...My quarry stood at the bar, sipping what appeared to be a soda. I stepped into the whirling yellow disco lights, planted my feet, squared my shoulders, put my hands on my hips, and waited for him to spot me. It didn’t take long.

He looked me up and down, a slow, lazy appraisal that focused my attention on his face. Then he smiled and lowered his eyelids with a slight nod of his head.

In that instant I knew something about him there are no flowery or romantic words for—only gut instinct. He wanted me to fuck him.

My body responded to the knowledge. Arousal snapped through me, sending shivers down my spine. My nipples, sensitive as any girl’s, tingled to the point the fabric of my sweater rubbing against them became deliciously painful. My cock swelled to its full seven-and-three-quarter-inch glory in a single pounding heartbeat.

I’d fuck him until he was limp as a rag doll in less time than that if I could get my hands on him.

His chin lifted, the knowledge of the game joined in his eyes. I gestured for him to join me on the dance floor. He smiled and weaved his way through the crowd in my direction. A dancer whirled between us, and I bolted for the door, no doubt in my mind he’d follow.

I made it to my car in time to see him step out the door, pause, and look around. He handed something to the bouncer-cum-doorman. His keys?

He allowed others to drive his Jaguar? The man held stunning, hidden possibilities.

Sure enough, the burly attendant loped across the street and out of my line of sight. Within a minute, the Jag whirled into view, and Blue Eyes reclaimed his ride. When he pulled out into the center lane, I steered my car in behind him.

The next stop, according to the pub crawl itinerary, was Rumours, and that was good for me. Blue Eyes turned left onto Potomac Street and his turn signal stayed on. I made a sharp left into the alley and the Rumours’ private rear parking lot.

Rumours was part of my regular circuit. I breezed through the kitchen door like I owned the place, which I did. I held a very modest and quiet ten percent of the business and the real estate.

Several of the wait staff yelled friendly profanities at me—and made a few offers. I smiled and waved as I hustled my way through, exiting the kitchen beside the bar. A buddy had the barstool on the end, and I shooed him off it with the promise of imminent entertainment.

Thank heavens the chair was right in front of an air vent and a breeze blew from it to cool the mob of revelers. I was sweaty, sticky, and not because the night was at all warm. The bartender handed me a glass of ice water with a lime twist, and I gulped down a few swallows.

No more alcohol for me until I got Blue Eyes home.

And speaking of…there he was, just on the other side of the dance floor, smiling at me, one eyebrow cocked up and looking amused. He gestured to me to join him with the same palm up wave of the arm I’d used at Tully’s.

I shook my head, lifting my glass to indicate I was thirsty. He clasped his hands over his chest and feigned heartbreak.

Right.

The dancer behind him was rubbing his butt, without any protest from Blue Eyes, so how crushed could he be? I finished my water and walked toward him, my gaze never leaving his. He stepped into the throng of dancers, meeting me halfway.

We moved easily to the music, our movements mirroring each other. I’d worry about the stupid grin on my face, but his expression matched mine. Our hips swayed closer. Our hands brushed. Blue Eyes turned, shaking his very well-shaped ass at me. I laughed in his ear, pulling him back against me. I was so achingly hard that my resolve to taunt him, to wear him down to a begging blob of gel, almost cracked. He grinned over his shoulder when I licked the rim of his ear.

“Are you going to tell me your name?”

I flashed my pearly whites at him. “Just before you come for the first time.”

“Cocky bastard, aren’t you?”