Mr Fuckability Ch 02

I glance towards the bar where he is sitting. The two men I have dubbed his business partners are watching us.

"I should let you get back to your friends. They look like they're waiting on you."

His eyes follow mine.

"They aren't my friends. I'll have them give us some space." When I continue to hesitate, his fingers weave around mine, and he pulls me just a little bit closer. He gives the men watching us a hand signal, and they quickly move to a table at the back of the bar.

"Wow, they listen really well."

"They work for me." As soon as the words are spoken I know he hasn't meant to say them. It is in the way his whole frame stiffens, and he clears his throat. It's the first time I have seen a crack in his ultra-confident demeanor.

I smile suddenly feeling like I should make him feel better for a change. It makes me more comfortable to know he isn't so perfect and just might understand what it's like to have a night like mine.

"It's okay we don't have to talk about it." I smile up at him. I can feel his eyes on me that intensity, as he searches my face for something. What is the something?

"Does that mean you'll stay for that drink?"

He is still looking at me suspiciously; convinced there is something I'm not telling him. I'm not sure what the best answer to the question is. "Do you really want me to stay or are you just being nice?" I cock my head to the side and try to do a mental snapshot of that fabulous smile. It is worth recalling later.

"I'm never just being nice."

He leans in close taking his time, giving me a chance to back away, when I don't, he leans in even closer until he is whispering in my ear. "Besides don't you have a challenge to complete?"

His voice is low enough for only me to understand, which makes the suggestive words feel almost statically charged as his breath brushes against my ear.My eyes flicker nervously over his shoulder, back to the table where my friends sit. Georgia is smiling at me; Natalie is biting her thumbnail, and Jess is sitting back, trying to discreetly give me both thumbs up. If it's even possible to discreetly give someone the thumbs up, these girls aren't capable of it. I bit my lip to stifle a laugh.

It is probably that look more than the suggestive words that convince me I am in. Can I pull it off? My eyes are drawn back to him with a near magnetic force. He tilts his head ever so slightly in the direction of the bar that charming, panty dropping smile still on his face.

Oh hell, who cares, I'm sure going to give it a try. This man might not be willing to let me tie him up, but it's apparent he isn't exactly ready to let me go yet either. This can be good, or it can be bad. The old me would have turned and bailed by now. I would have had the excuse of a sick mother to attend to at home, a ton of medical bills to sort through. The new me has none of those excuses. The new me has a promise to keep and friends to cheer me on. Isn't this moment exactly why motto's like "live life to the fullest" has been invented?

The small squeeze to my right hand let me know he was still awaiting my answer. I blew out a frustrated breath and smiled weakly.

"Okay, but if one more disastrous thing happens to me tonight I am totally blaming you."

He shakes his head assertively; those firm lips flipping up at the edges as he fights not to smile. One corner of his mouth wins and the other side loses leaving a boyish, crooked smile on his face. The openness of it leaves me a little breathless, and I'm not sure why but I feel like I've just seen a side of him that he doesn't show to most people. It warms me up in so many ways and strangely bolsters my courage.

I move towards the bar, but he draws me up short by our connected hands. He tilts his head in a manner indicating I should walk back to him. I do, and when I get there he turns me back around smoothly sliding an arm over my shoulder.

He smells divine, like a mixture of expensive, exotic spices with a hint of unshakable confidence. His fingers are warm, solid where they rest against the skin of my shoulder, and he begins to maneuver us towards the bar.

"If I'm going to be held responsible then I had better keep you close enough I can watch out for you."

I look at him confused for a second and then remember my claim to hold him responsible for any future calamities. I blush despite my mental command not to.

He notices, grin widening and I feel my knees go weak. My God he is so...so...smooth? Confident? Debonair? I can't even find the right word for how hot he is. I don't think there is a word for him.

"You don't seem like the type to tie someone up." He says pulling out a chair for me at the bar.

The blush deepens but I answer anyway. "I guess that's kind of the point. To do something that you wouldn't usually do."

"Something or someone?" He sits down beside me, then turn the wooden stool to wave down the bartender. I'm thankful that he's not looking at me when he asks. It gives me a moment to formulate my response and stare at his profile at the same time.When he turns back around he hands me a glass of wine.

"In my case both probably." I say thinking about my nonexistent dating history. I take a sip of wine. It's the same Chardonnay I had been drinking earlier, and it gives me pause. My eyes shoot to his. He grins unabashedly. Holy Hell. Had he been checking me out?

"So you wouldn't normally approach me but you're making an exception because of your friend's challenge?"

