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“Hi.” His voice is as deep as thunder in a summer storm and I swear I can feel it rumbling in my chest.

I fight to keep my jaw from falling to the table and twist my head up—and up some more—until I finally come eye to eye with the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

In my life.

“Hi.” My rather extensive vocabulary completely abandons me in his presence.

“Luke Miller.” He introduces himself and gestures to the empty chair across from me before asking, “Mind if I sit?”

Mind if I sit on your face?

“Of course not!” I answer too fast, my voice too high.

I feel my cheeks heat as I try to fight back the X-rated thoughts I’m almost certain are being broadcast on a neon sign above my head.

Something I’m even more convinced of when his eyes darken and his smile widens. “And I’m Emerson. Emerson Pierce.”

“Emerson.” He says my name slowly. Caressing every letter, rolling every syllable. I’ve always liked my name, but coming out of his mouth? I fucking love it. “Thank you for letting me join you tonight.”

“Of course.” I try my hardest to keep my voice steady and my eyes on his face. But it’s a useless endeavor when he folds his large body into the much too small chair and the fabric of his pants strains against his thick thighs.

Holy crap.

I’m no better than a man.

“Busy night.” He pulls my attention back to his face once he’s seated. “I’ve never seen it so crowded here before.”

“Really?” I will my mouth and mind to get out of the gutter and work together again. “It’s my first time coming here. I didn’t know if this was the norm or not.”

There. Two full sentences. Gold star, Emerson.

“I guess it depends on what’s going on. It can get pretty crazy if there’s something big happening nearby—” He gestures to the rapidly increasing group of Petunia Lemon ladies overtaking the bar, “or in the hotel.”

As if just to put the exclamation on his point, a few of the women let out ear-rupturing screams in perfect synchronization.

The hottie across from me widens his eyes and I can’t help but laugh.

I’m just grateful that my Petunia Lemon lanyard is safely hidden in my purse and I can plead ignorance to the scene around us.

The waitress returns with my drink but her steps falter when she gets close enough to take in Luke. She stands frozen beside the table, slack-jawed and awestruck. A hazard I’m sure all service workers must encounter when coming face to face with someone as hot as the man in front of me.

“One old fashioned.” She becomes unstuck and places my cocktail on the table before reaching into her pouch for a menu to hand Luke. I bite back my smile at the small tremor in her hand. “For you, sir. Could I get you started with something to drink?”

“Thank you.” He turns the full force of his smile to her and takes the menu. “Let me see.”

Her face burns scarlet and I want to reach for her hand, let her know she’s not the only one affected. But as soon as his eyes begin to scan the menu, my solidarity nosedives off of the roof, and I take this opportunity to scan him.

Simply put, the man is gorgeous. He looks like someone took a Ralph Lauren model and mixed it up with an Avenger. Resembling one of those things is dangerous, but both?

It’s lethal.

He has a head full of thick, wavy, dark hair.

The lighting is terrible and I can’t tell if it’s black or brown, but neither do I care.

I only care that it’s long. And not sloppy long, either.

No, bedroom long. The kind of long that causes my fingers to itch to dig into it and hold on for dear life as the nights turn into days.

He has sun-kissed skin that hints to a summer full of days spent outside, soaking up the Colorado heat before fall chases it away.

His eyes are so bright and so green that looking into them feels like a vacation.

Dark scruff covers his cheeks and chin, but even so, I have no doubt that it’s hiding a jawline that would cause even Michelangelo’s statues to crumble in shame.

“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks.” He orders before he looks back to me and catches me staring red-handed. His smile deepens as he holds my gaze. “Are you eating?”

I nod my head, unable to look away and suddenly feeling famished. It’s just unfortunate that what I want isn’t anywhere on the menu. “Just sweet potato fries.”

“I’ll do the sliders,” he says to the waitress without looking at her. Something that I could perceive as rude if I didn’t think it was so fucking hot. “And a side of sweet potato fries.”

The rooftop is growing louder by the second, but I can’t hear any of it.

Once the waitress leaves, Luke and I sit in silence, studying…

no, appreciating each other. And as we do this, this silent dance that is better than any foreplay I’ve ever experienced, I come to a terrible, unsettling realization.

While everything about this man is basically sex-on-a-stick wrapped in a great pair of slacks, none of that matters.

