Valerie

"I don't even know if you're a serial killer."

His mouth pulled up into a smile that shouldn't be so panty-melting; the man was dangerously handsome, but his smile was lethal. "I'm not."

"That's what a serial killer would say," I slurred, the words thick at the edges. He grabbed the bottle from me and tipped his strong throat back, emptying it in one smooth motion. "I'm not planning to take you back to my place and butcher you," he laughed, "I was thinking we should go get some food that's not bite-sized."

I bit my lower lip in indecision. "Well, I'm one of the bridesmaids."

"Look around you," he said. "The wedding is mostly over. I'm sure the bride found some other person to hold up her train for her."

I poked out my bottom lip. "But nobody else will do it quite as well as the slighted sister."

His eyes darkened for a second. "Are you content to spend the rest of the night being the slighted sister, though?"

I licked my bottom lip and felt his dark gaze greedily drink in the motion. "I have work in the morning."

"You won't be late for work," he promised. "There are those things called alarm clocks."

I giggled — a sound I couldn't remember ever making — and said, "I'm not sure I've heard about these alarm clocks."

"Greasy burgers and milkshakes as big as my thighs?" He raised one thick brow.

I threw my hands up in surrender and dropped to my feet, swaying a little. "Sold."

He held out his arm and I slanted him an amused glance before resting my hand on it. Together we left the reception hall and walked two blocks to a burger shop because neither of us trusted ourselves to drive. After a few bites we slipped into the bar across the road. Inside, chaos reigned and karaoke shrieked from the stage; the woman with the mic had the whole room wincing. I ordered a glass of whiskey, threw it back, and, fueled by liquor and bravado, stumbled onto the stage to give a rendition of Beyoncé's "Love on Top" that somehow had the crowd applauding.

"You didn't tell me you could sing," the dark-eyed man said later as we ordered more shots.

"You didn't ask," I smirked. "I'm a woman of many talents."

"In combination with being beautiful, that's just overkill," he teased.

"Don't flatter me. I know what I look like." I was okay looking — nothing breath-robbing like Alice or the women in the bar eyeballing my suited companion — but his insistence made pleasure warm me inside. "You need to get your eyes checked, darling," he said, folding the statement into his honesty. "I told you, I'm an honest man. And I'll tell you again: you're a beautiful woman."

I ducked my head at the compliment, hiding the flush on my cheeks. "I guess you're not so bad looking yourself," I offered; the understatement of the year. He looked like he had stepped off a GQ cover and if I thought I had any chance with a man like him, I'd be trying to seduce him.

"Are you one of Alice's distraught exes?" I asked, suddenly horrified at the thought that he might be drowning over a lost love.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not the bride's ex. Or related to her in any way. And besides, she's not really my type."

"Stunning, curvy, red-headed, confident women aren't your type?" I asked. "I'd hate to know what your type is."

"I've always had a thing for blondes," he said in a decadent whisper that sliced through my defenses and sent my heart skittering. My palms went clammy and my throat felt like sandpaper. "B-blondes?" I reached a shaky hand to my hair. He leaned forward; the spicy scent of him filled my lungs and I was caught completely in his spell.

"Another drink for the gentleman," the bartender called, and the moment snapped; I jerked away, almost toppling off the stool. Amused, the man passed me the glass and I downed it to steady my nerves.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, a gleam in his eyes. "Have you ever watched the moon from the top of a building?"

My eyes went wide. "You want us to go watch the moon?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "My hotel has roof access and from there you can see the moon hanging over the city."

He held out his hand. There was a tingle of anticipation down my spine as I placed my smaller hand in his; he closed his fingers around mine and drew me out of the chair. I stumbled and fell into his hard chest with a panicked squeak. "I'm too drunk for this."

"Not much of a drinker?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I can't afford to be so out of control."

"Well, let's both be out of control together. Just for tonight."

Warning bells rang in my head, but I ignored them, too infatuated with the promise in his knowing smile. "Okay," I breathed, eyes locked on his. I didn't know him, but I willingly gave him something I hadn't given anyone in years: my trust.

Hours later, tangled up in his bed, I wondered if I hadn't given him more than my trust. "You're mine, Valerie," he growled into my ear as his hips pushed into me again and again. It occurred to me then that I hadn't even given him my name — but I was too lost in the throes of pleasure to care.