Page 35 of Cozen

“No one just picks a name like that with no reason behind it,” he said, cocking a brow.

Thick, dark brows arched over those amber eyes of his. His brows were straight, and it gave him a look of disinterest until he arched them like that. It didn’t matter—straight or not, it only made him look like something that walked out of a magazine.

“I was never told if there was a story,” Cozen said.

She offered nothing else because she wasn’t about to out the story of her past. She doubted this man would be very interested—at least, not at the moment—in listening to her regale him for hours about her life in the foster care system until her later teenage years.

Nobody liked that story.

It wasn’t a fun one.

Sargon inched closer to Cozen, and as those few inches of space closed between them, he never once removed his gaze from her. No, he simply glided over her, taking in the way her dress covered her body, and the amount of leg the skirt provided for him to stare at. He lingered on the heels, and his eyebrow edged up fast again as his lips curved in that sexy way once more.

The guy was interested.

He didn’t hide it.

Cozen would be stupid to say she didn’t notice his interest in the dining room—the way he followed her with his eyes, and how his gaze had narrowed when she put more emphasis on her attention to Jett.

Sure, Sargon hid it well.

The man still took notice of her.

This was unsettling.

“I should apologize,” he said.

Cozen, surprised at that statement, turned to face him fully. It closed practically all and any distance between them. If she breathed too hard, her breasts would brush against his chest. His gorgeous lines and intoxicating scent were all the more apparent like this, too.

“For what?” she asked.

He smiled—softer, yet still sexy. “For frightening you when I came up on you just now.”

“You didn’t—”

“You jumped.”

He offered the words as though he didn’t intend for her to argue with him, and without any challenge at all. She knew then that this man was not as simple as he may seem. His silk shirt—the top two buttons undone, hinting at a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, and the leather cord hanging down from his neck—and slacks were a ruse.

He was not a friend or associate of Jett’s. He took notice of too many things; he watched. And carefully.

“You jumped,” he repeated, “and that frightened you. My intentions with beautiful women are never to frighten them. Challenge them, maybe. Never frighten.”

Cozen’s throat thickened with a lump of desire. One she couldn’t swallow no matter how hard she tried.

He called her beautiful. How many men called her beautiful, and she brushed the compliment off? Too many.

Yet, she wanted his.

“You startled me a little,” she admitted.

Something else she wasn’t used to …

“My apologies,” Sargon murmured.

His skin was a light shade of russet with a golden tint, and his hair, a short-cropped, dark black. The straight nose, and strong, square jaw gave him that all-man appearance. Add in the fact he looked like he hadn’t shaved for a good week, and Sargon had all the trappings of a man.

Even the scent he wore—a strong musk with overtones of amber and spice, and hints of pine—made Cozen want to get a little closer to him.