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I regret it instantly, because I immediately lock onto a pair of dark, angry eyes I'd recognize anywhere.
He stands from the bench he's sitting on top of and takes a step toward me, his increasing anger twisting his now clearly visible face. It's even more angular than I thought in the darkness.
He's gorgeous. Really fucking gorgeous.
Dropping my eyes lower, I take in his open collar and loose-hanging tie. He's not wearing his blazer and instead has his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, corded, inked forearms that I was unable to see in the graveyard before I get to his skinny pants that encase his long legs.
I really didn't stand a chance against him that night, did I?
It's not until he's right in front of me that I realize he didn't move alone, because there are four other guys flanking him.
"Is this her?" one of them asks in his smooth British accent.
"Yes," he drawls, his eyes eating me up. But I don't think it's to eat me like he did that night. His hunger is deadly right now in a way that sends a shiver of fear racing down my spine, and it takes a lot to make me react that way, so it's really saying something.
"You should run while you've got the chance, Hellion. You've just written your own death certificate, stepping foot in Knight's Ridge territory."
