“The Drawing Room it is.” She nodded, her heart pounding for reasons she didn’t dare unpack.
As Chaz scribbled something on her coffee cup, she felt it again. That prickle of awareness that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
She was being watched. Or at least that’s what her lizard brain told her.
It had been months since she’d last felt the odd sensation. But this past week, it had returned with a vengeance.
She craned her head over her shoulder, quickly scanning the room.
No one stood out. The place was packed with the usual morning rush—a mix of office workers looking for their liquid wakeup call, students typing furiously on laptops, and the occasional country tourist who seemed overwhelmed by the sea of people.
She glanced toward the front door just as it closed behind a man stepping out onto the snowy sidewalk. Broad shoulders, hair so dark it was almost black, an easy, loose-hipped stride.
Britt?Her heart stuttered.
Don’t be ridiculous, her inner voice scolded.You’ve been imagining him everywhere lately.
That was true. Every time she turned a corner, she thought she got a glimpse of his profile. She thought she spied his leather jacket every time she peeked behind her.
But it was never him.
Still, the prickle on her neck remained as she took the coffee from Chaz and promised him, “I’ll see you this evening.”
Rubbing her gloved hand absently over her nape, she turned and headed outside.
The cold hit her like a slap, and she pulled her stocking cap tighter over her ears. The sidewalk bustled with people bundled in coats and scarves, their breath visible in the air as it crystallized into white mist.
Despite knowing it would amount to nothing, despite telling herself she was a fool, she glanced up and down the sidewalk, scanning the river of flowing humanity.
There.
The broad back. The dark hair. The—her breath caught and then leaked out of her on a slow sigh—cowlick.
The same damn cowlick I’ve been dreaming about for months.
ItwasBritt.
Before she could think, her feet were moving. She started off at a fast walk. But soon, she broke into a run, dodging pedestrians and sloshing her coffee so that liquid burst through the little hole in the lid to spill down the sides of the cup.
She didn’t care that it wetted her favorite pair of leather gloves.
“Britt!” she called, her voice cutting through the city's noise.
The cold bit into her cheeks as her boots crunched over the salt-dusted pavement. Snowflakes swirled around her, carried by the sharp Chicago wind. But all she could see was Britt. His brisk steps, his jean-clad ass, the way his leather coat stretched tight against his back.
“Britt!” she called again. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until she caught up with him andmadehim stop by grabbing his arm and spinning him to face her.
The sight of him sent warmth rushing through her veins despite the frigid air.
His hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him. It was like he’d forgotten to tame it in the intervening months and had let it grow wild. His beard was longer, too, flecked with snow as it framed his square jaw. But it was his eyes that had her breath sawing from her lungs. Their piercing blue was made even more vivid by the cold light of the winter day.
“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” she asked breathlessly. Although, she wasn’t sure if she was breathless because she’d run down the sidewalk or because of the way he was looking at her.
He was so completely still that it was unnerving. And the expression he wore was…what was the word? Acute? Intense?Voracious?
Instead of answering her question, his eyes scanned her face. “What was different about today?” His deep voice and Lowcountry accent licked at her ears.
“What do you mean?” She blinked her confusion.
