Since his sojourn in the hospital, he’d packed on some weight. Or, at least, he didn’t appear as gaunt. His beautifully tailored suit hid a multitude of sins, but not that many.
And not his gun, apparently.
Not that you could travel with a gun.
Could you?
But he had one.
So maybe you could.
Still, weapons and FAA regulations aside, the mental ‘yum’ was impossible to ignore as it slingshotted between my drugged neurons with Bart Simpson-level precision.
Embracing Bart’s braggadocio style, I stepped in front of him then cleared my throat when he didn’t look up.
“I’ll take an espresso, please.”
“I’m not a server and I think this place is self-service anyway,” I scoffed.
“No, I doubt a server would have worn heels that high for a day shift.”
He noticed!
Not that I cared.
I didn’t.
At all.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
And there it was again—that pinch.
But it was followed with a belly roll. Some butterflies too.
God, he was hot.
Enough that the heat transferred and made me perspire.
How had I pushed that aside when I’d been treating him?
Man, I was so professional at work. Talk about rocking it on the nursing front.
Giving myself a mental high five, I pouted when I realized he didn’t recognize me from the hospital.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
“I mean, yes? I don’t regularly accost strangers without a reason.”
Amusement flickered in his gaze. “What?”
“Um.”
His brow lifted.
Wow.
