Don't Look Down

He sat at the far end of the bar, his attention on the heavy crystal glass in his thick fingers. A brush of gray at his temples set off his haunting, silver-blue eyes. A slight twitch to tense muscle flexed his jaw. His tongue reached out and captured a drop of amber liquid left on his lower lip from his last sip. Cynthia shivered and watched as he gently shook the empty tumbler and set it on the polished mahogany, pushing it toward the bar keep.

This one was no uptight accountant, no ladder climbing cube dweller. He wore a tailored jacket over a fine turtleneck sweater that looked luxuriously soft. Her fingers vibrated with the want to touch it, to explore the man underneath. Dark jeans hung low on his hips instead of the slacks that should have accompanied the jacket. Too much disguised masculinity hid under those clothes. Veiled passion danced in his eyes. No, this one worked for no one. He called his own shots; a predator with charged charisma apparent in every movement.

He took a deep breath that made him appear impatient. Was he waiting for someone? She shifted in her seat, re-crossed her legs to ease the ache of her growing arousal, the movement unintentionally getting his attention. He looked in her direction, his gaze drifting lazily up her body, ending on her face, steel blue eyes locking directly with her moss green ones. She held her breath, clenched her thighs.

The noises of the bar drifted around them. The bartender slid a refreshed drink to the stranger, but his gaze remained locked on her. She was sure he hadn't blinked. His blatant masculinity was as arousing as his dominance was overwhelming. Appraising, then approving expressions moved over his face. No question. His intention was absolutely clear without uttering a single word. She could see his finger tap twice on the bar: I will own you.

At the realization, gooseflesh traveled down her spine, adding another sensation to the sea of responses her body was having to his gaze. If she broke eye contact, looked down, submitted in any way, she would answer the question in those silver eyes. He was counting off. Four taps, five… did she have until ten to make up her mind? Didn't know, wasn't sure she was ready for this. Six, seven… His lip twitched into the barest hint of a knowing smile. Eight, nine…

She looked down into her glass. An answer.