Shameless - Sybil Bartel Page 0,72
background noise as South Beach’s wealthiest mingled everywhere.
Holding the matching clutch Fallon had sent over with the dress, I silently thanked her for giving me something to keep my hands occupied as I scanned the room. When I saw Fallon up the stairs on the second level, my heart dropped.
“Fantastic,” I muttered.
The Cowboy bodyguard. The one I’d hit on when I was out of my mind high. The one Fallon had slept with, and apparently was still sleeping with if his possessive arm around her waist was any indication.
As if sensing someone was watching him, Thomas looked up. His gaze met mine and he tipped his chin.
“I fucking hate myself,” I gritted out with a fake smile as I gave a short wave. Rethinking sobriety, I turned toward the nearest bar.
Ten paces in six-inch heels that were a challenge even for me, I exhaled when an empty spot at the bar materialized. Ignoring the stool because I wasn’t sure I could sit in this dress, I caught the bartender’s eye.
Around my age, dark hair, blue eyes, perfect features—he was too pretty to be here coincidentally. I didn’t know shit about charities, but I knew drunk people parted with money more than sober people did. And drunk people probably really parted with money when a bartender looked like him.
He bestowed me with a movie worthy smile. “What can I get you, beautiful?”
A year ago I would’ve said the coke he inevitably had on him, and a vodka cranberry. Thank fuck the idea of something making my heart race even faster right now wasn’t on my top ten list. Yay rehab. “Pellegrino with lime.”
“Coming right up.”
The bartender moved off to get my drink and I felt the air shift next to me a second before I smelled a familiar scent.
“Congratulations, princess,” a deep voice I knew intimately coasted past my ear as his breath landed on my bare shoulder.
My heart leapt, my stomach bottomed out and I grabbed for the edge of the bar before I fainted.
I turned my head.
Sebastiano Hades Domani.
Shade.
In a tux.
My mouth suddenly dry, a lump in my throat too big to swallow past, I didn’t know if I wanted to cry, slap him, or fall into his arms and beg him to take me out of here.
His left eyebrow lifted as his right lowered. “You managed to get me in monkey suit.” He winked. “No woman’s done that before.”
No tie, shirt open at the neck, graze wound halfway healed, tattoos peeking out, shoulders filling out the custom fit jacket, his hair slicked back, his five o’clock shadow more than a day’s growth, but less than a beard—oh my fucking God.
He was stunning.
And everything that made my heart ache.
“What are you doing here?” I managed to get him in a tux? How?
“Didn’t you hear?” His gaze stayed locked on mine, but it felt like he was looking down the entire length of my body and drinking me in.
My heart trying to beat out of my chest, I wondered if you could die from want. “Hear what?” I needed to remember why I was angry with him, not to mention the way he’d tossed me aside.
The bartender came back and set my drink in front of me. “Here you go, Pellegrino with lime. Can I get you anything else, beautiful?”
Self-preservation demanded I remember how cold Shade could be. “No, thank you,” I told the bartender.
The bartender smiled at me before looking to Shade. “Sir? What can I get you?”
“Maker’s Mark, neat, and if you call her beautiful again, I’ll wipe the bar with your face.” His voice dark, every stupid sexy thing about him was dangerous and dominant and maddeningly sexy.
Even the way he told the bartender to fuck off was sexy. I was screwed. So fucking screwed.
Without missing a beat, the bartender’s expression sobered. “Understood, sir, and your drink’s coming right up.” The bartender took off.
Focusing all his attention on me, Shade leaned an arm on the bar and frowned. “That okay?”
“Is what okay?” That he was an ass to the bartender? That he was here? No, none of it was okay. Not even remotely. He’d had his fun, then he’d kicked me to the curb as sure as if he’d branded teenager playtime over on my forehead.
“The bourbon.” He nodded toward the shelf of bottles behind the bar.
“Don’t patronize me.” I was drinking a fucking seltzer because this was a charity event. I was driving, and this was the new and improved me. Not that I wasn’t hating