08-26-2013, 08:55 AM
He saw her coming a mile away. He wasn’t blind. Then again, one sweep of the room highlighted the posers, the douches and the money bags almost before he spotted the short hemlines and well-positioned cleavage. Jaxen typically scoped out a room before throwing himself in.
He saw her at the bar when he was first led to the VIP booth he bought for the night. Saw and dismissed in almost the same moment. The chick had bitch stamped all over her forehead, but that wasn’t the reason he surveyed greener pastures elsewhere. A woman like that screamed the ticking biological clock, his and her towels, grow old together kind of danger. Jaxen was done with that: Aisha’s crazy had filled his quota for the year.
Imagine his surprise when the same lone-wolf pawed over his way. Bitch or not, Jaxen had no problem with enjoying the view. There was more skin to enjoy in the background, but the fully clothed curves bending right in front of his face was hard to ignore. That, and, the thrill of living in his own imagination took the steering wheel by the time she sat. A woman in that kind of dress wore only certain sorts of garments beneath; the fun kind.
He glanced, amused, at the empty glass she’d placed just out of reach. Then up the pale stem of her crossed legs. Then back to the glass placed alongside untouched ice, bottle and limes.
“Oriena,”
he said her name like a teasing whisper fallen upon her bare shoulder; one that begged him to say it again. He had an easy, silver tongue. The kind to draw a woman in, trustworthy or not. More likely not; Jaxen, from silver tongue to dark gaze, from tousled hair to a body that bragged about itself, had irresistible written on his abs as obvious as Oriena's brand was stamped on her forehead.
“You must be new at this.”
He patiently laced his fingers together, laid unmoving across his lap. Meanwhile, Jaxen made no effort to uncross his feet and get his own cup. “Aren’t you suppose to be serving me?”
His brows lifted playfully, but poignantly. “I being the client for one such as yourself to woo. You being the pretty face to keep me happy.”
There was no chastisement. No hurt nor threat to his conversation, but he had an ego, and if Kallisti wanted one such as he to grace their business, Oriena really needed to stroke it.
“Jaxen.”
He saw her at the bar when he was first led to the VIP booth he bought for the night. Saw and dismissed in almost the same moment. The chick had bitch stamped all over her forehead, but that wasn’t the reason he surveyed greener pastures elsewhere. A woman like that screamed the ticking biological clock, his and her towels, grow old together kind of danger. Jaxen was done with that: Aisha’s crazy had filled his quota for the year.
Imagine his surprise when the same lone-wolf pawed over his way. Bitch or not, Jaxen had no problem with enjoying the view. There was more skin to enjoy in the background, but the fully clothed curves bending right in front of his face was hard to ignore. That, and, the thrill of living in his own imagination took the steering wheel by the time she sat. A woman in that kind of dress wore only certain sorts of garments beneath; the fun kind.
He glanced, amused, at the empty glass she’d placed just out of reach. Then up the pale stem of her crossed legs. Then back to the glass placed alongside untouched ice, bottle and limes.
“Oriena,”
he said her name like a teasing whisper fallen upon her bare shoulder; one that begged him to say it again. He had an easy, silver tongue. The kind to draw a woman in, trustworthy or not. More likely not; Jaxen, from silver tongue to dark gaze, from tousled hair to a body that bragged about itself, had irresistible written on his abs as obvious as Oriena's brand was stamped on her forehead.
“You must be new at this.”
He patiently laced his fingers together, laid unmoving across his lap. Meanwhile, Jaxen made no effort to uncross his feet and get his own cup. “Aren’t you suppose to be serving me?”
His brows lifted playfully, but poignantly. “I being the client for one such as yourself to woo. You being the pretty face to keep me happy.”
There was no chastisement. No hurt nor threat to his conversation, but he had an ego, and if Kallisti wanted one such as he to grace their business, Oriena really needed to stroke it.
“Jaxen.”