If he wants to talk to me one-on-one, Zenith must beseriouslyinterested.
That knowledge should reassure me but only further agitates my nerves. My toes squirm in my pumps.
When I went to the company’s website, I didn’t spot any pictures of Kellin. Then again, that wasn’t my main focus. Leave it to Lenora “Sherlock Holmes” Cox managed to find one. But hey, what can I say? I have a capable assistant.
While I resent the fact that this guy didn’t come with a warning label, no photograph would’ve done him justice anyway.
He damn nearoozessex. The lobby is relatively empty—the evening check-in rush won’t start for another hour or so—but the few stragglers all watch him cross the room.
The way he walks, all self-assured with a dash of swagger, almost reminds me of my father. He carries himself with a similar sense of pride, with the obvious knowledge that he belongs.
His eyes scan the room with the same intent. Observing. Waiting.
Hunting.
I shake the thought away. He’s in finance. His idea of illegal activities probably involve speeding in a fancy car or upcharging an investment service.
Unpleasant, but not dangerous. Dad and Brody must’ve triggered me more than I realized.
“Ms. Gallagher?”
The sexy voice from the phone strokes my spine. It’s even deeper in person. Smoother. The kind of velvet-cloaked gravel you want to rub between your fingers.
A younger, softer Maeve might have gone weak in the knees from a single word.
Even my present self’s legs wobble a little.
He waltzes into my personal space and extends his hand. I notice a scar wrapped around his palm. “I’m Kellin Jameson. And you’re Maeve Gallagher.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
When his fingers slide against mine, heat snakes over my skin, from his palm all the way up to the back of my neck. Considering the way electricity zips between us, I’m surprised my hair’s not standing on end.
With watchful, almond-shaped eyes a brown a shade lighter than my own, he trains all his intensity on me.
I must have a malfunctioning power line inside me. That’s the only explanation for all these flying sparks.
Kellin holds my hand—and gaze—a few seconds longer than he should, crossing that vague boundary between polite and personal.With a stuttering heart, I pull back before he does. He releases me slowly, his warmth lingering on my skin like a brand.
I’m having prom flashbacks from when I tried to strike up a conversation with my big crush. What’s wrong with me?
My face heats when he hits me with a dazzling smile. I’mflustered.I’m about to trip all over my words or feet.
I haven’t gone on a date in almost a year. No sex for even longer. Lenora’s right. I probably have accumulated cobwebs in unmentionable places.
That’s the only reason he’s affecting me this much. I can’t be blamed for reacting like any rational human when Sex Incarnate strolls through the door.
Urging myself to get a grip, I slip into the safety of my professional guise. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
Is he flirting, or does his voice always sound like he just rolled out of bed? Either way, I’d love to hear him say “pleasure” that way about a dozen more times.
Focus!
My heart pounds louder than Metallica’s drummer. I cling to my professional facade so he won’t notice my frazzled edges.
“Lenora will make sure your bag is delivered to your room.” I gesture for him to hand off his suitcase.
