“I’d like to hear from the lady in red, if there’s no objection.”The smooth baritone sung through Ivona’s veins like a bow across a welltuned
cello. A strange shudder worked its way up her legs and centered at the
juncture of her thighs, followed by a flash of moisture, a rush of heat. She glanced
back at the bar, taking in his attractive physique from the top of his dark head to
the rounded toes of his black Harley boots.
He’s straightforward. She liked that. No beating around the bush.
Tall, muscular, well proportioned, the man looked like an athlete. A black Tshirt
clung to his broad shoulders, the taut garment stretching to the point of full.
His worn jeans hung low on his trim waist and long legs, molding along his
muscled thighs and outlining the form at his groin with delicious clarity.
Ivona’s gaze lingered there a while. Bold in her appraisal of his endowment,
she had little concern for her bawdy behavior. Nice.
She moved her inspection upward, finding his rugged features equally
appealing—face beardless and sharp, profile strong and rigid. He comes from
good stock.
His overall form portrayed a lot of history within his genes, and perhaps, quite
a bit within his jeans as well. She doubted he suffered from a lack of bed partners.
I should like to explore that avenue later.
Amused by her careful scrutiny, he winked. Shifting to lean against the bar, he
used one elbow to support his pleasing form. The movement drew her gaze to his
muscled chest and flat abs. A leather coat would complete this bad boy
appearance. She wondered if a motorcycle waited out back.
Ivona shrugged, feigning indifference. “Fine with me.” She swiveled in her
seat, turning away lest he think himself too tempting to pass by.
When no one else disputed his request, Ivona resolved herself to going first
and waited for everyone to find a seat. It didn’t surprise her when Mr. Bad Boy
chose the chair across from her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she did her
best to try and ignore him.
Several of the patrons shifted from one spot to another, struggling to find an
acceptable seat. Others continued to talk to their partners, their manner rude and
inconsiderate to the ones waiting to begin. Ivona’s patience grew thin.
Struggling to contain her annoyance, she cleared her throat, announcing her
desire to start their silly game. As if on command, the room grew quiet. All eyes
focused on her.
Dipping her head, “My name is Ivona Valeriu Knight,” she began. “I was born
in Targoviste, Romania in the year fourteen hundred and forty six.”
***
Coming May 20th from Wild Child Publishing
Shannon Leigh
