Naughty Bride For Christmas

CHAPTER 2

MAYA POV

I really dislike going to bars sometimes. One big reason is that many men feel entitled to bother women. It's happened to me countless times. For example, this jerk grabbing my wrist really hard, right now.

Before I could react, I felt a static electricity zinging up my entire arm, then arrows to my core. The hair on the back of my neck rises, every nerve ending tingling with a strange intensity. What the actual— I whip my head around in his direction. “What do you think you're doing? You can't just touch anybody you see at the bar, get your fil—”

His eyes, a deep, captivating blue, like an ocean before a storm. Flecks of gold shimmer within, like sunlight dancing on a riverbed. The irises, a swirling tempest of winter white. And the pupils, obsidian black, bottomless pits that seem to draw the soul in. My breath catches in my throat, a gasp escaping my lips. My lungs burn as I desperately try to fill them with air.

I tried to drag my gaze from his, but it's like I'm held in tractor beams. Every Cell in my body hums. My nerve endings seem to fire all at once, sending a bunch of signals to my brain which I just couldn't interpret.

The skin around his eyes creases. He seems as confused as me, for his eyebrows draw down. A crease dent his perfect forehead. It draws my attention to his nose that juts down over his mouth. And what a mouth it is. Jesus -f*****g- Christ.

How can he have a perfectly bowed, thin upper lip with just the right hint of cruelty to send a shiver spurting down my spine. The pillowed lower lip, which I want to chew on and bury my teeth in.

That jaw of his, which is square enough to give Batman a complex. And those cheekbones. Surely, it’s not possible that someone is blessed with such razor edged facial architecture that he could hurt me with it. He could hurt me. If I gave him the chance. I try to pull my arm from his grasp, but he holds on to it tightly.

I try to speak. I honestly do, but the words are lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth. Stupid brain cells seem to have melted and congealed beyond recognition. He rubs his thumb across the pulse that drums around my wrists, and I feel it in my core.

My breast seems to swell, my n*****s tighten, and a throbbing flares to life between my legs. What madness was this? How can I be so attracted to this stranger?

“You were saying?” His voice is darkness coated in sin, dipped in chocolate ice cream. ‘Maya, what the f*****g hell… stop it. Have you finally gone crazy? He’s just a f*****g man… okay, a very good looking man, spectacular type of a man who you happen to find attractive.’

I tug on my hand again, and his lips twitch. Is he smiling at me? He’s smiling at me. Probably laughing at my reaction to him.

‘shithead.’

“I think you should let go of me, or I promise to call the cops on you,” I snap.

“Okay.” He releases me so suddenly that I slide back on my barstool.

I raised my hand to slap him, then pause when he shakes his head. His smirks. A twist of his lips that looked so hot, so soft, liquid heat cloud low in my belly. I blink. “This is insane.” I breathed out to myself.

This response to him is beyond weird. It's like nothing I have ever encountered before. Not with a stranger. Not with anyone. If I stay here, I'm either going to try to hit him, or kiss him, or worse then that. My thighs clench. s**t. The thought of sleeping with him is far from hateful.

My toes curl up like little piggies, and my heart starts doing cartwheels. It's as if a thousand butterflies have taken up residence in my stomach, fluttering and dancing with joy.

I grabbed my purse, pulled out some bills, and dropped them on the counter. Then turn to leave—

"Running away?" His deep voice rumbled, sending shivers down my spine. The low, gravelly tone was like a physical touch, a heavy hand on my shoulder, forcing me to confront the unspoken accusation in his eyes.

I ignored him and started to walk away. But then I heard him say, in a slow, drawling voice, "I've been watching you for a while now. I didn't think you were such a coward.”

Excuse me? I pause. He’s baiting me. I know what he is trying to do, he is trying very hard to get a rise out of me. I should leave without paying him any attention, but my stupid pride doesn't let me. I spun around and scowled. “What the hell did you just say?”.

“You heard me.” His grin only tends to widen, a smug satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “You're leaving because you can't face the music?”

"Music?" I tilted my head, feigning deep thought as if listening to a distant melody. "The only tune ringing in my ears right now is Ariana Grande 'Santa Tell Me.'”

“And they decide to play the naughty version__’You don’t want to be unwrapped’?”

“Excuse me?”

"Well, that was a bit of a Christmas blunder! I felt a little silly walking over, and then the DJ played the wrong song. I guess he was trying to get us in the holiday spirit with Mariah Carey's 'All I Want for Christmas Is You,' but it didn't quite work out.”

I laughed.

“You are kidding, right?”

“I assure you, I’m not.” He said and I shook my head.

"This whole thing is completely ridiculous," I said, my voice rising with frustration. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation. Frankly, it's a waste of my time."

I paused, taking a deep breath to calm myself. "If you'll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to."

With that, I turned and walked away.

I hear his footsteps behind me a few seconds before he plants his body in front of me with such speed that I almost bump into his wide chest. He’s so massive that he blocks out the rest of the bar behind him. And his scent, sweet baby Jesus, his scent. It's spicy citrus with something smoky like firewood. I sniff again, trying to fill my lungs, and my head spins. My knees turned to jelly and I stumbled. Why the hell am I turning into a klutz around him?

He grips my shoulder to steady me, and once more, pinpricks of heat bleed out from the point of contact.

He froze, his hand still outstretched on my shoulder. I froze too, my heart pounding like a drumbeat. I pulled away, and this time, he let me go without protest. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.

"Look," he began, his voice low and hesitant, "I didn't mean to scare you. I just... I wanted to talk to you. That's all." He raised his hands, palms open, a silent plea for understanding.

The gesture was clumsy, almost desperate. It made me feel a strange mix of pity and unease. I couldn't help but wonder what he wanted to say, what he was hiding behind those apologetic eyes.

"I don't want to talk to you, leave me alone," I muttered, my voice barely audible. I didn't dare look up, not wanting to meet his intense gaze. Instead, my eyes drifted downwards, focusing on the worn denim of his jeans.

‘Coo boy, does he fill out those jeans, or what?’ s**t, how the hell do those jeans fit him perfectly! They were probably blue once, but now they're almost a different color. The fabric is worn thin at the knees and the bottom of the pant legs. And his feet? Sweet Jesus, those are some big feet! They must be a size fourteen or bigger. That means whatever he's packing down there must be pretty impressive, too

His pants tightened against his crotch, outlining a bulge that was almost comical in its size. I couldn't help but let out a low whistle, my eyes widening in disbelief. It was like a small mountain range had taken up residence in his trousers.

“I believe this is when I say, my face is up here?” He drawls the words, a smirk playing on his lips. My face burns bright red. A bead of sweat trickles down my temple. Is it just me, or is it suddenly hotter than the surface of the sun in here? I need to escape. I need to run. I need to do something before I make a complete fool of myself.