Because even if he didn’t have the hair or the skin or the jaw, I would—with 1,000 percent certainty—still be in a complete and utter choke hold over this man.

Yes, he’s beautiful, but it’s the way he looks at me that makes me want to melt into a freaking puddle.

Nobody has ever looked at me like he has.

The moment he trained those green eyes on me, I was ready to risk it all.

And risk it all I shall.

“So…” I break the silence. “Are you just here for the bar or do you have a room?”

His eyes darken and his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. I cross and recross my legs beneath the table to try and temper the growing need between my thighs.

I’ve never been so forward before, but what’s that saying? Fortune favors the bold? Desperate times call for desperate measures? YOLO?

“I have a room.” He leans forward and his voice drops to a gruff whisper. “We could get the food to go?”

I have a rule about food, particularly about French fries.

I do not order them to go. French fries are only good when they first come out.

When I go to a drive-thru, I either pull over or put my safety second and eat them while driving.

Fries are only to be eaten hot and crispy, otherwise just throw them in the trash.

But at this moment? With this man? The only thing going in the trash is that rule.

“I like that idea.” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s so quiet and breathy, it’s a miracle he can hear me. “To go sounds great.”

I reach for my old fashioned and take a much deeper sip than I intended. It might’ve been the reason I made the journey to this bar, but I can’t tell you what it tastes like. I think it’s good? All I know for sure is that whiskey is good for my soul and my racing nerves.

I’m no stranger to a night of fun, but for some reason this feels different.

Bigger.

My body thrums in anticipation while my mind goes blank. As if it’s aware of secrets my brain isn’t yet privy to.

By the time the waitress arrives with his drink, my heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest. Despite the cool evening breeze, my face is flushed and beads of sweat form on the back of my neck.

Sparks shoot back and forth between us, my nipples hardening beneath the focus of his gaze.

Every single nerve ending is so lit up that even my fingertips ache.

“Thank you.” He takes the drink from her hand, not patient enough to even let her put it on the table. “Is there any way you could have our food sent to my room instead?”

“Of course.” Her knowing eyes flicker to me, but the embarrassment a girl with a modicum of shame should feel is nowhere to be found.

Instead, brazen pride causes my spine to straighten as I meet her look head-on, an unspoken “you go, girl” flying between us.

“I’ll just need your name and room number. ”

“Luke Miller.” He repeats the name he gave me earlier, and the part of me that listens to way too many true crime podcasts is relieved to know I haven’t been lied to. “Room 528.”

“Great, I’ll be right back so you can sign for it and then you’re good to go.” She turns to leave, and although I can’t be certain, I’m pretty sure she winks at me before she leaves.

Girls supporting girls at its finest. The Spice Girls would be so proud.

Her back is barely turned when Luke lifts his crystal glass into the air. “Salud.”

I watch as he brings the whiskey to his lips and, even though he ordered a drink that is meant to be savored, he shoots it back.

I follow suit immediately.

I gulp back the old fashioned, not at all regretful that I’ll have to come back another time to see if it lives up to the hype.

Warmth trails down my throat and settles in my stomach, finally reining in the butterflies that have been raging from the moment he first sat down.

His eyes never leave my lips, a small smirk pulling at the corner of the mouth I already wish was on mine.

But since it’s not and knowing I have his full attention, I can’t deny the feminine urge to bring the cocktail pick with two cherries skewered on it to my mouth.

I delight in the way his eyes follow the movement, his smile fleeing as he watches with undisguised desire.

I take my time, parting my lips—that I belatedly wish were painted red—and sucking the cherries off one… at…a…time.

“Fuck it. They know my room, they can bill me at checkout,” he grinds out between his flexed jaw. I can’t even put the stick back into my glass before he’s out of his chair and my hand is wrapped in his and he’s pulling me out of my seat. “We need to get to my room. Now.”

I grab my purse off of the back of my chair and tighten my grip on his hand as he weaves us through the crowded bar.

He pushes the elevator button much like my kindergartners would, frantic and impatient.

And when it finally arrives, he pulls me inside the empty space the same way, not even waiting for the doors to slide closed before he pushes me against the wall and his mouth lands on mine.

All thoughts leave my mind, but if they didn’t, I’m pretty sure I’d be thanking god for the best kiss of my life…

And Petunia Lemon for putting my ass in the hotel just in time for it to land in his bed.