Page 15 of Captive Audience
On the back of his right hand, a black raven unfurled its wings, clutching a dagger in its talons. Curling around his wrist, nearly lost in shadow, was a tattooed string of worn rosary beads. The cracked crucifix resting over his pulse looked like it was dipped in blood.
The artwork was beautiful in a brutal sort of way.
Intricate. Meaningful. Dark.
“Only a stupid shite would turn you down.” His words drew my eyes back to his.
“That’s what my friends said. Turns out, this city is full of them.”
“Not tonight.” He held my gaze, the silence a tangible thread between us while the impact of his statement caused my belly to stir. “So your friends sent you over here as, what? A dare?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
He waited for me to continue, although I didn’t want to.
“By complicated, I mean embarrassing.”
Still nothing. Great. This was getting uncomfortable, but I recognized what he was doing. It was that annoying power play intelligent people used when they wanted to see how much their victim would blab.
Hot, Irish, and smart. I was in so much trouble.
“Fine. They sent me over here because they think you can rectify a situation.”
He cocked his head. “What situation is that?”
Nope. I couldn’t look this guy dead in the eye and tell him I wanted him to turn me into a human pretzel while reminding my vagina what it was put on this earthfor.
“Well, this has been fun, but I really have to get back to my friends. Nice meeting you.” I went to shimmy out of the booth.
“Wait,” he said, and reached for my wrist, halting my escape. His hand was unyielding yet gentle. It was also scorching hot and so much bigger than mine. Those tattoos were even more alluring up close and wrapped around my skin. “Leaving would be a mistake.”
“Why?”
“Because then I’d have to chase after you.”
An unhelpful image filled my mind of him hunting me down like a wolf right before it pounced on its prey. It wasn’t unappealing.
Not at all.
I returned to my seat, and McHottie, seemingly satisfied I wasn’t going to bolt, relaxed back into his. The loss of his touch left my wrist cool.
This was insane. One look at him had fried my common sense like a bug in a zapper. I didn’t know this man. For all I knew, he was a total jerk who kicked puppies for fun. But something about him—his voice, his confidence, those blue eyes—was magnetic in a way I couldn’t explain.
“Your situation.” He jerked his stubble-coated chin toward me. “Tell me about it.”
Okay. I could do this. After all, I’d already plucked up the courage to talk to a random, hot, and apparently interested stranger. Why make it this far without attempting to seal the deal?
Here went nothing. “I’m experiencing a dry spell that stretches back to the Dark Ages.”
“Well now, that’s tragic.” He pursed his full lips. “Are we talking the start or the end of the Dark Ages?”
“It’s quite a dry spell. Let’s go with the start.”
“So you haven’t slept with anyone since 476 CE?”
“Feels like it.” I sighed. “Your knowledge of the Dark Ages seems oddly specific. Do you know a lot about history?”
“I know a lot of things about a lot of things.”