I shook my head. "I wouldn't usually approach a guy."

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline again, and it's so comical I giggle.

"So you're..." He trails off.

I scramble, trying to play back the conversation in my head to where it went wrong. My eyes widen as I realize it.

"Oh, shit. Oh no, I mean I'm not gay... I like guys."

I smack my hand to my face. I am beyond an idiot. I take a deep breath, remove my hand and smile like I am in pain.

"What I meant to say is I don't usually try to pick up anyone. I'm usually the lurk in the shadows type. Not like a stalker or anything, I'm just..."

If I don't stop babbling soon I'm going to hurl myself across the nearest table in the hopes of breaking my own jaw. Maybe that will stop the words from falling out? Maybe.

He is out and out laughing now, so I just stop talking mid-sentence. It is a good laugh. One that makes me want to join in, even at my own expense, especially at my own expense and I start to laugh too. It is kind of funny.

I wipe at the tears that are forming at the corners of my eyes. "I'm not very good at this." I smile, shaking my head at myself.

"That's what makes you great at it." He stops laughing. His eyes take on the look that heats my blood in its intensity. He reaches out to take a strand of my hair, letting it slide through his fingers until the back of his hand brushes against my cheek; his thumb resting against my jaw.

The smile is slow to form, and nothing about it is sweet. It is dark, carnal, and hungry sending a nearly electric hum through my body that registers both alarm and anticipation. The anticipation is expected; the alarm is something new. His thumb brushes slowly down my jawline. He watches me shiver at his touch. I move to turn my head away, but his hand clamps around my jaw like a steel vice, drawing my face back to him. I feel a sudden uncertainty begin to creep up my spine.

He must have registered my internal shift. He drops his hand, stepping back to lean casually against the bar.

"So tell me about this challenge and how I was drug into it."

His demeanor leaves me spinning. One minute so intimate I can hardly breathe, the next as casual as talking to a friend. It makes me wonder again what he does for a living I bet it is something that requires a keen ability to read people and an exceptional poker face because he has both.

"Well..." I'm not sure how much to tell him or where to start.

"How long have you been doing it?"

"About three months."

"And how many times have you personally done it."

I look away, survey the bar in the mirror behind the bartender, and take a sip of wine. "Twice."

"What did you have to do for your first time?"

I take a deep breath and force the words out in a rush. "Elevator." I gulp another sip of wine still avoiding his eyes.

"And the second?" I feel him lean closer, brushing his shoulder against mine.

"This would have been my second time." I don't like the way my voice always comes out breathy when he touches me.

"Will be."

"What?" I look back at him not comprehending.

"Will be your second time." He corrects. His smile is sensual, only one side rising while the other dips, which seems to make it more potent. "That is, if you still want to and I can get a few questions answered." His smile is docile, friendly even, but I know a business proposition when I hear one.

"Are we negotiating Mr. Green Eyes?" I bat my eyes and try to look seductive. It must have failed because he nearly chokes on his drink.

"Mr. Green Eyes?" He managed still coughing.

I shrug "I have to call you something." His grin does that half up and half down thing again.

"You could call me by my name."

I shake my head taking another sip. "No names it's again the rules."

"Who's rules?"

"The Mr. Fu..."I stop myself just in time. "The rules of the Challenge."

He chews on a piece of ice, watching me as he mulls over my answer. I wonder again what he does for a living. I bet it has to be something that requires meticulous details.

There is something in the intensity of those green eyes that let you know you are being analyzed, every comment picked apart; every motion weighed, then re-weighed.

"What were you going to say?"

"Nothing..."

"You've named it. This..." He waves his hand around in a circle "Challenge thing that you guys do. Go on, I want to hear it."

I cross my arms, leaning back in my chair. I can be stubborn. "No."

His eyes twinkle in apparent delight at my refusal and I get the distinct impression that he doesn't hear that word very often. It isn't hard to tell, by the way he sits up, taking a greater interest in me, that this man likes a challenge.

The arrogant glint in his eyes as they swept up and down my body sizing me up says he is used to winning them.

"Why don't you want to tell me?" He asks over the rim of his glass, eyes still fixed on me.

I roll my eyes at him. It's a juvenile question, so I give him a juvenile response. "Because I don't want to." He doesn't budge, just stares at me obviously waiting for a real answer.

"Because you'll laugh and make fun of me."

He shakes his head serious in his demeanor and tone, but the corners of his mouth are jumping again.

"Well, I can't promise not to laugh, but I won't make fun of you, I can promise that."

He holds his pinky out to me, and I smack it away picking up my drink instead.

