Page 7 of Dear Glory
“Yes?” I sip my martini, not bothering to look back.
“I could not help but admire you as you stepped into the room. Your radiance lit up this dark spa?—”
“And?” I slightly turn in my seat, setting my drink down and finally giving him my attention.
“A-and I was wondering if the mademoiselle would do me the honor of sharing this dance with me?” he stammers with his thick French accent and I look him up and down, assessing him. He’s undoubtedly handsome, so spending a dance with him wouldn’t be too much of a chore, but I wave him off and shake my head, disinterested.
“No thank you. Maybe next time,” I sip my drink, and his eyes go right to my lips making it clear he will defiantly reply with a “next time.” At that point, I might be inclined to say yes, but for now I just want to relax.
“Then please,” he takes my hand, kissing it. “Do not deny me perchance we meet again,” he persists and I throw him a smile which has him wiping drool from his lips.
“Maybe,” I tease and he licks his lips with promise, walking away.Well that was fun.I chuckle to myself. “Barkeep, another please,” I call and he quickly makes the drink, handing it to me. Before I can place it upon my lips to drink, I go still when I feel eyes on me.
Shuddering, I glance around cautiously, not trying to draw attention or let them know I’m on to them when I lock eyes with a man in the corner of the room that has me pausing from the sheer intensity of his gaze.
His face is half buried in the shadows, but just from what I can see coupled with the beautiful color of his bluish grey eyes, I can tell he’s leaps and bounds more handsome than the Frenchman who just approached me.
But unlike the Frenchman, his gaze is so feverish I’m forced to look away, which is not like me at all. While my father might be overbearing, he taught me the value of commanding the room and refusing to allow anyone to intimidate me into reconsidering my position, be that man or woman. But whoever this man is…that’s exactly the man my dad would hate and the very man my mom is talking about…
Flustered, I sip the martini in my hand, but my eyes continue to land onhim.Each time I peek he’s always staring so intently at me. His gaze is so fiery I down the remaining contents of my drink and ask for another, suddenly feeling parched. Swallowing, I keep my eyes on him, letting him know I’m not intimidated.
When he cocks his head over and a smile lights his lips, I decide to challenge him by moving to the dance floor, where I seductively move my body to LL Cool J’s “Doing it Wild,” not taking my eyes off him. The song doesn’t finish before I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see a cute, boyish yet charming man standing in front of me.
“May I help you?” I lift a brow, frowning and analyzing him.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Our boss would like to have a word with you.”
“Me?” I cock my head to the side, reeling back slightly.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Why?” I question, genuinely unaware.
“I’m afraid it’s up to my boss’ discretion to discuss with you, ma’am,” he apologetically inclines his head. I lift a brow smirking, turning back to the man behind the curtain who’s been watching me all night. Even though I know I shouldn’t, curiosity gets the best of me and I square my shoulders.
“Very well. You may lead the way,” I respond.
“This way please.” He walks off and I strut behind him until we reach the corner where the cutie guard lifts the curtain, and I see cigar cinder light up followed by smoke that bellows into the air in the form of a heart, making mine skip a beat as the man behind the shadow sits forward, sucking the air from my lungs and leaving a lump in my throat from how attractive he is.Damn, he’s a lot sexier than I even thought.
His auburn hair gleams in the faint light of the lounge, and his beautiful sharp cheekbones, oval face, and a strong masculine jawline, coupled with his keen eyes, are akin to staring down a lion who’s been starved. I take a step back only to bump into the pretty boy, nearly stumbling when my heel catches the tip of his shoe.
“I…”I should leave… this man is dangerous…I can’t get my words out and my heart races with distress… unease, TERROR,but that’s what’s so sexy about him. Something in the pit of my stomach tells me to run the fuck away and not to look back, but the pretty boy with muscles I didn’t know he had hidden behind that lithe form lifts me into his arms, holding me tight against his body. He walks me over to the man who still silently puffs on his cigar and stares at me. He sets me down in the empty seat next to him and walks over to the entrance, closes the curtain, and stands guard inside the room while two others guard are on the outside. “Wh…” My throat doesn’t work. Words won’t form, and I feel as if I’ve walked into a business meeting riddled with stage fright about to engage in a deal that will go south.
Never in my life have I felt such a wild, virile presence from a man with nothing but his gaze. I’m used to cutting men down with my sharp tongue, but how the hell would that even be possible when my mouth won’t even form a sentence?
“’ello, luv.” His thick accent shocks me and makes my stomach tense up. It seems all the alcohol I’d drank chose this moment to hit me. His words along with the alcohol feel threatening yet warm, making me weak in the knees even though I’m sitting down.
“Wh-who are you? What do you want w-with me?” I throw his way haughtily, but in truth, I just want to get the hell out of here, uncaring of his answers.
“Dinna yu know me?” he questions with a smirk, eyes roaming over me like he’s privy to information I’m unaware of.
“Know you?” I frown, narrowing my eyes and looking him over. I shake my head vehemently. “No, I have no idea who you are,” I purse my lips and he pouts, shifting his dangerous aura into one of sadness, but for some reason, that feels worse.
“Aww, well it’s no matter yu’ll soon get tu know me. So remember my name since you soon be screamin’ it,” he leans over, whispering his name in my ear causing me to shudder.
“A-Axil?” I repeat, more to myself than to him, but a huge grin spreads on his face, and he sits up, taking my hand.
“At yer service,” he whispers breathlessly, kissing the back of my hand, and the action alone has me simultaneously feeling those three martinis I’d sipped at the bar, but my mom’s words play in my head…
