Page 4 of Bred By the Mercenary
A few moments later, the gorgeous man returns in his impeccable suit, the black button-up shirt open at the throat. My eyes are drawn to the curve of his neck, the tanned skin. When his deep green eyes meet mine, I find myself smiling and burning up.
I’m also cursing myself for sticking around. I should be rejoining the party, but I can’t just leave without saying thank you to the stranger who intervened.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “You didn’t have to do that, but… thank you.”
“No one should be made to feel uncomfortable.” He grins that glorious smile, and it’s like the room gets a bit brighter, like my head spins only on him. “Especially not at a party like this. Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Thanks to you.”
His concern is genuine, and it’s oddly comforting. For a brief moment, I forget the chaos of the evening and simply appreciate his kindness. Not to mention, he’s the best eye candy at this party.
“What did you do with him?” I ask out of curiosity, seeing there’s no sight of the dickhead.
“Gave him a few stern words, choked him just a bit more, then threw him out of the mansion through an open window.”
I burst out laughing until I realize he’s not joining me.
“Wait, you’re serious?”
“I don’t joke when it comes to putting someone in their place.”
“Well, count me double impressed.” I find myself fluttering my eyelashes and swooning at this protector.
He’s staring at me, too, but with his mask, it’s almost impossible to read his expression. I notice the way his attention lowers to my mouth, leaving me burning up.
“Okay, if you need anything else or just want me to take care of someone else, let me know. I’m around.”
My mouth might have dropped open since that’s not what I expected him to say. Who is this guy… Batman?
With a final nod, he heads into the crowd, blending in, and I’m standing there, processing what just happened.
“Why am I letting him just walk away?” I mumble under my breath. I didn’t even get his name or his number or ask him for a drink. Here I am, a free woman, and he might just be the closest I’ve ever come to meeting the perfect man. Frustrated with myself for not thinking on my feet, I realize he’s nowhere to be seen.
Slightly deflated, I meander back to the bar for a new cocktail to shake off my disappointment. The bartender, a guy with a friendly smile, mixes my drink, glancing my way with a grin.
“You know the hardest part about a masquerade party?” he begins, pouring the cocktail with a practiced hand. “It’s not mixing the drinks but figuring out who ordered what.” He chuckles, coaxing a laugh out of me.
“I can just imagine, especially with so many masks looking similar.”
He nods, sliding the drink across the bar to me. “But yours stands out, as there aren’t too many masks with those cute pink feathers. It suits you.”
I laugh and turn away, blushing at his words, with my cocktail in hand. Suddenly, someone bumps into me from behind. My drink splashes a bit, and as I steady myself, I find myself face-to-face with Mr. Handsome from the corridor incident, my splashed cocktail dripping down the front of his button-up shirt.
“Oh crap,” I mutter, panic sliding through me as I meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He chuckles, a light, infectious sound. “Looks like you haven’t had enough of me yet.”
Setting my drink down, I scramble to get napkins from the bar and start patting his shirt. The crowd pushes us closer together, so we’re practically glued to each other, which makes things even more uncomfortable.
“It’s a bit crazy here. I’m so sorry for ruining your shirt,” I say quickly, feeling nervous and flustered. “I’m having a really tough night, and things aren’t exactly going the best.”
He offers me his hand. “Feel like getting some fresh air and not being in the middle of this party sandwich?”
“Oh, you have no idea how much I’d love that,” I reply, relief washing over me.
He collects the napkins from my hand and my spilled drink and hands them to the bartender, then takes my hand in his large one, enveloping mine. Effortlessly, he cuts a path through the crowd, and people seem to part for him. He’s tall, broad, commanding attention, and I notice many eyes glancing his way.
Before I know it, we’re upstairs on the top floor and out on a balcony, alone. He shuts the glass French doors behind him, muffling the sounds of the party. We stand side by side, leaning on the railing. The cool breeze blowing through my hair is like heaven, and the view in front of us is picturesque.