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I deflate, but it’s for the best. It’s unlikely anything was ever going to happen between us. And it’s no shock he left. The cafe is beyond crowded, the wait isn’t short, and people in the financial district are busy.
Speaking of which, my phone rings. And damn it, my hands are full.
“Do you need help?” a deep voice murmurs in my ear from behind.
I can’t see who that baritone belongs to, but renewed tingling tells me it’s the sexy stranger. My phone call can probably wait. It’s most likely my sister, but this gives me a good excuse to interact with him. Maybe he’ll ask for my number. Or I could ask for his. I’m single now. Why not?
When my cell trills again, I turn to find him waiting—and staring. “Please. Would you mind holding my tea?”
“Not at all.” He takes the big Styrofoam cup from my hand. “I’ll be happy to hold your sack, too.”
Before I can respond, he’s clasping my lunch and waiting patiently while I dig for my phone. As soon as I see Savannah Force’s name on my screen, my half-formed plan to tuck the device away and strike up a conversation with this gorgeous man evaporates.
What could my new boss want from me already?
“Thank you. Excuse me,” I say to him. “Just one second…”
“No rush,” he assures, his gaze caressing every angle and curve of my face.
I feel myself blush as I answer. “Hello?”
“Looks like we’re green-lighted to get an extensive, inside look at this property, so we’re throwing together a meeting now. Can you be in the twenty-fifth-floor conference room in thirty minutes?”
I may not get to finish my lunch, but I’ll be fine as soon as I get a few bites down. “Absolutely. I’m on my way back now.”
“The sooner the better. I want to prep you beforehand.”
The urgency in her voice prods my own. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”
“Great. See you then.”
When I end the call, the good-looking stranger holding my lunch is still watching me with an intensity that makes me painfully aware he’s a man. There’s something about him… Honestly, if we were alone and he touched me, despite the fact I know nothing about him—even his name—I would probably drop my clothes for him.
“You have to go,” he says with a regretful sigh.
“Yes. I’m sorry.” He probably doesn’t care, but I feel compelled to apologize for the missed opportunity.
“I understand. Maybe there will be a next time, sweetheart.” He nods as he hands me my lunch, gives me one long, last lingering glance that makes me feel as if he’s touched me all over, then melds back into the line of people ordering.
It’s for the best. After all, I have a job to do, and it’s not flirting with random guys in cafes. Still, the tug of disappointment is almost overwhelming as I push out of the little restaurant’s double doors and head for the elevator to street level.
The gleaming halves part, and people pile out, the last one a big brute of a man with sandy hair, a sharp profile, and a presence that slams into me from ten feet away.
As if he senses me, too, his head zips in my direction. Instantly, his stare fixes on me like he sees every secret, dirty fantasy I’ve ever had.
Our eyes lock. My heart stops. My walking ceases. I swallow.
Holy cow. I’ve never been so bowled over by a man—much less two, never mind in the same day. What’s so different about men in Boston that I keep bumping into specimens that appeal to me on a deep, visceral level with a mere glance?
The gorgeous behemoth in the navy suit with the burgundy power tie quirks a smile as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Then he gestures to the empty elevator, which he’s holding open with his enormous hand.
What would it be like if he put those hands on me, shredding my clothes and spreading my legs?
The thought slams into me from nowhere.
Feeling my face flame, I jerk out of my trance and walk toward the empty car. Looking at him is almost painfully intense, but I can’t pry my gaze free.
Closer and closer I step. My head tips back to take him in. I inhale him—cedar, scotch, and leather.
