Scars (Marked #2.5) by Lynch Marti, Elena M. Reyes Page A

fuck? I don’t do the giggling bullshit!
    “Janice?” Jaime’s voice sounded as unsure as I felt at that moment. “Are you okay?”
    Taking a long sip from the drink the waitress had placed on our tables minutes ago, I looked up at him with what I hoped appeared to be a calm expression. From his pursed lips, it seemed he wasn’t buying it.
    The knot that had lodged itself in my throat didn’t budge either. “I’m fine.” Those two choked-out words caused Luke to also turn and look my way with an incredulous yet amused look on his face.
    “Sure you are,” Jaime mumbled, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from Sam. “Dammit, woman…what the fuck?” His hiss of pain caused the few patrons closest to us to turn and look at our table. All eyes fell on me. The freak.
    Their horrified/annoyed looks were something I was very used to, because in a table full of normal, it would be my fault that the idiot caused a scene and ruined their dinners.
    “Will you keep it down?” Sam returned the glare; her eyes dared him to argue. This wouldn’t end nicely. If my best friend was one thing, it was stubborn. “People are looking our way.”
    No, they were looking at me.
    Reaching for the clutch beside me, I took ahold of it and placed it at the crook of my elbow. With my unoccupied hand, I grabbed my drink and downed it in two gulps. There was no doubt in my mind that this so-called dinner was over; Jaime would blow up and I would have to pull him out of here.
    Looking over at Luke, I motioned with my hand for him to let me out.
    “Just where do you think you’re going?” He made no move to let me out. Instead, he got closer. The arm that up to a few seconds ago had been lying behind my head was now draped across my shoulders. Squeezing just a tiny bit, the muscles in his forearms flexed, and again I shivered. “Cold?”
    “No.”
    “Good.” What kind of game was this man playing? And why did feeling his body against mine, the way he laid his forehead against the side of my head, feel so good? “We haven’t had a chance to get to know each other…talk.”
    Wanted to get to know me. Talk. This bullshit was making my headache return.
    No man that looked like him cared about me. If they did, all they wanted from me was the pussy located between my thighs or to know how my lips felt surrounding their cocks. Is that what he was after? A quick fuck?
    Men like him didn’t see me as more than a naughty one-night stand. It was all they deemed me good for. Luke was everything I wasn’t…clean cut.
    With short, honey-blonde hair, sweet hazel eyes, and a dimpled smile…he was gorgeous. There was no denying his good looks, but that was all he had going for him.
    No piercings.
    No tattoos.
    He wasn’t Talan.
    I liked my men the way I loved my dicks; hard. Tough. The kind that walked around with a chip on their shoulder—who were assholes to everyone around them and didn’t give a shit what the world thought. 
    Luke seemed the total opposite of what I admired in a man. A good guy. Someone who wore a suit to work at some menial job that he spent thousands of dollars on his education to get. I dove in head first into situations while he skirted around the issues. Not my type.
    He was cocky, I’d give him that, but there was nothing else to draw me in.  Keep telling yourself that. Fuck.
    “Bathroom.” Squeaking was something I’d never done in the past, and neither was blushing, but in the span of a few hours, this man had caused me to do both.
    That succulent bottom lip of his quirked up, and his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “Do I make you nervous?”
    “Move.” My eyes turned to slits while my hand—that had a dirty mind of its own—fell against his chest. A hard and very defined muscular chest. It landed with a small thud, alerting the other two of our interaction.
    “No.” Stubborn asshole. Couldn’t he see that I was seconds away from not keeping the promise I’d made to Talan while in his shop? That