"It's the Mr. Fuckability Contest."

His instant roar of laughter has me smiling when I want to be mad.

"Now you see why I didn't want to tell you." I stomp my foot, but it is too late the last of my words roll out on a giggle.

"How did you come up with that?"

"Georgia, the girl with the southern drawl came up with it. It was before my time in the group so you will have to ask them for the rest of the explanation."

"How do you play?"

I gave him the short run down of the rules as I understand them.

"So this is actually Jess' idea that you try to pick me up?"

"Yes and no." I take another drink and have just started to relax when I realize I have finished it. He noticed about the same time and flags the bartender. I catch his arm and pull it down.

"I appreciate it, but I need to be able to get home."

His eyes take on a darker ember as they rake over my face and all the way down to the pink Mary Jane's and back.

"I'll make sure you get there safe."

The electrifying tingle that registers somewhere between run for your life and strip down and spread 'em is back. I am already having trouble keeping a clear head and the hormonal overload his look gives me is nothing short of life changing regret maker.

Then he smiles, and I forget all about the meaning of the word. Is he actually flirting back with me? I had pretty much chalked the drink up to trying to make me feel better, and a good laugh, but that last line is a bon-a-fide come on. Isn't it?

He hands me another glass of wine, and I take a drink deciding I have time to stick around and find out.

"So tell me about yourself Sprite."

I give him an incredulous look.

"I have to call you something." He shrugs laughing as I glare at him.

"Don't like it?"

"Don't fit it."

He stands up from the chair to move behind me. His hands wrap around the back of my chair brushing my shoulders and he leans in slowly until he is looking over my shoulder at my reflection in the mirror.

"Oh, I think it fits. You're petite; you're cute, and you have big blue eyes a man can lose himself in, not to mention you always seem to be into trouble up to your ass."

I watch him lean back enough to allow his eyes to drop down to check out my ass. They take their time inspecting, then crawl back up to capture those of my reflection. He is wearing a seductive, self-confident smirk that makes my insides lose their gravitational pull.

"Nice ass too by the way."

I'm not sure which comment has a worse effect. The remark on my ass or the reminder of my evening. How can I be embarrassed and completely turned on at the same time? I watch him lean towards me in the mirror the bar reflected behind us, but every thing fades as I watch his image lean closer, further over my shoulder until I can feel his breath tickling my neck.

His chest brushes against my back. I can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt.

"I like the way you blush."

He is close enough that I can feel his deep voice rumble from his chest. My lip's part as I try to draw in more air, but my breaths become shorter, faster, and harder to pull in.

Our eyes meet and hold, green fusing into blue as he gathers my hair in his hand to pull it over my shoulder. He leans forward slowly, watching me in the mirror until he is close enough to kiss my neck, but he doesn't. Instead, he leans his head down and my breath catches as he runs his nose along the column of my throat inhaling my scent.

When he looks back up his stare is darkly intense, his eyes feverish, nostrils slightly flaring as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. My own expression is pure sex, and I am startled to find I can even make a face like that. I was so busy watching him I hadn't thought to watch myself.

He must have noticed because he laughs, but it's not a joyous sound like the last, this laugh is short, choppy with disbelief, dark with something hungry. "You've never watched yourself have you." He stays perched just over my shoulder like the dark angel he is.

I shake my head, and his grin softens, "You have a tongue, Sprite. Use it."

"No." My voice comes out as wobbly and uncertain as I'm feeling. This man can melt me with words and the smallest touch, what can he do with me naked? I close my eyes so I don't have to see the erotic thought reflecting back at me, but not before he sees it. I hear him suck in a harsh breath. His answer is a low and guttural growl. I feel it in my back as it rolls up his chest and out his mouth in a gust of hot breath across the sensitive skin of my neck.

"Get your things. I have the tab."

He doesn't give me a chance to respond; instead he turns me, still stunned, towards my friends, nudging me in their direction with a forceful smack on my ass.

"Go."

I am breathless and gitty as I say my farewells to the girls with the typical snarky remarks ensuing and a few excited squeals. He approaches the table, throws an arm over my shoulders and turns me towards the door.

"Good night ladies." He says looking back as he leads me away from them.

I can't hear their response. Their voices are all tangled together. I notice the two gentlemen who had so obligingly left him earlier are now gathering their things at a discreet distance.

What are they his attendants or something?

"Are your friend's coming with us?"

He gives me a non comprehending expression. I jab a thumb in the direction of the back of the bar. His eyes follow and his lips smack shut into that no nonsense straight line.

"No. They have their own ride."