He felt like something else entirely.
Not just capable of violence.
Madeof it.
Like cruelty was the only language he'd ever been taught.
Like something human had been carved out of him long ago, leaving only the weapon behind.
RJ.
A name that told me nothing.
Eyes that told me everything.
I should be horrified.
I should be grateful he told me to go inside.
I should be praying I never see him again.
Instead, I close my eyes and see his face in the darkness.
The sharp cut of his jaw.
The fullness of his mouth.
The way his throat moved when he said my name—no, wait.
He didn't say my name.
He didn't ask for it, but he wanted to.
I could see it, that flicker of something beneath the ice.
Instead, I felt that hot flare in my stomach when his eyes dropped to my mouth.
Instead, I wonder what it would take to make those cold eyesburn.
Tomorrow, I'll show Greer my portfolio.
Tomorrow, I'll face the judgment of the woman who holds my career in her perfectly manicured hands.
Tomorrow, everything could change.
But tonight, in the darkness of my guest room, with Irish moonlight spilling through the curtains and the distant sound of horses shifting in their stalls...
Tonight, I think about a stranger named RJ who watches from the shadows and tells women to go inside where it's safe.
I fall asleep with his voice in my ears.
Go back inside. It's not safe out here.
Maybe not.
But I've never been very good at playing it safe.
And something tells me neither has he.
