Dark Savior: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (22 page)

“Where is your boss?” I ask her as we clink our glasses.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she warns, winking at me. “He’s over there, talking to people who bore me.”

She gestures over to the other end of the room. I don’t see him standing anywhere, but nod nonetheless.

“So,” she adds. “Seen anyone interesting?”

I take another sip in an attempt to prolong my answer. She was right with that part, too. I couldn’t identify a lot of the attendees, and most of them probably fall into the group of patrons, who pour money into this project, but are not otherwise connected to it—and just like Amanda promised, a lot of them are closer to our age than that of our parents or grandparents.

There was one in particular that stood out. Tall, brown hair and dark hazel eyes—my type in a nutshell. But it was more than that. His whole appearance screams sexy. Unlike most other men around here, his custom tailored suit is not hugging a slim and weak looking body like that of a mannequin doll, but is stretched by broad shoulders and buff arms. He doesn’t look like the average business man, but more like a weight lifter who put on a suit for the night. There is something dark and intimidating about him. I haven’t seen him smile once and his strong jaw is dappled with a three day stubble that is unusual as well.

He is one of the patrons, too. Joe Mars, if I remember correctly. When his name was called out during the laudatory speech, he suggested a nod, standing tall and with his legs wide apart, one hand in his suit pants’ pocket while raising his glass with the other. Even then, he didn’t smile like the other patrons did when they were introduced. It was more of a quick smirk.

Incredibly sexy.

He is the perfect example of a man who makes me weak in the knees—and so out of my league. It would be ridiculous to think I could have a chance with a man like him.

“Nike?” Amanda interrupts my stream of thought. “Damn girl, you’re blushing! Which one? Tell me!”

I flinch and inhale audibly.

“No one,” I lie. “Nothing. I didn’t see… anybody.”

“Don’t lie to me!” She says. “Tell me right this instant. You know I’m going to find out anyways, right?”

As if my situation wasn’t awkward enough, he decides to appear in our proximity in just that moment. He is wandering around the room by himself in slow, wide steps, holding a mimosa as he scans the room with a calm demeanor. His presence is strong and intimidating, even from afar.

I am staring at him—and of course, Amanda notices.

“Oh my God,” she exclaims next to me. “It’s him, right? Joe… something.”

She hesitates, pondering for a moment.

“I wanna say Mars,” she adds. “Like the planet?”

“Or the God,” I hear myself say. “The God of war.”

Amanda giggles. “Are you for real?”

I nod, secretly kicking myself for saying anything.

He stops moving and raises his glass up to his lips. Those magnificent lips. My heart skips a beat when his eyes meet mine. We only stare at each other for a split second, but I can see his gaze darken before I quickly look away, turning my back to him.

Oh God, he noticed I was staring at him. And it annoyed him, of course.  

“You know you
have
to talk to him, right?” Amanda says. “I mean… the God of war and the Goddess of victory. Seriously? That’s fate, I tell ya!”

I cast her a quick look.

“How could I possibly talk to someone like him,” I remark. “He’s
so
out of my league. It’s ridiculous.”

She shakes her head, winking at me. “We had a deal!”

“Yeah, but—”

“The first guy you fancy,” she reminds me. “You have to talk to him—or clean our place all by yourself for two months.”

“One!” I object. “We said one month!”

“I’m making it two for this one,” she says, grinning at me. “He’s too good of a catch to let him go. Don’t be stupid!”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask her, defeated.

“Doing this to you?” She repeats. “Girl, you should be thanking me!”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can!” She interrupts. “And you will! Come on, what do you have to lose?”

“My dignity?” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “Pff, don’t be pathetic.”

“What do I even say?” I ask her, sounding like a confused little kid.

“Just the usual, what people say,” Amanda says. “Ask him if he’s enjoying the evening. Thank him for donating the money—stuff like that. He will ask you back, you guys start talking, introduce yourselves to each other.”

She pauses and interrupts her scenario with a little giggle.

“Oh, yeah, right,” she continues. “You’ll be like ‘I’m Nike’ and he’ll be like ‘I’m Mars’ and then you’ll do that whole Gods-thing and you two will have a laugh and—”

“All right, all right,” I interrupt her. “I get your point.”

“Come on, it’s so easy!” Amanda insists. “You have something to talk about right there! The rest will follow naturally.”

I take another sip from my glass. She is right. I know she is. And besides, really, what do I have to lose? Yes, it could be awkward, and yes, he will most likely blow me off, because he—like everybody else—will see that I am no match for him. It is so obvious.

Then again, the thought of not having to clean for two months—if Amanda keeps up her side of the deal—does sound enticing to me. And it would do me good to dare more. I should see this as a practice of sorts. If I can approach a man like him, if I can get over myself to do this tonight, it could be so much easier the next time.

Also, it would be a good practice for me to deal with rejection.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay, okay.”

Amanda lets out a little squeak while I finish the rest of my champagne with one big sip and turn around, handing her my empty glass before I make the first and hardest of the few steps that separate me from this delicious hunk of a man.

The fact that he is looking at me with those dark, expectant eyes as I do so doesn’t make it any easier.

Be cool, be cool
.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nike

Of course, I am not cool. I am anything but cool. I am a pathetic and clumsy idiot, who is too focused on this man’s hazel eyes to remember that the venue is laid out with uneven carpet and that I am not exactly an expert when it comes to walking in heels as high as the ones I am wearing tonight.

