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I stretch my arms as I amble toward the café where I’m meeting my bestie.
“Isabelle!”
The call halts my breathing. Has my long shift taken a toll on me, and I’m now hearing things?
“Isabelle, wait up!”
That smooth, masculine voice is as real as the noise of L.A. morning traffic.
Every muscle in my body tightens—with excitement, doubt, and delight. It feels like I’ve just found a lost friend—or in this case, stranger—who never had a chance to hear what I wanted to say.
Just around the corner, a man wearing a checkered shirt saunters along as if he has forever to get to me. The stretch of sidewalk hedges obscures my view of him waist-down, but once he’s out in the open, I know this isn’t going to be an ordinary morning.
So this is Clayton Hartley in moderation—his look between pajamas and a suit. Despite the abruptness of his presence and the boldness of his guts, I give myself permission to indulge in him.
“Nurse Isabelle,” he calls as he increases his pace.
His hips sway. I nudge myself away from his path, observing him from an angle. At this time, I’ve only one objective—to relish the sight of his perky, jeans-clad ass.
Having him standing in front of me now, I tuck my fervor deep inside my pocket. I haven’t forgotten what’s at stake—the reason why I rejected him that night at the manor.
“Are you out of your mind?” I tell him off.
“Good morning.” A full grin stretches across his face. His dental assets compete with the sun shining from behind him, taking hisbuenos díasgreeting to the next level.
“I told you not to come near me.”
“That was Kenya. We’re in the land of the free now, and I have faith in this country’s judicial system.”
“What do you want?”
He dips into his shirt pocket and takes out a jewelry box.
I release a silent gape.
A small chuckle leaves his mouth. “No, I’m not about to propose to you.” He’s clearly enjoying my nervousness. He then opens the box, presenting it to me.
“Oh…” I wind back my fake annoyance. I thought I’d lost that bracelet forever. “Thank you.”
“Allow me.” He takes my hand gently.
As if he had practiced it many times, he elegantly encircles my bracelet around my wrist and clips it securely—maintaining a light contact between his fingertips and my skin. The man is trying to wake up my craving. He almost succeeds!
I beam, relieved that the heart of jade is back where it belongs. “This bracelet means a lot to me. So thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies, unleashing his charm with his eyes. “One of the chains broke, so I sent it for repair and cleaning. It’s good as new.”
I admire the green stones. I’ve never seen them so bright.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it. But I have to go.”
I gnaw my lower lip because I can’t say anything more, and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave me alone.
But soon, something catches my attention—and it’s not part of his body.
That motorbike travels awfully close to the sidewalk. It’s zooming in at speed, although it doesn’t make much noise. Right behind Clayton, the rider lifts one hand off the handlebar, picking up something from his jacket pocket.
That man has a fucking knife!
