Page 4 of Falling for Raine
He wore fitted jeans with a crisp oxford shirt rolled at the sleeves to reveal sexy, strong forearms. This guy was muscular, toned, at least five inches taller than me, and probably fifteen years older too. Not my usual type, but notnotmy type…if you catch my drift.
Gah, I couldn’t stop staring at him.
Oh, and side note: Other than a handful of pretzels, I hadn’t eaten since lunch. I wasn’t drunk by any means, but I was on the verge of tipsy. And tipsy me had a faulty filter and a dubious moral compass. Not something I wanted to unleash in the wilds of off-the-Strip Vegas.
But that accent.
Holy shit.He sounded posh like Cecil, without the asshole element. His voice was gravelly and deep and…he was trouble. Don’t ask me how I knew. I could just tell.I definitely should not stay for one more drink.
I pushed the martini the bartender had set in front of me toward the stranger. “Thanks, but I can’t?—”
“Don’t feel obligated to take it or speak to me. If you’d prefer to be left alone or would like the attention of those…gentlemen, I’ll gladly step aside.” He slid the martini back to me and raised his scotch in a toast.
“When you put it like that, thanks for the drink.” I clinked my glass against his and took a sip.
“You’re welcome. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you seem rather out of your element.”
“Obvious, huh? Same goes for you. You’re giving off lost tourist vibes. Maybe it’s your shirt.”
He shifted on his stool with his legs spread, smiling roguishly as he glanced down at his oxford shirt. “If you say so. I’m not lost, though. I’ve actually been here a few times.”
I made a yuck face. “Why?”
The stranger chuckled. “This bar is the epitome of unassuming. There’s little to no danger of false advertisement. That’s a rarity in Las Vegas.”
“Makes sense…I guess.” I sipped my martini, darting my eyes around the dark bar before clandestinely studying the handsome stranger. “If older, creepy dudes get your motor running.”
He barked a laugh. “Iaman older dude…and not everyone here is creepy.”
“Probably true. Does that mean that you actually came here looking for beer bellies, pit stains, and lecherous side-eye?”
“No, I came for a drink.”
I scoffed. “No one in their right mind would choose to come here for a drink.”
“You’re here.”
“Case closed.”
He snorted. “And what wereyoulooking for tonight?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’m starting a new job next week, and I have to move and…I guess I didn’t want to think about how daunting that is. I figured a night on the town would do me good. This wasnotthe part of town I was looking for, though.”
“Understood. Good luck to you…on your job, that is.”
“Thank you. I’m moving to England, by the way,” I blurted. “That’s where you’re from, right? The accent kind of gave you away.”
He widened his eyes comically. “You don’t say.”
“Unless that’s a fake accent. You might be from Nashville and just acting out a kink in a dive bar, and I’d never know.”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing as an accent kink,” he drawled, sounding more aristocratic than ever.
“Oh, c’mon. There are all kinds of kinks. You name it, someone wants it—whips, chains, spankings, diapers.” I chuckled at his horrified expression. “The ew factor is strong for me too, but I have a few friends who like it sketchy. Not that you’re sketchy…in fact, you seem normal.”
“Relatively. But…Iamold.”
“True,” I agreed soberly. “How old?”