I am just about to open my mouth to deliver my well thought out opening line, when my left foot gets caught up in that damn carpet, causing me to lose my balance and stumble forward like a newborn deer fresh out of the womb. My arms fly high as I try to regain my balance, but my alcohol induced state makes it impossible to do so.

Instead of giving any kind of eloquent introduction, I stumble forward, almost knocking him over as well. My fall is only stopped by his strong arm. He literally catches me with his left, his strong muscles flexing beneath the fabric as he supports me while balancing his drink with the other hand. I sigh helplessly as I grab on to his muscular arm while I climb back on my feet.

My cheeks are burning and if they haven’t been painted in bright red before from the alcohol, I am sure they are displaying that treacherous color now.

Great, what a fabulous entrance. My intoxication may have helped to find the courage to do this at all—next to the incentive set by Amanda’s deal—but it is no help in doing it elegantly.

I don’t dare to look up at him and spend an excessive amount of time with straightening my dress, even when there are no wrinkles left.

He lets go of me as soon as I give a somewhat stable impression. I wish he would say something, so that I’d have a reason to look up at him, but he doesn’t. My eyes are still lowered, fixating on the tips of his shoes as I try to think of something to say.

Well, there really is only one thing to say right now.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Excuse me?” a dark voice retorts.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, and finally dare to lift my eyes up to him.

He greets me with the same dark and intense look I saw on his face earlier. It’s hard to tell if that’s just his usual expression or if I am genuinely annoying him.

I gulp.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, and now he is raising one of his eyebrows. My repetition definitely does annoy him.

“That’s okay,” he says. “You were lucky I didn’t spill my drink on you.”

I nod, unsure what to say to that. His voice sounds angry and bothered. He doesn’t give me the impression of wanting to talk to me at all.

I knew it. This was a stupid idea to begin with—and now I ruined it completely by falling into him like this. I should just excuse myself and disappear as quickly as possible. After all, I did hold up my end of the deal. It was all about making the first step. Amanda never said anything about going beyond this first approach. I don’t have to turn around to know that she is watching us. 

“Well, um, again, really sorry,” I utter, and make a move to get away from him.

I am just about to turn around and walk away, when he holds me back. A strong hand grabs my upper arm, squeezing it so hard that I flinch in pain.

He pulls me back and forces me to turn back to him.

“You came to me,” he says, his face as stern as his voice. “Is there anything you wanted? I’m sure your plan was not to just fall into me like this.”

“Err, no…,” I stutter. “I… I just wanted to say hello.”

I have never been very quick-witted.

“Say hello?” he asks, furling his eyebrows. “Do we know each other?”

“Not yet,” I say, trying to regain my confidence. “I just thought I’d say hello…”

“You said that already,” he says.

“Um, I mean, introduce myself,” I correct. “I’m Nike Halsted. I work for Linwood Publishing.”

He nods. “Hello Nike Halsted from Linwood Publishing. I’m Joe Mars.”

He extends his hand for me to shake, and I do. His grip is strong, almost too strong. I have to control my facial expressions as he squeezes my hand so hard that it almost feels as if he is crushing my knuckles.

“And you’re sure we haven’t met before?” he asks.

Somehow, his question sounds like a threat. I don’t know what it is with him, but he seems to be very suspicious and sullen. He probably wants to be left alone.

But why doesn’t he just let me go then?

“No?” I say. “At least, I don’t think we have.”

He furls his eyebrows as if he doesn’t believe me. Maybe I remind him of someone else? Someone he doesn’t like very much.

“I mean, I saw you earlier when they were thanking the patrons—”

“Yes, that’s not what I am talking about,” he says.

He steps closer, uncomfortably close, and grabs my upper arm again, leaning down to me so that his mouth is almost touching my forehead.

“Don’t mess with me,” he hisses, so faintly that I can barely hear him. 

“What?” I blurt out, staring up at him with wide eyes. Mess with him? What is he talking about?

Our eyes look onto each other's for a few moments. Up until now I thought his were just a plain, dark hazel, but now that I stare right into his eyes this close, I notice that they have dark green spots in them. The dotted color makes them look weirdly alive.

Our faces are less than two inches away from each other. His scent is enticing, sweetened by a hint of orange from his drink.

Damn, what a gorgeous man he is!

He studies my expression for what feels like an eternity before he finally withdraws. He lets go of my arm and brings some much needed distance between us.

I realize that my heart is pounding as if I just finished one of my sprints. This man is unraveling me, and the fact that he is so confusingly sullen and angry only enhances the effect he has on me.

It’s different.

It’s frightening.

And it’s fucking hot.

Still, I would like to know what he meant when he warned me not to mess around with him.

“What was that all about?” I ask, raising my chin defiantly, which asks for a lot of courage from my part.

He shakes his head. “Just wondering if you’re playing a game here is all.”

“I don’t follow—”

“I had a feeling we met before,” he interrupts. “And I thought that feeling was mutual when you said you wanted to say hello.”

He pauses and scans the room for a moment.

“But apparently,” he whispers. “I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “My intro might have been a bit… confusing.”

“You could say that,” he says, his voice sounding reproachful.

Well, didn’t that go great. What a wonderful first impression. I look up at him, an infantile question lingering on my lips.
May I be excused
?

I still feel like he would much rather be left alone, but the last time I tried to give him that pleasure, he was the one holding me back.

“So, why did you want to say hello then?” he asks.

I feel like there’s nothing left for me to lose with this guy. I have embarrassed myself, I have somehow managed to anger him—and I am drunk. These situational conditions lead to rather unusual behavior on my part: I decide to go with honesty.