is casually kicked up on the footrest under the stool. He’s wearing sunglasses, Western boots, a cowboy hat, a tight white T-shirt that showcases every ripple of his washboard abs, and the collective lust of every woman in the place.
Tattoos cover his muscular arms from his bulging biceps all the way down to his thick wrists.
He runs a hand over the short black beard on his square jaw, giving me a perfect view of his other tattoos.
The ones on his knuckles.
I can’t describe this feeling. It’s shock, fury, disbelief, pleasure, horror, awe, and an almost overpowering urge to commit bloody homicide with a cocktail pick in a room full of people, all rolled into one.
Killian turns his head and looks at me. I can’t see his eyes behind the mirrored glasses, but I feel them, fiery red Superman laser beams slicing me in two.
I turn my attention back to Harley. “You know what? This wine isn’t gonna do it for me. I need a shot of tequila.”
“Atta girl!” He produces a shot glass from under the bar, sloppily pours tequila into it, hands it to me, and says, “Just remember, sweetheart: no glove, no love.”
And this is my life.
Harley wanders away to tend to his other customers. I wait, heart pounding, as Killian takes the stool beside mine.
He pretends to peruse the menu written in chalk hanging on the wall behind the bar. Then, sounding exactly like he walked off a cattle ranch in Texas, he drawls, “Hey, there, darlin’. How ya’ll doin’ tonight?”
I resist the urge to slam my forehead onto the bar and shoot my tequila instead.
Then, with no accent whatsoever, he says, “Not feeling the cowboy vibe, huh? I knew I should’ve gone with a British accent. Women love a British accent.”
“Actually, what we love is plunging a pitchfork through the chest of an annoying man who’s tied to a chair, then lighting him on fire.”
“Hmm. I don’t know if there’s an accent for that.”
I hear the smothered laughter in his voice and wave at Harley for another tequila. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, darlin’. Sightseein’. Havin’ a drink. Lookin’ at all the pretty people.”
The Texas accent is back. I wish I could say it sounds incredibly stupid, but it doesn’t. Instead, it sounds incredibly hot, which is incredibly aggravating. “So you followed me. Again.”
“Did you forget about the part where I said I’d keep you safe?”
“I didn’t think it meant you’d always be within shouting distance. And I’m perfectly able to take care of myself, thank you.”
“One doesn’t cancel out the other.”
“God, I hate it when you talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m being irrational.”
“I don’t think you’re irrational. The people who are looking for you aren’t irrational, either, just better armed.”
The oblique mention of the Serbians sends a chill along my spine. I moisten my lips, feeling like he’s a socket I just stuck my finger into and wondering how bad the shock is going to be.
“How did you find me?”
The Texas drawl returns full force, but this time, it’s teasing. “Now, now, darlin’. You know I can’t tell you all my secrets.” He chuckles. “There wouldn’t be any mystery left for you to obsess over.”
It’s official: I’m going to kill him.
Unsmiling, I turn his way. I stare at my reflection in his aviators, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. She’s angry, yes, but she also looks like she really needs to be kissed.
She looks…like a wild animal that’s been caged for years and is about to be unleashed.
Killian slowly removes the glasses. He sets them on the bar without breaking eye contact with me.
He’s not laughing anymore. In fact, he seems like a ravenous wolf about to devour me whole. Energy arcs between us. It’s an attraction so powerful, I wouldn’t be surprised if it can be seen.
“You already know what to do. Trust your gut.”
Recalling Hank’s words, something rises up inside me. A pressure builds. Some dark, nameless emotion expands inside my chest, crushing my lungs and flattening my heart until it’s barely able to beat.
It’s my gut, screaming at me to let it take the lead.
Oh no. I’m about to do something really dumb. I take a deep breath, blow it out, and jump.
“Chris Hemsworth.”
Killian cocks one dark brow. “Excuse me?”
“Can you sound like Chris Hemsworth, the actor?”
He knows what I’m asking. His eyes flare. Dark and dangerous, desire glints in their depths. He says softly, “Course I can. I can do anything, Juliet. You oughta know that by