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had been a film she would have expected to hear the warning wail of an electric guitar creep over the soft background bustle of the city.
    They'd locked eyes for several long moments. Heather found herself holding her breath, unsure if she wanted him to approach her or not. Something about the man both frightened and intrigued her. Then he folded those long legs under himself and got to his feet, uncurling from the table with obvious purpose.
    Heather broke eye contact and looked down at her brimming wineglass, not remembering when the host had refilled it. She'd been too intent on the man in black. Her heart was racing and she was a little pissed about that. He was only a man about to hit on her—something she had been through hundreds of times before.
    Why then was it so fucking hard to breathe?
    His steps thudded on the brick and stone floor, coming closer and then stopping. She didn’t lift her head, even though she could feel his gaze on the back of her neck like the incessant tap of fingers.
    “So who are ye, I wonder?” The Irish colored his voice like the whiskey she was craving; smoky and dark, with a kick that sent a shiver down her spine.
    “Nobody.” She tilted her head, finally looking up at him, daring him to challenge her.  
    His eyes glinted in amusement. “Tha' so, love?”
    “That’s my story and I'm sticking to it.” Up close, he was even more magnetic. There was something about the roguish dark blonde curls and the contrast with the hard planes of his face, the full, chiseled mouth. Not to mention the way he carried himself, with an indefinable energy—as if he could explode in wild fury, or raucous laughter at any second.
    He shrugged. “Well, then, ‘nobody’ it is. Nobody, I am Aidan. Aidan O’Neill. And I am thinking we have business tonight.”
    “Is that so?” Her tone edged toward derisive at the casual confidence in his tone.
    “I know what ye want, and I can give it to ye.”
    She laughed carelessly, cruelly. Heather appreciated cocky, but this man was too sure of himself by half. “ Please. How many goddamn times do you think I have heard that before? You have no idea what I want.”
    He bent down, his hands on the bar, that tall, sculpted body invading her space. He smelled like leather, smoke and something faintly metallic, reminiscent of blood or brimstone. A dangerous, sexy smell that made her nostrils flair.
    Heather refused to retreat an inch, lifting her chin and giving him an icy, dismissive glare to hide the need slipping into her belly. Then he spoke in a low growl, raising the hairs on the back of her neck as he breathed in her ear.
    “How about absolute fucking distraction, at any cost? Tha' sound like yer ticket to ride, love?” The Irish lilt in his voice both taunting and seductive.
    Heather swallowed, turning her head as he pulled back a fraction, their mouths only inches apart.
    “Good guess,” she whispered.
    He smiled and the heat she had been fighting flared into flame. “I have my moments.” He gestured at her wine glass. “Drink tha'. Ye’re going to need it.”
     
    Heather sighed at the memories and lifted her arms in the shower, turning in a circle to let the water sluice over every inch of her skin.
    She didn’t have hang-ups about one night stands or quickie sex, but she damn sure wasn’t a slut either. Especially in her profession where more than a few people numbered their sex partners in triple digits.
    What happened with Aidan was easily the fastest she had ever gone from eye contact to intimacy in her life.
    The attraction between them went beyond mere chemistry, it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Aidan was a force of nature, an act of God that she had no power or will to turn away. He had his hands on her before they made it halfway back to the hotel.
    She let her own hands slide down the soapy curves of her body as the hot water pounded her, remembering the heat of his mouth that first time…
     
    Night had veiled the