“How much does a baby polar bear weigh?”
The smoky voice came from somewhere behind me. I set my drink on the bar and took a deep breath. There was a ball of frustration churning in the pit of my stomach, leftovers from a hellish day at work. Lord help the man who dared disturb me before the first drops of martini had hit my lips.
I crossed my legs, and plastered on my best “fuck off” look as I swiveled on the barstool, But by the time my eyes finished their journey up a chest molded after a Grecian God and landed on a face that made my heart falter in its primary function, the look had slipped away.
I was met with full lips quirked amidst a dusting of five o’clock shadow. Eyes of a startling sapphire blue held mine from beneath a sweep of unruly black hair. Behind my eyes, an image of his lips traveling over the skin of my stomach flashed. I could almost feel the rasp of his whiskers against my flesh.
I swallowed. Hard.
“How much does a baby polar bear weigh?” I parroted in response. Heat jetted down my limbs when his smile grew wider.
“Well, they weigh just enough to break the ice.” He held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Jayce McPherson.”
Helpless to his charm, I grinned back and placed my hand in his. His grip was firm. In breaking with the norms of a handshake, his thumb lingered, rubbing the inside my wrist. Electricity crackled up my arm. “Harper Smith.” I suppressed a shiver and added, “Congratulations, Jayce McPherson.”
“Congratulations?” A midnight brow arched in question.
“Yes, you’ve just won the award for Worst Pickup Line of the Year.”
He considered for a moment, white teeth sinking into a kissable bottom lip, otherworldly eyes narrowing. I began to ache just watching that mouth.
“The coveted WPLY,” he grinned, “I’m both incredibly honored and adequately humbled.”
I couldn’t stop the throaty laugh that bubbled, almost unrecognizable, from my chest. I leaned forward in my seat, a flush rising above the V of my blouse. Jayce’s eyes traveled over the exposed flesh, heating it like a touch. I squirmed in my seat.
Jayce didn’t miss my unease. A flash of desire darkened his eyes, and he took a small step forward. I realized our hands were still clasped. “Join me for a drink?”
“I’d love to.” I began to turn back towards the bar, but he pulled me to my feet. He was tall; even in my heels, my nose came only to the hollow of his throat. There was a spicy, natural male smell to his skin. I wobbled, the potent combination of desire, and alcohol causing my head to swim.
“I have a table over there.” He inclined his head towards one of the dark, private alcoves.
“Hmmm,” I looked up at him through my lashes. “I thought those were reserved for the very important and wealthy.”
He just smiled and cupped my elbow in his palm, steering me through the crowd of bodies congealing at the bar.
“Those things usually go hand in hand.” His lips skimmed the curve of my ear when he leaned down to speak over the music and incited a wave of goosebumps over my body. The night was ramping up. It was Friday in Vancouver, and around us, people shed their severe weekday facades and began oozing the energetic excitement of the week’s end.
“Allow me to welcome you to my establishment.” He gestured wide to the room with a flourish of his arm, narrowly missing a female patron who cast him a dirty look. The glare fell away as quickly as mine had when she looked at him. Jayce didn’t seem to notice.
I looked up at him in surprise. “You own this place?”
The smoky voice came from somewhere behind me. I set my drink on the bar and took a deep breath. There was a ball of frustration churning in the pit of my stomach, leftovers from a hellish day at work. Lord help the man who dared disturb me before the first drops of martini had hit my lips.
I crossed my legs, and plastered on my best “fuck off” look as I swiveled on the barstool, But by the time my eyes finished their journey up a chest molded after a Grecian God and landed on a face that made my heart falter in its primary function, the look had slipped away.
I was met with full lips quirked amidst a dusting of five o’clock shadow. Eyes of a startling sapphire blue held mine from beneath a sweep of unruly black hair. Behind my eyes, an image of his lips traveling over the skin of my stomach flashed. I could almost feel the rasp of his whiskers against my flesh.
I swallowed. Hard.
“How much does a baby polar bear weigh?” I parroted in response. Heat jetted down my limbs when his smile grew wider.
“Well, they weigh just enough to break the ice.” He held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Jayce McPherson.”
Helpless to his charm, I grinned back and placed my hand in his. His grip was firm. In breaking with the norms of a handshake, his thumb lingered, rubbing the inside my wrist. Electricity crackled up my arm. “Harper Smith.” I suppressed a shiver and added, “Congratulations, Jayce McPherson.”
“Congratulations?” A midnight brow arched in question.
“Yes, you’ve just won the award for Worst Pickup Line of the Year.”
He considered for a moment, white teeth sinking into a kissable bottom lip, otherworldly eyes narrowing. I began to ache just watching that mouth.
“The coveted WPLY,” he grinned, “I’m both incredibly honored and adequately humbled.”
I couldn’t stop the throaty laugh that bubbled, almost unrecognizable, from my chest. I leaned forward in my seat, a flush rising above the V of my blouse. Jayce’s eyes traveled over the exposed flesh, heating it like a touch. I squirmed in my seat.
Jayce didn’t miss my unease. A flash of desire darkened his eyes, and he took a small step forward. I realized our hands were still clasped. “Join me for a drink?”
“I’d love to.” I began to turn back towards the bar, but he pulled me to my feet. He was tall; even in my heels, my nose came only to the hollow of his throat. There was a spicy, natural male smell to his skin. I wobbled, the potent combination of desire, and alcohol causing my head to swim.
“I have a table over there.” He inclined his head towards one of the dark, private alcoves.
“Hmmm,” I looked up at him through my lashes. “I thought those were reserved for the very important and wealthy.”
He just smiled and cupped my elbow in his palm, steering me through the crowd of bodies congealing at the bar.
“Those things usually go hand in hand.” His lips skimmed the curve of my ear when he leaned down to speak over the music and incited a wave of goosebumps over my body. The night was ramping up. It was Friday in Vancouver, and around us, people shed their severe weekday facades and began oozing the energetic excitement of the week’s end.
“Allow me to welcome you to my establishment.” He gestured wide to the room with a flourish of his arm, narrowly missing a female patron who cast him a dirty look. The glare fell away as quickly as mine had when she looked at him. Jayce didn’t seem to notice.
I looked up at him in surprise. “You own this place?”