Southern Nights: Enigma 5 - Desire Me

Chapter One

It was her smile that caught Saint’s attention first. Small. Wary. Nervous. Every sense he had went on alert at that smile. Made him take a second look.

And holy hell, what that second look did to his libido.

She sat directly across the bar from him at Big Daddy’s, her focus on the waiter who’d just arrived bearing a platter of barbecue and fries. His mouth watered at the sight, but not because of the food. Because of the thick chocolate hair curling around her face. Brown eyes that zeroed in on her meal and darkened with greed. Full lips that went from tight and tense to genuine pleasure when she glanced back at the waiter. That pleasure made his gut go rock-hard.

Because Saint wanted her. And because the man serving her stood too close, seemed too interested. He had the sudden urge to stalk around the bar and chuck the guy across the room, then take his place, close enough to touch her. Take that fork from her hand and feed her himself.

Holy hell, indeed. What was wrong with him?

“What’s he staring at?”

“You mean who, right?” a wry voice answered. “[Who’s he staring at?”

A hard slap across Saint’s shoulder blades snapped his attention back to his companions. With a casualness that was a total lie, he reached for the frothy mug of local IPA in front of him before glancing toward his best friend, King. The man’s movie-star smile mocked Saint’s performance.

“What are you three going on about?” Saint asked.

It was his team lead, Dain, sitting on the other side of King, who answered. “Just remarking on your good taste.”

The bite of the alcohol in his mouth sharpened his tone after another swallow. “Good taste?”

King jerked his chin toward the opposite side of the room. “In scenery.”

“They’re not wrong,” Elliot said from her seat next to him, adding feminine input to the male-dominated conversation.

Saint graced her with a smile. “Usually I’d argue with that conclusion, but not tonight.” His gaze shifted back to the dark-haired beauty across the room. She was digging into her food with a gusto that made his cock stand at attention. The need to get closer, to discover what her voice sounded like, if her body held soft curves or lean angles, if her personality matched the one he was already building in his head based on no more than a look and a few avaricious bites of food, ramped up hard.

But he couldn’t abandon his team, no matter how interested his dick was. Or how long it had been since he’d experienced this kind of sudden interest. He dated plenty, maybe too much in some people’s opinions—his family, for one. They made no secret of their disapproval for his…what did his mom call it? “Footloose and fancy-free ways”? His sisters just called him a man whore. But keeping things casual worked for his lifestyle. Being a security specialist meant a lot of time on assignment, often living in with their clients until whatever danger had sparked their hiring passed. The job kept him busy, kept him happy, but it didn’t necessarily lend itself toward a focus on relationships.

Your teammates would beg to differ.

Of course they would. They’d peg him as being stubborn, needing to play the field. The truth was, he had no desire for a permanent relationship at the moment. Someday, definitely, when the time was right. That time wasn’t now, not for him.

Dain, Elliot, and King—all with respective significant others—worried about him “being alone,” feeling left out when they were all involved in relationships. That’s why they’d dragged him out for drinks. Not that he’d had to be dragged to spend time with them, but neither did they need to be concerned. He was content as he was, single and carefree.

Free to see anyone he wanted. And right now he wanted to see the woman he couldn’t stop staring at from across the bar.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your very pregnant wife instead of commenting on my choice of ‘scenery’?” he asked Dain. Their team lead’s wife was due to deliver their first child in only a few weeks. A Christmas baby.

“What does ‘very pregnant’ mean?” Elliot asked, tipping her beer toward Dain down the bar. “I mean, Olivia is either pregnant or not.”

“She’s about to pop; that’s what it means,” King said.

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Saint advised. “Women do not want to hear words like ‘pop,’ ‘balloon,’ ‘basketball,’ or anything having to do with size when they’re…well…about to pop.” He knew that from vast experience, having four older sisters intent on single-handedly repopulating the world.

His teammates laughed. When the laughter settled, Dain leaned his forearms on the bar and shook his head. “I can’t believe he’s almost here.”

“He?” King raised a sharp blond eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“No,” Elliot answered for him. “Olivia has him by the balls. She hasn’t even hinted to me or Sydney about the baby’s sex, and Sydney can drag intel out of anyone. She’s going into military intelligence as an interrogator when she gets older, I swear.”

Elliot’s soon-to-be stepdaughter didn’t have to interrogate—she turned on the cuteness factor, asked a question, and everyone around her simply spilled their guts. Saint had a couple of nieces who were just as effective.

Dain ignored Elliot’s input. “No, Olivia hasn’t said anything. But I just know.”

“What he means,” King said, “is that the idea of having a daughter makes him feel like the guy in Alien with the monster tearing its way through his chest. So yeah, it has to be a boy.”

Laughter made the rounds again, but in the midst, Saint found his gaze wandering back across the bar. It wasn’t until Dain stood from his barstool that his attention came back to his friends.

“So, Monday?” Dain said.

“Monday,” the rest of the team groaned.

“Hey, at least we’re not on assignment this weekend,” Elliot pointed out. They’d been working more often than not lately, but the holidays were shaping up to be quiet, thank goodness. His mom would pitch a fit if he missed another Christmas dinner with his family.

Elliot stood as well, and then King. Time to go.

Saint glanced across the bar one more time.

Elliot and Dain headed for the door. King’s heavy hand landed on Saint’s shoulder. “Coming, bro?”

Saint hesitated.

King’s chuckle was knowing. “I thought so.”

He shot around on the stool. “You thought what?”

“I thought you might be staying behind.” King squeezed his shoulder, then gave him a hard pat that almost threw Saint into the bar. “We’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

Saint snickered. “Sure. Give Charlotte my love.”

