Page 118 of Words of Love
Their gazes collided with a force that almost knocked her off the barstool. She grabbed the edge of the bar, her heartbeat going from normal to crazy-wild in two seconds flat. The air sizzled with a current of electricity that arced right between them, setting her nerves alight and pooling heat in her core. Her sex actually throbbed, as if he were parting her legs and gliding his fingers right up north to—
He broke their eye contact and returned his attention to the pool table.
Whoa. What the hell just happened?
He shot. And missed.
“Hmm,” Mia said. “Maybe you should go console him.”
“What?”
“For practice,” Mia explained. “You need to learn how to approach a hot guy and talk to him. You have a total opening since he’s standing there by himself waiting for his next turn. But if you don’t go now, that redhead in the corner booth is going to pounce on him. And she looks like a territorial bitch.”
Polly swung her gaze to the busty redhead whose cleavage was about to pop out of her tank top. The redhead was staring at Mr. Hottie, poised on the edge of her seat as if she were waiting for an opportunity to make a move.
“Go,” Mia hissed, grabbing Polly’s arm and hustling her off the stool. “I’m right here. If you start to panic, scratch your ear as a signal, and I’ll come rescue you.”
Polly dug for courage, grabbed her shot from the bar, and approached Mr. Hottie. Thanks to Mia picking out her outfit tonight, she was wearing a black mini-skirt and white, stretchy shirt that gave her a nice hourglass shape without looking trashy. At least, that was what Mia had told her before they’d left for the Japanese restaurant.
Polly stopped beside Mr. Hottie. Just the air around him seemed warmer and charged with energy. A tingle rained down her spine.
He turned his head to look at her. God, he was gorgeous. Strong features shadowed with a delicious-looking dark scruff, black eyebrows arching over thick-lashed eyes, and a sensual mouth that was made for kissing and probably a lot of other dirty things Polly shouldn’t know about.
And didn’t.
Mr. Hottie surely did, though. He exuded self-confidence, control, and oodles of sexual experience. He could really teach her a thing or two. Or several dozen.
Oh, yes. He was the man she needed and wanted—even though just getting close to him was nerve-wracking.
He was still looking at her. Again, her heartbeat jolted into gear, that throb of heat starting right between her legs. She struggled to pull in a breath, frantically trying to think of something to say.
“Hi,” she managed.
Amusement flashed in his dark eyes.
“Hi,” he replied.
“How…um, how are you?” Polly stammered.
“I’m fine, thanks,” he said. “How are you?”
“Peachy.”
Oh, God.Peachy?
Polly looked desperately at Mia, who was watching from the bar. Mia gave her a nod of encouragement and a discreet thumbs-up. Obviously she had no idea what a ninny Polly was turning out to be.
“Peachy,” Mr. Hottie drawled, his beautiful mouth now joining in the amusement with a slight smile. “Good to know.”
His voice was like melted dark chocolate. Maybe if Polly just kept her mouth shut, he would forget she was there and she could just stare at him in awe. She’d thought men like him were a myth—the sexy, utterly masculine, controlling kind who made a girl want to drop her panties on the spot.
Mr. Hottie was no myth, though. He was all too real. She could even smell him—a tantalizing combination of soap, scotch, and some purely male scent that must have been testosterone or pheromones or something.
Whatever it was, it was making Polly all hot and damp between her legs. And strongly wishing she could drop her panties.
He nodded toward the shotglass still in her hand. “You like it sweet and strong.”
“What?” She looked down at the frothy, creamy shot, the glass rim laced with rainbow sprinkles.