Page 5 of Thorns of Desire
“Gay?”
He threw his head back and his baritone laugh filled the small space between us.
“I wouldn’t be standing with the most beautiful woman on the continent if I was.”
Relief washed over me as my gaze flicked to the mirror behind the bar, catching my reflection. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes glimmering like diamonds. I wore my favorite sophisticated but sexy, white Dolce and Gabbana bustier minidress that showed off my curves the way I liked. Paired withmy Louboutin pumps that always gave my legs extra length… Yeah, I knew I looked good.
“You’re not too shabby yourself,” I retorted, already wishing I could see more of him. It might be October, but the heat radiating from beneath his tailored three-piece suit was enough to set me on fire.
I turned to face him, his smoldering bedroom eyes pulling me into their depths. He smelled damn good, too.
“Do you have a name? Or should I call you Mr. Hot Daddy? Because another five minutes and it’ll stick forever.”
His dark chuckle followed and he extended his hand. When I put mine into his, he lifted it to his lips, turned it over, and brushed a light kiss over my knuckles. It sent a tingle racing through me.
“I’m Manuel.”
“Manuel,” I repeated, staring at his lips, mesmerized by his smooth, deep voice.
“Now it’s only fair I get your name.”
“Athena.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “Goddess of wisdom, craft, and warfare.”
I pursed my lips. “I’d rather be Aphrodite, but nobody asked me.”
“She’s overrated.” He shrugged, and his eyes raked down my body. “Although, you’re certainly as tempting as Aphrodite.”
I knew Italians were renowned for their passion and charm, but this man took it a step further. The air crackled between us, tension weaving its invisible thread between us and pulling taut.
I licked my lips, my hands shaking with the sudden desire to touch him. But I didn’t move, resisting the spell. His body was coiled tight, jaw flexing and hands in fists at his sides, almost like he was fighting the same intense need to touch me.
I let my gaze travel the length of him and…holy fucking shit.There was an unmistakable bulge in his slacks.
My toes curled and my pussy throbbed as I teetered on the edge of what I wanted to do—jump his bones right now—and what I should do, which was get to know him.
Fuck that. I know him well enough.
“You’re packing,” I blurted.
A slow, sexy smile spread across his face. “I am, yes.”
His dark eyes heated, and for once, I decided not to be cautious. For so long, I’d weighed my decisions and made sure to pick men who were safe and careful—boring—but all that left me with was disappointment.
It was probably the reason behind my current writer’s block. My inspiration of late was boring as hell. So, I was determined. I’d take my chances on the wild side, starting with this Italian.
He would be anything but a letdown, I was certain of it. From the way he carried himself, there wasn’t any doubt that he knew exactly what to do between the sheets.
I bit my bottom lip as all kinds of sensual images flashed through my mind. “Do you do this often?”
His brow arched. “Do what?”
“Pick up random girls at bars,” I deadpanned.
He threw his head back and laughed again. “I don’t pick up girls.”
“But you pick up women?”
