Page 4 of The One Night Match

But the niggling need to get out of the house weighed on me until I stopped trying to ignore it.

I watch as the girl beside me takes a long pull of her drink before her eyes meet mine, mischief dancing behind the startling blue.

It’s rare for a woman to affect me like this, and I find myself inching closer subconsciously. When I was in my early twenties, I’d fuck just about any girl you put in front of me, but I’ve been out of that life for a long time.

In fact, when was the last time I had sex?

“You look like you’re trying to solve world hunger or something,” the girl smirks as she finishes her drink and eyesthe bartender as if she’s considering whether she should have another.

“Or something.” I chuckle.

If only she knew how far from the truth that is.

“So, what brings you out tonight, Mr. Mysterious?”

“Mr. Mysterious?” I scoff.

“You’ve got that whole broody, serious thing going on. You’re either a tortured artist, or you kill people in your spare time.” She shrugs, dragging her eyes off me before my face can give me away.

It takes me a second to recover, my mind wheeling with how it’s possible this innocent-looking woman could so easily figure me out.

It’s possible she’s read about my family in the papers, but it’s rare they manage to get a clear photo of me, and I go out of my way to avoid the paparazzi when I attend events for the legitimate side of our business.

“That’s very perceptive of you,” I say evenly, forcing any remaining surprise from my voice. “What about you? I bet you spend your days caring for sick kittens or something.”

A startled laugh falls from her pouty lips, and I can’t help but stare at them. Fuck. I bet they’d look so pretty wrapped around my cock.

You’re getting married tomorrow, asshole. Keep it in your pants.

But my own internal reprimand does little to calm my hardening dick.

At least it’s dark enough in here that she won’t see it. Small mercies.

“I’ve been known to volunteer at a shelter or two,” she admits.

“I knew it!” I wave the bartender over, and I rattle off the same thing we each ordered before, with the addition of an extra tequila shot.

“They say you shouldn’t mix your liquors,” she says conversationally as we wait.

“Tequila and vodka,” I challenge.

She cuts me an amused glare. “Vodka and tequila are basically the same thing.”

“They absolutely are not.” I shake my head, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.

When was the last time I smiled like this?

God, it must have been years. Back before I had the burden of the family business resting on my shoulders. Before my father forced my hand and made ending his reign my only option.

“Besides, I can’t let a pretty girl do a shot by herself.”

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks heat slightly at the compliment.

I slip another hundred from my pocket and slide it across the bar once the bartender is finished making our drinks, and the redhead gives me a sultry smile before heading to the other end of the bar to serve another customer.

“So you never answered my question, Mr. Mysterious.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m escaping my responsibilities,” I tell her honestly.