redirected my gaze out into the crowd, scanning for someone familiar.Where was Les?I should probably find him?—

I gasped, my body jerking so forcefully, my drink sloshed over the edge and onto my thighs.No—it couldn’t be.And then he smiled at me and my stomach sank like a stone of ice.Mars. Mars was here.Ice-cold dread bathed my body.Fuck.Iclutched the strap of my purse.He’d found me.I looked for Jupiter. Mercury. They had to be here.They’d found me.

Hot fingers gripped my shoulder, and instinct almost sent me into fight mode until I saw that clear blue.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling breathlessly. “Sorry, just a chill.” I pretended to pout as I stood to examine and quickly wipe my legs and dress.I had to get out of here.

“Fake,” he said deeply, his whole demeanor going protective. “What’s wrong? What did you see?”

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