Denim had been watching the gorgeous man at the bar. He was at least six and a half feet of untamed power with caramel-streaked hair flowing down his back like a waterfall. Her gaze traveled across his broad shoulders, angling to his trim waist. She ogled the tan dress slacks molding to his deliciously taut buttocks.

Two menacing Aeternals had walked in to bookend the gorgeous guy. Any other time, they might have ranked as stars in an erotic dream, but tonight she reserved her fantasies for the sexy dreamsicle.

On one side of the hottie, a man clad in Hell’s Angels duds and sporting spiked black hair chatted him up. A behemoth who weighed in at nearly three hundred pounds of pure muscle in a tall package had parked on his left.

After performing a one-eighty with predatory grace, the dreamsicle rested his elbows on the bar, leaned back, and crossed one ankle over the other. He managed easygoing and predatory at the same time. She fixed on the muscular forearms exposed beneath his rolled-up black sleeves. With each breath, his chest expanded, threatening to pop buttons on the silky collared shirt clinging to his solid pecs.

His sexuality was a gravitational field, sucking in the women along with a few men who sauntered past. They swished their hips, wandering by him to get a closer look-see. Some sidled alongside to flirt openly.

His lips curled into the sexy smile of a man who reveled in his effect on the opposite sex. But his eyes. They were translucent pieces of pale beach glass, framed by thick lashes.

They swept the room, probably looking for an easy score. All the handsome ones were searching for a mark, weren’t they? An easy woman. A woman they could manipulate.

Unfortunately, Denim was a sucker for a guy who pulled off polished gigolo and dangerous man in one body.

As women walked past the sexy guy, his irises latched onto their asses. No doubt about it. He was a player. A troller. A bullshit artist.