Page 11 of Manic

I turned my attention to the masculine hands on the bar, his fingers impatiently drumming. I eyed the ink on his fingers, all five on his right hand revealing the name, MANIC.

Breath lodged in my throat, and I fought the racing of my heart before lifting my eyes. He did this every year; invaded my fucking space.

A smirk tilted his mouth as he angled his body toward mine, casually leaning on his elbow with an ungodly amount of confidence. I caught the faintest trace of tobacco, mixing with the all-too expensive—all-too familiar—heady cologne he wore. He smelled delectable.

I clenched my jaw at the thought and turned back to the bartender who’d pointedly ignored me for the last ten minutes. Amelia seemed distracted, her back now facing me while she talked to Grave. Traitor.

“Sutton Hale,” Manic drawled in that low voice of his—one that sent a delightful shudder down the length of my back every time I heard it. “Nice to see you at our event again. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I didn’t know I had a choice,” I clipped before I could stop the words from spilling out. “Don’t worry; once I have one, I’ll be the first to skip.”

He chuckled, but asked, “What are you drinking?”

“Clearly nothing,” I said with a drawn-out sigh, but when he didn’t respond, I lifted my eyes again. He stared down his nose, waiting for my answer. “I haven’t decided yet. Good luck getting his attention⁠—”

Without looking, Manic raised his hand and the bartender skidded to a stop. The man shot his gaze between us, and to my surprise, I let out a very unladylike growl from being ignored.

“Macallan 26’ for me, whiskey-sour for the princess,” Manic ordered with a wave of his hand. “The finest we have. And next time, don’t leave her waiting.”

The bartender grumbled his apologies and scurried off, immediately fixing our drinks. I blinked in surprise.

“Did you just guess what I like?”

“You order it every year.”

Dim light illuminated his sculpted cheek bones as he skimmed his eyes down the front of my dress—one an icy blue, the other with broken fragments of green in the center. They settled on the swells of my breasts before dragging back up, my face warming. He had the annoying talent of making me feel as if he were stripping me bare.

Naked. I felt naked.

He leaned in, his face so close to mine, his nose nearly skimmed my temple. “Maybe one of these days you’ll try something new, hm? Perhaps you won’t be so… predictable.”

Before I could snap a retort, the bartender arrived with our drinks. The man visibly swallowed and slinked off after being dismissed. Manic handed me my glass with a tilted smile.

I took it and sipped the finest whiskey I ever had the pleasure of tasting. It slid down my throat in comforting warmth, immediately settling in my stomach. More heat rose to my face, and I was now thankful I could blame it on the whiskey instead of the man beside me.

“You make him nervous,” Manic stated, nodding to the bartender, though my brows lifted with curiosity.

“Nervous?”

“Beautiful women typically do. You’re by far the most enticing at the bar tonight. You look stunning.”

“Charming.” I let out a small laugh and shook my head. “And how many women have you said that to over the years?”

“Only the ones I want to fuck.” He shot me a devious grin and threw back his whiskey in a single gulp. The glass thudded against the bar.

“Christ, do you even have a filter?” I clipped, then glanced over my shoulder, searching for Amelia. And, of course, she disappeared to who knows where with Grave.

I caught my father’s stare down the room and quickly smoothed my expression. He remained at the table, but his body stiffened as he looked between the two of us. Then Ronan and Elowen Mortaine approached them, their backs to me, and stole his attention.

I’d heard rumors from Amelia that Ronan finally remarried after his late wife had killed herself. No one truly knew the reason for it, but it apparently happened shortly after one of her sons had died.

“No, but I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true, Princess,” Manic said casually, and I jolted back to reality.

“I’m no princess,” I snapped, deliberately ignoring what he just implied by wanting to fuck me—ignoring the way heat settled low in the pit of my stomach over his smooth, yet crass words. I’d always liked a man with a dirty mouth, but now was not the time, and he was the last person I should want to indulge with.

“My mistake,” he said lightly. “I’ve just always wondered if your father’s only heir was meant to inherit what he’s built. Should I call you a queen instead?”

I scoffed, shaking my head, though my stomach flipped as I recalled what my admirer had just given me today.