I do a slow blink, mouth shutting with a click as visions run through my head of him dressed in flannel and striding through the woods, a heavy axe thrown over his shoulder.
Something flutters low in my gut, and suddenly, the axe is replaced with me because Iknowhe’d have no problem carting me around and putting me right where he wants me.
My breathing speeds up just as my eyes creep to his face, catching the wicked smile that curves his mouth, hisbottom lip slightly fuller than the top, and a square jaw covered in several days’ of scruff. Intense blue eyes are locked on mine, reminding me of summer days and glaciers—heat and ice at once.
His head is covered in thick, dark hair, peppered with a hint of gray and pushed back from his forehead. It does nothing to detract from the sheer masculinity dripping from his pores.
Everything about him has me buzzing in awareness, even as I attempt to paste an unaffected look on my face. His smile grows, those blue eyes darkening, and my cheeks flush, because I’m fairly certain he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Not a shock considering I was just ogling the man, but he doesn’t call me out. Instead, he returns the favor, tracing his eyes over my body in a way that feels like a physical touch. He doesn’t miss an inch, his stare full of appreciation… Until his attention lands on my left hand and lingers.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, and embarrassment curdles through my veins, realizing I’ve been standing heregapingat him for far longer than is polite, all while he’s been waiting for me to answer his question.
“Um—” My voice squeaks, and my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. I clear my throat, trying again. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just here to see?—”
My husbandgets stuck in my throat because he’s not my husband.He’s a body-sized bag of trash that needed to be thrown out years ago.
One dark eyebrow rises. “Christopher?”
I take two wary steps back, narrowing my eyes. “How do you know that?”
His expression doesn’t change, but he tucks his hands into his pockets, clearly trying to show that he isn’t athreat. It doesn’t quite work as well as he intended because all it seems to do is stretch the fabric of his dress pants across his groin, showing me that he’s bigeverywhere. I squeak again, flinging my eyes back up to his face just in time to catch his raspy chuckle.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and a shiver races down my spine. I’m not sure if he’s apologizing for scaring me or something else, but I will die before asking. “My name is Grafton Reynolds.”
Recognition has my eyes falling shut with a low groan. “Oh mygod,” I gasp. “You’re his… Oh…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he tells me, tone amused. “Lynley, right?” I nod, opening my eyes just as he lifts his shoulder, his jacket straining. “I saw you at the Christmas party last year, not long after I took over here.” He tilts his head to the side, his expression curious. “I didn’t introduce myself, but I should have.”
I moisten my lips, wondering if I’m imagining the suggestion in his tone, and his eyes drop, his mouth parting slightly.
A moment passes, and he visibly swallows, his voice rough when he tells me, “No, I think we might be meeting at just the right time.” Before I have a chance to answerthat, he holds his arm out to me. “Can I escort you inside?”
I throw a look of trepidation at the building, my earlier courage having fled completely. “Oh…”
“Not to see him.”
I throw a wide-eyed glance at him, because I’m sure he just growled. “Areyouokay?”
He clears his throat. “I’m fine.” He pins another look on me—one filled with steel. “Have lunch with me.”
“I don’t know…”
“Please,Lynley.”
I’m not sure if it’s thepleaseor the way my name seems to roll off his tongue, but I sway toward him, a breathy, “Okay,” escaping before I even realize it’s going to.
Grafton doesn’t hesitate, linking my arm with his and drawing me inside the building, leading me straight over to the bank of elevators. We almost make it, but then someone calls out his name, heels clacking rapidly on the floor behind us.
He stops, turning us to face an incoming hurricane of a woman, his smile growing tight at the edges. “Angelica. Your lunch break finished over an hour ago.”
She’s beautiful andyoung, her skirt hem a little too high to be professional, and voluminous dark hair floating around her head like a cloud. Her eyes bounce between the two of us before pausing on where our arms are linked. Before I can even think of pulling away, Grafton lays a hand on mine, stopping me. I look up at him, meeting eyes that have my insides melting like an ice cream left in the sun.
“This is my niece, Angelica. I’m doing her father a favor by letting her intern here, but she likes to push boundaries. Like not following her set lunch hours.”
She flushes under the censure in his expression when he looks at her. “It wasn’t my fault,” she says defensively, before muttering under her breath, “This time.”
Grafton doesn’t answer, and I take his cue. It didn’t pass me that he chose not to introduce me, but I can’t help but sense that this man does everything for a reason, with meaningful intention—even something as small as an introduction.
