From here, I could see the way his fist clenched on the bar.
I leaned my back against István’s chest and faced my real target. Running a hand down my body, I shot him a sly smile.
This was going to be a piece of cake.
One of István’s hands slid around my waist to my abdomen, and I dropped my head back on his shoulder. My eyes fluttered closed, and my lids were almost too heavy to lift again. My muscles tingled pleasantly.
There was that buzz again. Hallelujah. The tequila was kicking in.
This . . . this was how I wanted to feel all the time. Set adrift, no longer tethered to the earth and her demands and troubles. I wanted to float out to sea, drift out to space, forget who I was.
It was perfect.
But I could think of one way it could be better. I opened my eyes, and had to blink away the blur before I could focus on the bar.
Dark and Dangerous wasn’t there.
I looked back to the wall where I’d first spotted him, but he wasn’t there either. I searched for his broad shoulders and his olive skin, but couldn’t see him anywhere. He’d vanished into the crowd, taking tonight’s most interesting option with him.
Damn it. I’d played too hard to get. I should have just jumped him as soon as I saw his interest at the bar.
I frowned and fought off my disappointment. I tried to settle back against István, but suddenly the heat from his hands on my hips and his breath against my shoulder felt much less exciting. I took a deep breath, stretched my neck, and turned to face him.
He must have thought that was the go-ahead to make a move because he leaned in to kiss me. I pulled back and his lips grazed my chin instead.
I stepped back and shook my head. What was wrong with me?
I looked at the cup of water still in my hand and decided that maybe I just needed another drink.
Traveling alone wasn’t easy. There was too much quiet, too much time spent in my head. Sometimes it felt a lot like work. And the antidote to work was more play.
When István and I reached the bar, he smiled and said, “Drink, beautiful American.”
Right. Maybe it would have been nice if he knew a few more words in English.
I ordered another round of shots. At any other time— hell, yesterday—I would have made things interesting with the lemon wedge or some salt, but I wasn’t up to it at the moment. That would take too much effort.
I knew the minute I put the glass to my mouth that it wasn’t a good idea. My mouth was watering, and my stomach felt like it was residing somewhere up in my rib cage. But I took it anyway.
I’d stop after this one, ride it out for a while. I had it totally under control.
Or I thought I had anyway.
Five minutes later, that shot didn’t just hit me. It bulldozed me, backed up, and flattened me again. Just trying to walk made me feel like one of those lame inflatable flailing-tube guys. The ground kept bending up toward me, no matter how carefully I walked. The air seemed to ripple with each thump of the base. Neon lights bounced around the space. With the dancing people, the trippy décor of this place, and the noise, the inside of my head made the Harlem Shake look like a garden party.
“I think . . . I think I need some air.”
“Dance?” István asked.
God, no.
“No dancing. I just need . . .” I pushed back through the crowd to the hallway that we’d arrived through. I ping-ponged between drifts of people and the walls like a pinball before reaching the exit. I burst out into the cool night air, and took a huge gulp of fresh air.
That was my downfall.
I balanced myself with a hand on the building, and then was atrociously, epically, mortifyingly sick on the street. The quiet, empty, not-yet-zombie-infested street.
Footsteps came up behind me, and warm hands pulled back the hair that was hanging on both sides of my face.
Okay, so not entirely empty.
Eyes watery and my throat sore, I looked over my shoulder expecting to see István or maybe Katalin.
Instead, I found the guy who’d disappeared on me earlier reappearing at the absolute worst moment. And that trace of a smile I’d seen in his eyes was long gone.
Kill me now.
3
I was scared that if I opened my mouth, I would hurl again . . . from the alcohol and the embarrassment.
The world was spinning, but his face—the straight nose and chiseled jawbone—that was still and clear, almost as if the universe wanted this moment imprinted on my brain forever.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruff.
No. I was so very far from okay (though still very much in four-letter-word territory).
“I’m fine.” I pushed off the wall where I’d been bracing myself and tottered out into the street.
“Where are you going?”
“Away.” Just . . . away.
The night air was cool, and it felt exquisite against my sweat-dotted skin.
“Hold on,” he said, trailing behind me.
“Seriously?”
He should be running right now. That’s what you do when someone makes a supreme asshat out of themselves. You look the other way and keep walking.
He stopped before me, his face cast in shadows from the street lamps. “I’m not letting you walk around by yourself.”
Oh. He was one of those.
Couldn’t he take a hint? My head was spinning, and my mouth tasted like something too disgusting for me to name. I never thought there would be a moment where I wanted a hot guy to leave me alone, but it appeared there was a first time for everything.