When I sidled up to him at the bar, he turned fully to me. Up close, he was even more intimidating, even more attractive. Taller than I’d thought.
His spellbinding eyes were the color of amber, irises ringed with black.
As I noted additional details—scarred knuckles, tattoos on his fingers under those rings, chiseled jawline clean-shaven—I perceived the heat coming off his big body. Then I got my first mind-numbing hit of his scent.
Crisp, masculine, intoxicating.
Blindsiding.
Speak, Nat. I had to look up to face him. “Uh, hi, I’m Natalie.” I offered him my hand to shake. He didn’t take it. Okay . . . I swallowed. “Can I buy you a drink?” Was that a vodka rocks he’d ordered? He didn’t look like a 7&7 type of guy.
He canted his head, studying my face—the same way I studied men’s expressions. Still he said nothing. Maybe he didn’t speak the language. UNL had a lot of overseas students. “Drink?” I pointed to his untouched glass and mimed a shot.
His expression gave away so little, it was like I was talking to a wall.
As my cheeks flushed, I muttered, “Sooo, this went well. Good talk, buddy.” With a mortified smile, I turned around—
A callused palm closed around my elbow, his rings cool compared to his skin. The contact was so electric, I shivered.
“Wait,” he said. Had there been a subtle v sound to that w?
My heart leapt—maybe he was . . . Russian. I turned around, a genuine smile on my face now. “Are you from Russia?” I added, “Zdrav-stvooi-tee.” Hello.
He still cupped my elbow. How could his hand be so hot? I stifled imaginings of him cupping other parts of me, those hands spreading heat in their wake. . . .
“You speak my language, then?”
Bingo, a Russian! “A bit,” I said with delight. I could grill him about the country, learning more about my birthplace! “I took a class or two.” Or five. My master’s had required fluency in a second language, and I’d chosen Russian.
He swept his glance around, his stance alert, as if someone might throw a punch at any second. Then he met my gaze once more. “Of all the men in this bar, you choose me to approach?” His English was very good, though heavily accented. “Are you looking for trouble?”
With a confidence I didn’t feel, I teasingly said, “Maybe I am.” I sounded breathy—I still hadn’t caught my breath since he’d first touched me. “Have I found it?”
He glanced down, seeming surprised that he was still holding my arm. He abruptly released me, growing angrier by the second. “No, little girl. You have not.” With a disgusted look, he turned away and stalked out.
I stared at the door, battling my bewilderment. What just happened? I’d seen interest in his gaze, hadn’t I?
Yet then he’d acted like a vampire who’d discovered I was a f**king sunbeam.
Chapter 2
“What the hell, did you bite him?” “Did you insult his manhood?” “Let me smell your breath.”
I’d stayed at the bar long enough to take my ribbing, because it was deserved and because I was a good goddamned sport. In general, I tried not to take myself too seriously—I called myself “the manalyst,” after all. My life’s motto: Joke ’em if they can’t take a f**k.
A few shots later, I’d made my farewells and drunkenly set out for home, the pad I shared with Jess about five blocks away.
Tons of students were out, blowing off steam before midterms. It was a chilly fall night, with a full moon overhead. I pulled my jacket tighter. This close to harvest, the smell of ripe corn carried on the air—always a time of excitement for me since I was a farm girl at heart.
Yet another hand-holding couple passed me, and I gazed after them with a little wistfulness. Even if I had zero tolerance for men and their drama, I wouldn’t mind having someone to snuggle up with this winter.
Someone to notice that my hands were cold and to hold them between his own.
Don’t think of the Russian, don’t think of . . .
Too late. I didn’t exactly see myself strolling around campus all fa la la with a guy like that. But there’d been something about him—
A sudden sense that I was being watched hit me. Running a palm over my nape, I swept a glance around me. I only saw students meandering the streets, crowding into and out of various bars.