It takes a couple visible seconds for Dorian to process who I am, then he curses viciously. "Jesus fⴎcking Christ! Can't you people leave me the fⴎck alone?" His mouth—full and sensuous like the pictures of his mother's—curls up in disgust and he scans up and down the bar, searching for the bartender.
"Actually, I'm Sandy, remember?"
Dorian gives me a sidelong glare. "What I remember is your guard-dog making a show of marking you as his territory." His gaze flicks over my shoulder and he arches a brow at whatever caught his attention.
The hair on the back of my neck lifts in warning.
"Speaking of which, is that one yours too?" He nods to whatever it is behind me.
