Page 6 of Restless Hawke
The longer his appraisal takes, the more I have to fight the urge to squirm.
Heat ripples over my skin everywhere his gaze touches, but I force myself to remain unaffected.
I didn’t expect those eyes.
Or thatlook.
Attention like this from men rarely rattles me.
There are times I even relish it and bathe in the power I can hold over the weaker sex that is controlled by what’s between their legs.
But this feels…different.
In a way I am not wholly comfortable with.
Finally, his focus returns to my face again, and he smirks. “No, actually. Why do you ask?”
I shrug nonchalantly and take another sip of my drink. “It isn’t every day you see somebody walk up to a bar and order something that costs more than $500 per pour. I thought maybe you were drowning your sorrows.”
He tilts his glass toward me, a light chuckle filling the space between us and sending goosebumps skittering across my skin. “If I had just lost a bunch of money, would I have ordered a $500 scotch?”
A grin fights to pull up my lips. “I guess that’s true.” Matching his movement, I tilt my glass his way. “Touché.”
His long, elegant fingers tighten on his scotch, and he brings it to his mouth again and enjoys another sip, never taking his gaze off mine. As he pulls the glass from his lips, he leans closer. “And what areyoudoing sitting here, drinking alone?”
Those warm azure eyes sparkle with mischief and heat, longing to keep me company in a way that would require privacy.
I trail my finger through the condensation forming on the martini glass, scanning the casino floor around us. “Just enjoying people-watching.”
He nods slowly and follows my gaze. “This is a good place for that.” Another sip. That intense focus swings back my way. He considers me for a moment and tilts his head toward the high-stakes poker room. “Is that what you were doing over at the table earlier? People-watching?”
Shit.
This man never looked up.
Neveroncegave any indication he saw me there, but apparently, he doesn’t miss much, even when his unnerving focus is elsewhere—like on winning that massive pool of chips.
I allow my shoulders to rise slightly and fall, trying to appear disinterested and unrattled at being caught. “Something like that.”
He rests his left forearm on the bar, leaning back a bit and watching me with a knowing glint in his eyes. Almost like he can see what really lies under this dress and the makeup I have all over my face. As if all of it might as well not exist. “I have a pretty good idea what you were doing.”
Raising a brow, I turn toward him on the stool, my leg slipping even farther out from the slit, revealing almost my entire thigh. If I opened my legs even a fraction of an inch, he would know I’m not wearing anything under this. “Do you?”
His eyes sweep over me.
The skin-tight dress.
All the exposed flesh.
My collarbone…
Breasts…
And he’s undoubtedly picturing my back that he saw when I walked away earlier and again when he came in and sat down.
A knowing grin plays at his lips, and that confidence I heard earlier in his voice resonates from him. “You were looking for your next mark.”
I try not to let my back stiffen at the implication, but my shoulders tighten at what he so casually laid out. “You think I’m a hooker?”
