The man had his own special brand of volatility.
That casual arrogance that infiltrated the space, though there’d been nothing casual about it last night.
I could feel him take a step inside from the shop. Felt him lean against the wall.
Hell, I could almost see him crossing those violent arms over his broad chest.
And I was the sheep who wanted to see.
Slowly, I turned around, holding onto that mug like it might be a lifeline when the undertow of the man threatened to sweep me away.
Silas Mercer was in the exact position I’d imagined.
Dressed in jeans and motorcycle boots and a freaking Henley.
Brown hair damp.
But that fresh out of the shower look didn’t do anything to soften his sharp edges.
His cheeks and eyes were blades.
Brow slashed and severe.
Too violently beautiful to be real.
I’d worked really hard not to lie to myself, and honestly, I could stare at him all day and not get tired of doing it.
Then the jerk had to go and open his mouth.
“I see you’re being a good girl this morning.”
I bristled. Hackles rising in defense.
I really hoped my chin didn’t quiver when I lifted it. “It seems I’m stuck here for a while, doesn’t it?”
God, I really disliked the way it made it sound like I was surrendering. But it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of choices.
From where he leaned against the wall, Silas let his gaze wander over me.
Slowly.
Casually.
Like the bastard had earned the right.
Hazel orbs flicking down and lifting chills on my skin as they went.
Flashing with something that I felt like a rugged caress dragging over my flesh.
The sensation was so overwhelming that I wasn’t sure if I detested it or yearned to feel more of it.
This foreign feeling that bubbled in my belly and scattered through me like the flapping of hummingbird wings.
It’d been there last night, too, when he’d pretty much been manhandling me.
Though then it’d been distorted.
Mangled by the fear and charged by the adrenaline that had pumped through my veins.
