Reviving Haven by Cory Cyr

Oh my God, it is him! He looks extremely agitated and nervous, so now that makes two of us. I am beginning to get anxious and I left my pills at home.
    “I’m afraid you may have been brought here on false pretenses,” he says, his voice low. I’m actually stunned by what he says and concerned by the revelation.
    “Okay, I’m confused . . . false pretenses? I’m not getting it; explain it to me.”
    I’m getting tense with all this mystery. It’s obvious that no one in this building, more specifically at this shoot, knows anything about an invitation to a book cover shoot. I am getting very upset. Greek god—Keenan—appears to be stalling. I have already blown almost half of my day coming here. I stand up, pretending to remove non-existent lint off my pants and send Keenan Stone an incensed look.
    “Mr. Stone, this is obviously a waste of my time. And since you’re not offering any kind of explanation for why I should be here, I think I should get back to my bookstore and actually do some work.” I am fuming. I feel as though this was someone’s idea of a joke and I got played.
    A pinched expression crosses his face. “I’m so very sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you. Truly, it was never my intention, and my only excuse is coercion.” He looks defeated.
    At this point, I’m thinking what the hell is he talking about?
    “Please, Miss Wells . . . Haven, stay. You’re already here and I promise you, all will become clear,” he says.
    Become clear? This guy sounds like a fortune cookie, and if I don’t get some answers soon, I’m going to break him in half myself.
    I sit back down in a director’s chair and watch as Keenan Stone walks over to a bed surrounded by bright lights. A very young, beautiful woman joins him on the bed. She’s also projecting the illusion of nakedness. Jesus, it’s bad enough I read this crap, but now I have to watch the erotica turn into reality? I have to admit that I’m also somewhat excited; I’m actually seeing a book cover being made.
    I feel someone behind me. I can sense him. I can smell him . Goose bumps prickle my arms as the pretty man from the party casually saunters in front of me. He is more breathtaking than I’d ever imagined. I remember that he is tall, and he definitely appears to be a few inches over six feet. I was correct that night—his hair is a dark mocha brown, but it has sun-bleached strands going through it and it still looks wild and unkempt. I hadn’t been close enough to see his eyes. They are paralyzing, an intense green laced with gray hues, ringed with a deep blue tone, and outlined with long ember eyelashes. His chin is still shadowed with facial hair and it gives him a dangerously seductive look. His lips are thick and full, parted slightly to show a display of very white teeth.
    The jeans he’s wearing hang low on his hips and are cut to mold his body perfectly. A black t-shirt stretches across a muscled, wide chest. His arms and face are deeply tan. He obviously spends a great deal of time working out and being outdoors. I bite my bottom lip when I feel a flash of panic race through me. This is the man I had a one-night stand with, and then vomiting and passing out because he’d wanted oral sex. My shoulders tense as I cringe with humiliation.
    A smile curls his exquisite lips. I bolt out of the chair—escape is paramount.
    “Always trying to get away from me, sweetheart?” His voice is a mix of tease and faint accent.
    I stand and face him. “Was it you? Are you the one who left the invitation? Why would you do that?” I ask. No—I demand.
    This doesn’t make sense to me. Why would this über attractive man go to all this cloak and dagger crap to get me here? I try not to look at him directly because between his looks and his voice, I can’t trust myself. At least I’d worn pants.
    “Don’t be angry. I wanted to see you again,” he replies.
    “Oh my God, it was you! This wasn’t part of the deal. You said no