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“Are you okay?” I hear the voice ask from the other side.
Gliding the tips of my fingers across my chin, I reply, “Not sure.”
“You’re bleeding.”
I tilt my head to spy who it is over a pan of sliced vegetables only to find the warmth of caramel-brown eyes greeting me. I recognize them instantly.
And him.
“Harbor.”
3
Lark
Whether inside the gas station,outside in the sunshine, or now in the flattering filtered light of late afternoon, his shine can’t be dulled. Even the fluorescent lighting of the convenience store couldn’t change my mind.
Shifting the rack to the side, he comes between the door and the metal and around, bringing him face-to-face with me. Smirking, he replies, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, especially not bleeding in my kitchen.”
The slight wave that weaves through his brown hair probably gives him hell on bad hair days, but I doubt someone so blessed in the looks department has much to worry about. He’s dressed differently, swapping a black button-up for the gray T-shirt he was wearing earlier, and black pants for the jeans. Hard all over with an athletic build, his shoulders are broad, the shirt draped around his body like it’s a privilege, hugging him in all the right spots—biceps, forearms where the sleeves are rolled up.
The man is gorgeous.
He looks every bit of what makes me weak in the knees in the finely tailored clothes that fit him in all the right places from his arms to his chest and backside. Dressed in black forewarns of a naughtier side while sincerity outlines the warmth of his eyes. He’s a sinner and a saint battling it out inside an Adonis body.
God, I can’t wait to see who wins.
Standing so much closer now than before, he towers over me, clocking in at a good six-two, six-three. Harbor’s nothing less thanGQcover material.
I wasn’t dressed up when we met, but being in my uniform isn’t the way I’d choose to dress if I knew I was going to see him again. “Bleeding? Uh . . . oh right.” I touch my chin again and then inspect my fingertips. “I am, and this was definitely not in the plan.”
I step back and turn, searching for a paper towel or the first-aid kit Larry always brings. Neither is found.
He passes me to snatch a napkin from a drawer. Returning to me, he drops his gaze to my chin. He pauses, taking a slow breath and a slower exhale before he says, “We should clean you up.”
We . . .
A thousand reasons exist to steer clear of him. He’s a heartbreaker in human form if I’ve ever seen one. So at the top of the list, I’m just going to assume he goes through women like candy based on his attractiveness.
The thing is, I can’t judge him because I don’t have the best track record either. I may not have dated much, but I’ve made plenty of bad decisions.
With Harbor, no red flag is flying. I’m getting green all the way. I just wished that fate would have helped a girl out. Seeing him at work isn’t ideal and being clumsy is even worse. It’s downright embarrassing.
He dabs the napkin to my chin with the softest of touches as if it’s not the first time he’s taken care of a girl before. I hate that I wonder if he’s always the hero to other damsels in distress. Not appearing satisfied, his expression sours just as he passes me. “Come with me.”
I follow in the scent of his wake—rain mixed with a forest, ocean tides, and moonrise.God, he smells divine.
What am I doing?Why am I following a man I barely know without hesitation. My dad told me to trust my instincts, but I’m now questioning them. Not for the reasons I should be, but because I trust Harbor. Trust isn’t something that’s always come easy for me, so I can’t explain why I feel such ease with him.
I take a deep breath as we cross the large room. “Where are we going?”
Without even a glance back, he says, “To treat the wound.”
“You’ll need more than Neosporin to heal my wounds,” I say with only a hint of sarcasm.
Harbor stops and turns back. His gaze goes from my chin to my eyes. Another pause keeps me in suspense, my breath fully caught in my throat. Then he approaches, gently pinching my chin between his fingers while tilting his head down, bringing us that much closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this first and then work on the rest.”
My thoughts blur as my heart pounds in my chest. For a moment in time, I’m captivated by the look in his eyes—one that says he could be the one to really heal me, to piece the remnants of my shattered past back together, giving me a chance to be whole again.
