His square jaw was set, and as the policemen left, he approached the counter with a steady stride.
“I need to talk to you.” His deep, rich voice was a fit for his large stature and broad shoulders.
Her heart skipped several beats as she absorbed his steady gaze and his somber, dead-serious tone.
No. Not today. She had to run.
When she glanced into his eyes, silently questioning why this man would need to talk to her, and wondering whether she misheard him, he smiled.
Skye had sworn off men two years earlier, just like she’d sworn off so many other things. At first, abstinence had been easy. Now it was damn hard, and she was finally going crazy from it, because this man’s smile was charming and unexpected and made her aware of exactly how long she’d gone without sex.
Even though his face was lean, with slight hollows beneath his high cheekbones, when he smiled deeply, really deeply, dimples appeared in both cheeks. Full lips, with a slight turn-up that made the left side slightly higher than the right, riveted her attention. Clean-shaven, his skin was vibrant, with olive undertones. He lifted his right hand and pressed his right temple, for just a second. His dark brown hair, with a little blonde, was clipped short along the sides and longer on top. He arched an eyebrow as he gazed at her, as if his mere words should have galvanized her into action.
“We need to talk. Privately.”
He had the kind of hairstyle that could be smoothed back and look sophisticated, but this morning he hadn’t gone for the polished look. A few pieces fell over his forehead. He captured the wayward strands with his fingers and pushed them back as he returned her stare.
With his action, fear jolted her body. When he had lifted his arm to smooth his hair, his loose-fitting black leather jacket rose with it. After noticing that his close-fitting, simply tailored white button-down shirt revealed a broad chest and a tapered waist, her gaze screeched to a halt on the weapon that was holstered at his waist. Coinciding with his insistence that they talk privately, she realized that his preening was more about revealing the gun than an attempt to straighten his tousled hair.
He had inspired a deep ache for good sex, but that was something she was used to doing without. Danger was not something that she was interested in experiencing. She looked for a way to stall, forced a pleasant-yet-slightly-confused expression on her face, and said, “Excuse me?”
“You don’t want to have this conversation out here,” he said, as two yoga-clothed women made their way to the coffee counter. They waved at another woman, who had snared a seating area near the left fireplace. Skye nodded hello to the two friends, who, in day three of the business, like the cops who had just left, had become regulars. They didn’t seem to notice her. Instead, they were focused on the tall man, whose attention was focused on her.
No shit. She didn’t want to have a conversation with him anywhere. And she certainly didn’t want to be alone with him. Even in broad daylight. Every instinct screamed at her to grab her sister and run like hell.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Skye said, keeping her tone cool. They hadn’t introduced themselves. She had wondered about his name after she had gotten Spring upstairs. If he had said it, she’d have remembered it. She remembered almost everything, even things she preferred to forget.
“Sebastian,” he said. “Sebastian Connelly.”
“I’m Chloe Stewart,” she said, “and we can talk right here.”
He frowned. He gave her a slight headshake. “Try again. This time with the name you were born with.”
Now he had her attention. His words, coupled with the weapon that was holstered at his hip, jolted her heart as her world shattered.
Run.
Was this why her father had sent the warning? Him? This Sebastian Connelly? Who the hell was he, and what did he want? Was he the reason the cataclysm scenario was in play?
“I need to talk to you.” His deep, rich voice was a fit for his large stature and broad shoulders.
Her heart skipped several beats as she absorbed his steady gaze and his somber, dead-serious tone.
No. Not today. She had to run.
When she glanced into his eyes, silently questioning why this man would need to talk to her, and wondering whether she misheard him, he smiled.
Skye had sworn off men two years earlier, just like she’d sworn off so many other things. At first, abstinence had been easy. Now it was damn hard, and she was finally going crazy from it, because this man’s smile was charming and unexpected and made her aware of exactly how long she’d gone without sex.
Even though his face was lean, with slight hollows beneath his high cheekbones, when he smiled deeply, really deeply, dimples appeared in both cheeks. Full lips, with a slight turn-up that made the left side slightly higher than the right, riveted her attention. Clean-shaven, his skin was vibrant, with olive undertones. He lifted his right hand and pressed his right temple, for just a second. His dark brown hair, with a little blonde, was clipped short along the sides and longer on top. He arched an eyebrow as he gazed at her, as if his mere words should have galvanized her into action.
“We need to talk. Privately.”
He had the kind of hairstyle that could be smoothed back and look sophisticated, but this morning he hadn’t gone for the polished look. A few pieces fell over his forehead. He captured the wayward strands with his fingers and pushed them back as he returned her stare.
With his action, fear jolted her body. When he had lifted his arm to smooth his hair, his loose-fitting black leather jacket rose with it. After noticing that his close-fitting, simply tailored white button-down shirt revealed a broad chest and a tapered waist, her gaze screeched to a halt on the weapon that was holstered at his waist. Coinciding with his insistence that they talk privately, she realized that his preening was more about revealing the gun than an attempt to straighten his tousled hair.
He had inspired a deep ache for good sex, but that was something she was used to doing without. Danger was not something that she was interested in experiencing. She looked for a way to stall, forced a pleasant-yet-slightly-confused expression on her face, and said, “Excuse me?”
“You don’t want to have this conversation out here,” he said, as two yoga-clothed women made their way to the coffee counter. They waved at another woman, who had snared a seating area near the left fireplace. Skye nodded hello to the two friends, who, in day three of the business, like the cops who had just left, had become regulars. They didn’t seem to notice her. Instead, they were focused on the tall man, whose attention was focused on her.
No shit. She didn’t want to have a conversation with him anywhere. And she certainly didn’t want to be alone with him. Even in broad daylight. Every instinct screamed at her to grab her sister and run like hell.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Skye said, keeping her tone cool. They hadn’t introduced themselves. She had wondered about his name after she had gotten Spring upstairs. If he had said it, she’d have remembered it. She remembered almost everything, even things she preferred to forget.
“Sebastian,” he said. “Sebastian Connelly.”
“I’m Chloe Stewart,” she said, “and we can talk right here.”
He frowned. He gave her a slight headshake. “Try again. This time with the name you were born with.”
Now he had her attention. His words, coupled with the weapon that was holstered at his hip, jolted her heart as her world shattered.
Run.
Was this why her father had sent the warning? Him? This Sebastian Connelly? Who the hell was he, and what did he want? Was he the reason the cataclysm scenario was in play?
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