The Beta's Forbidden Mate

Chapter Four

The bar was completely silent. All I could hear was the blood pulsing in my ears.

He was here. Not ten feet away.

I wasn't aware of my own feet as I got down from the stage and crossed the room. The stranger moved toward me at the same time, and we met in the middle of the empty bar.

My mouth felt like sandpaper. I could barely breathe.

For a long moment, we just stared at each other in rapt fascination. He was even more gorgeous than I'd remembered. Tall, at least six inches taller than my 5'6", with muscular arms and a flat stomach under his leather jacket and jeans. His chocolate-colored hair was cropped short, and his chin was covered in dark stubble. And his eyes, the eyes I'd been seeing every time I closed my own, pierced into me. They were deep brown, so dark that in the dimly lit bar they appeared almost black.

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. What was I supposed to say?

"Hi...," I managed to breathe.

Really. Hi? That's it?

Blood rushed to my face. Why wasn't he saying anything?

Prickles were running up and down my spine. Now that we were finally face to face, I was certain that my first impression had been correct.

This man was dangerous.

His posture, his alertness, the fixed way he looked at me—everything about him seemed like a hungry animal on the prowl. His features were impossibly gorgeous, but hard and sharp. His lips were drawn into a thin line. He looked almost angry. But why?

"Who are you?" he finally asked. His voice was low, more like a growl in the back of his throat. I thought I detected a note of awe, like on some level, he knew this couldn't really be happening.

I knew exactly how he felt. "My name is Olivia Mason," I said, my dry throat making my words raspy. Instinctively, I held out my hand, but he didn't take it.

Instead, he took a step closer, until his face was only a few inches from mine. His brow furrowed, almost like he was deciding something.

Finally he said, "I'm Asher. Asher Fenwood."

Asher. It sounded like something out of a fairy tale, and I was half-certain he'd made it up.

But at the same time, it suited him somehow. And this whole crazy situation was starting to feel like something out of fantasy.

"Asher." I tasted the name on my tongue. When I did, Asher closed his eyes, as if he was struggling for control.

He could feel it too, I realized. Whatever unnatural connection was between us, it wasn't just me.

"I—I could hear you playing," he said, his eyes a whirl of different emotions. "It was...beautiful."

He reached out a careful hand, like he was about to stroke a priceless work of art. I felt myself leaning in, yearning for his touch.

A loud cough startled both of us. Every muscle in Asher's body went completely rigid, like he was preparing to fight. When I turned around, I saw Terry glowering at us from the bar, his mouth a scowl under his beard.

With his eyes, the old bartender asked if I was okay. I hesitated—after all, I felt far from okay—but then nodded that I was fine. He nodded back and returned to the stack of bills on the bartop, but I could still feel him watching us out of the corner of his eye.

"Um, Terry, do you mind if we just...talk in one of booths for a minute," I asked him, trying to sound innocent.

He nodded, still glaring daggers at Asher. "I still gotta put the chairs up, so I'll be another ten."