Page 30 of Lovely Venom

Awhell. He is even more stunning than I remembered him. All the booze that night must have dulled my memory. The jet-black tux hugs his frame like it’s been tailored just for him. The crisp white shirt beneath splays open at the collar. The rebel skipped a bowtie, like he doesn’t care about the formality of these events.

Like, he doesn’t care aboutanything.He might as well be a beacon, and I’m a boat heading for a crash landing on a rocky shore.

Engage the enemy. Flirt.

I’m two left feet and tongue-tied. I need to get insanely drunk in order to flirt. That’s who Connor liked, apparently. Whoever the hell I am now, he may not look twice at me.

A tray of champagne flutes passes me, and I snag one.

Ignoring Connor’s outrageous and undeniable beauty, I saunter over, looking anywhere but at him. Luck blesses me when the other man he was speaking to walks away. I weave around the crowd and manage to bag a spot right next to Connor at the bar.

I give him a passive-aggressive bump to get his attention. “Sorry.”

“Excuseme, lass.”

Lass...

Oh dear God, that’s right. If Connor wasn’t perfect enough, he speaks with an Irish accent.

“No problem,” I say, resisting an eye roll at how unbelievably sexy he sounds.

“Holy shite. It’syou,” he drawls in a deep and dangerous tone.

I play it cool and swivel my head his way. Feigning surprise, I purr, “Oh, hi. Cory? Cal?”

He frowns. “Connor. But I never gave you my name.”

Gulp,that’s right.

“That’s why I was guessing.”

“And you are?” He sticks his hand out to me.

“I’m...” I tilt my wrist just enough for my flute to gently tip over. A teeny splash of champagne hits Connor’s polished shoes. “Oh, shoot!” I gasp coyly.

Connor glances down at the golden splotch of wetness beading up on his size-fourteen Ferragamos. He looks up,and when his eyes meet mine again, something dark flickers behind them. Amusement? Interest? A warning? Maybe all three.

My stomach has figured it out. A slow, twisting heat that I have no business feeling for a man I’m supposed to kill spreads through me like a wildfire licking dry kindling.

He laughs in a low, rich sound. “You’re blushing, lass.”

My skin prickles uncomfortably, something inside me going taut. But I force myself to hold his gaze. “I ruined your shoes.”

“That is one way to get my attention,nimh.”

Did he just call me a nymph? As innymphomaniac? What in the hell did we do that night?

This man is too cool. Too smooth. And way too confident.

“You look different.” He gives me a once-over, eyes locking on the slit in my gown.

“So do you,” I counter immediately. “We met in a sketchy bar.”

“Dressed up or torn jeans, you are the finest thing I’ve seen in a long time. Haven’t laid eyes on one that matches you, lass. But we’re still strangers. Now, tell me your name, or I’ll force it out of you.” Connor’s deadly voice shreds my nerves. “And not in any way you’d find enjoyable.”

Keeping my voice even since he just threatened me, I say, “Call me Storm.”

He narrows gorgeous blue eyes at me and repeats, “Storm.”