Free Lovers by Christmas: by Angelita Gill Page A

interest. To her shock, she didn’t find his open perusal creepy or unwelcoming. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of signal or invitation from her.
    He wouldn’t get one.
    Though a part of her wanted to smile, she resisted the impulse. Instead, she swiveled on her chair to face the stage again. Seconds later, when he strolled her way, her heart began to thunder as she pretended not to care, and prepared herself to shoot down the pick-up line he would no doubt drop on her.
    “Hello,” he said in a deep, sexy voice, like warm brandy to the brain.
    She looked at him, surprised at this simple greeting. No one just said “hello” anymore. He had that unshaven look of a day or two. However, he pulled it off very nicely with his brown eyes and thick dark hair on top. He wore a burgundy shirt, open at the throat with the sleeves rolled up. Very handsome and thoroughly affecting, but she steeled herself against his magnetic presence. He’d likely bore her in less than two minutes.
    “I’m not for sale,” she said, in a passively teasing manner.
    “I never thought for a second you were.”
    She tried again to deflect him. “Well, I want to be alone.”
    “No. You don’t.”
    Confident of himself, was he? She turned her body toward his, folding her hands on her knees, raising a brow. Maybe she wouldn’t be bored after all.
    He traced his gaze over her face. “Drink with me?”
    His voice alone made the apex at her thighs wet and aching, and she re-crossed her legs. “All right.” It’d been a long time since someone made her wet on sight.
    He gestured to the bartender. “Whatever she’s having.”
    She placed a hand on his forearm to stop him. A thrill shot to her stomach at the feel of his warm, corded muscle under her palm. “It’s a Hemingway Daiquiri. You might not like it.”
    He met her gaze, then looked down at her hand before she quickly drew it away. Setting his attention back to the bartender, he gave a single nod to make the drink anyway, then fixed his gaze on her again. “I want what you want.”
    What she wanted right now was for her heart to stop pounding. “Why?”
    “That way, I can taste what you taste. Every time you take a sip, I’ll know exactly what you’re experiencing.”
    Her brows slightly knitted together. He was odd. Who said things like that? Even odder, she liked it. Once the bartender slid the cocktail to the stranger, the handsome stranger picked it up, and she picked up hers.
    “My name is Kenner.” Taking a sip, he held her gaze.
    “Thea,” she told him, mirroring his action.
    “What are you doing here on a Friday night?”
    She set down her glass, wondering what he was after. Some trivial conversation to pass the time? To simply buy a woman a drink? Or would he try to seduce her? “I felt like going out without the crowds.”
    “So did I.”
    “Do you come here often?”
    “Rarely,” he answered.
    He offered no further conversation, and with those eyes and his electric presence, she aimed to diffuse the absurd sexual tension building between them. “What do you do for a living, Kenner?”
    “I’m an ad exec. You?”
    Liar. She just knew it. However, if he chose to fib about his occupation, then she would too. “I work in insurance. Need some?”
    He shook his head. “No, thank you.”
    Though she’d said it facetiously, he didn’t seem to take it as a joke. Kenner was an intense man. Too intense for an ad exec, confirming her suspicion he’d lied. She wondered what he really did for a living, but didn’t care enough to call him out on it.
    They listened to the music without speaking another word to each other, but when the young lady finished and told the audience she was taking a break, Kenner turned to Thea again.
    “Why are you here alone?” he asked.
    “Why are you?” she redirected.
    “I had no plans. I came down here to listen to a couple sets, have a drink, and go home,” he told her. “Then you walked in, and I haven’t been able to