King and Charlotte had been childhood sweethearts, but they’d only recently come back together when Charlotte’s life was threatened. Another reason Saint was happy to play the field. It seemed like anyone his team got involved with was already in danger. The thought of a woman of his being in danger… A red haze shifted across his eyesight.

“Will do.” King’s gaze shifted to the dark-haired beauty across the bar; then he gave Saint a wink. “Later.”

Saint grabbed his beer and downed the last swallow, enjoying the bite as it slid down his throat. The bottle landed on the bar with a faint rattle, and then he was off his seat and headed around to the other side of the room.

He’d made it no more than five feet when a heavyset man moved in on his target.

That red haze? It made a reappearance so swift the room spun.

His casual stroll turned into a charge worthy of a bull. Whatever the asshole was saying, it was clear the woman was increasingly uncomfortable. Saint could read the protests as they left her lips, practically hear the demand in the man’s voice despite the crowd separating them. But it was the meaty paw landing on the woman’s arm and clamping down that brought a roar to Saint’s lips, a roar he barely held back.

He had rounded the final edge of the bar, still several feet away, when the asshole reared back, his hands coming up to cover his nose. It was the man who roared, not Saint. No, as he watched the woman’s elbow lower back to her side, it was a laugh that escaped him. She hadn’t needed him after all. Why did that fill him with pride?

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman! What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t like being manhandled,” she said clearly. The words hit Saint like a one-two punch—appropriate, considering. The woman’s voice had a northern accent, not New York but something flatter, less pronounced, wrapped up in a husky tone that sent tingles down his spine straight to his balls, and a self-assurance that turned him on more than either of the first two. The intense need to meet her, to know her, skyrocketed the second her voice registered in his ears.

Mr. Asshole stumbled back toward a group of what had to be his buddies in the far corner—they were laughing too much to be anyone else but an interested party. Saint continued forward without even a consideration of stopping, and before he knew it, he was standing behind the empty barstool next to the woman. “Nice move.”

Beneath the fall of her dark, curly hair, the woman’s shoulders tensed, readying herself for another attack. The knowledge pierced his gut in a way sexual attraction didn’t.

“Hey.” He made no move to touch her, though his fingers itched with the need. “No worries. Just an observation.”

She snorted as her head jerked in his direction. Mouth open, no doubt to tell him to get lost. But the words died on her lips the minute their eyes met.

She felt it too. If the lack of words didn’t tell him that, the stunned look in her eyes did. And that made him one lucky son of a bitch.

Across the bar the sight of her dark eyes had drilled deep into him, but here, this close, mere inches away, they worked a magic that totally threw him. A magic he couldn’t resist. It wound around his body, tightened, holding him captive, and damn if he didn’t feel that look gripping his cock right through his clothes. His breath choked off in his throat.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, hi.” Her words were accompanied by a smile that was a one-eighty pivot from a moment ago. Softer. Sweet. Definitely interested, thank fuck.

“Hi.” He indicated the empty stool. “Mind if I sit?”

He wouldn’t barge in without permission, no matter how interested she seemed. He wasn’t Mr. Asshole.

She stared at him for a long moment before nodding. His sigh of relief escaped silently as his ass hit the cushion.

“I have to admit”—he grinned, more at his own arrogance than her—“I was totally riding to the rescue over here.”

A husky laugh left her lips. “Totally?”

“Yeah.” His chuckle mingled with hers. “Not that you needed it, or me. Or anyone, for that matter. Like I said, nice work.”

Her eyebrow rose, and she gave him a damn right look. “Thanks.” One shoulder lifted nonchalantly. “I’m used to dealing with jerks.”

“If I promise not to be one, would you promise not to introduce me to that elbow?”

Her eyes lightened to caramel when she was amused, he noticed. “How about I consider it? You’ll have to earn my trust first, though.”

The flirty tone in her words kicked his heartbeat up a notch. “I’ll earn whatever you let me earn,” he promised.

She smirked, the slight curl of her lips pulling his attention to their glossy surface. His mouth watered. “Sounds like a deal,” she said.

She glanced across the room toward his original seat, confirming his suspicion that she’d spotted him before. The space he and his team had occupied was now empty, but the confrontation had drawn the notice of several parties around the bar top. Catching the interested eyes, she dropped her gaze to the drink in front of her as if the attention bothered her.

“Forgive our nosy Southern tendencies,” Saint said. “Some of us have no idea how to hide it.”

Her snort was downright cute. “That’s obvious.” She gave him a small smile. “But some of you don’t need to.”

The sudden intensity in her eyes seemed to search his depths, though what she was searching for, he didn’t know.

He glanced around, seeing far too many people focused on them for his comfort. His gaze dropped to the drink she slowly twisted around on the counter—the bottom half still brown, maybe tea, but the top half clear, watered down. “How about you let me replace that”—he nodded toward her drink—“and find you a booth to enjoy it with more privacy? Someplace with less of an audience.”

No pressure, just an offer. Would she take it?

Tension returned to her shoulders, and he leaned back slightly, giving her space.

Dark eyes studied him for a long, long time, so long he figured her answer would be no. But then she said, “My name’s Rae.” Pushing her glass away, she held out her hand. “What’s yours?”

“Saint. Saint Solorio.” Her hand slid into his like it had been created to fit him. He gripped it firmly, warming her skin with his, savoring the feel of her against him. Wanting to feel far more. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rae.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her dark, determined eyes. “Saint,” she murmured as if testing his name out on her lips. “I wouldn’t mind someplace more private, if that’s all right.” Sliding from the barstool, she gathered her jacket from the back and slipped into it. “Let’s go.”