Something about him draws the eye of every woman in the place, a commanding presence that tells even someone blind to subtext like me that this istheguy. For what, I don't know, but it draws me to him as much as it makes me want to run.
His hair is thick and tousled, peppered with black and silver like a wolf's pelt, same with his beard, just somewhere between neat and rugged.
I can't tell how old he is, just that he’s older than me, probably by a decade or two, probably prematurely gray, but it works for him. Jesus, does it work for him. So does the hint of lines at the corners of his eyes, the hollows under his cheeks and above his strong jawline, and the way the lines gather on either side of his mouth as he smiles, like he is now.
At me.
I’m almost too busy drooling over him to notice he’s turned to me, and I shut my mouth with a snap.
His smile is slow, subtle, and appreciative. Another flush of heat runs from my toes to my head, and I brush at my cheeks to try to wipe away the blush I feel gathering there.
“Dogscertainlyare man’s best friend.”
“Okay, well,” I say hurriedly, shutting down what I hear in his voice and the spark I see in his eyes, even though a part of me doesn’t want to. “I'm going to take these. But you really don't have to pay for them. I'm fine paying for them by myself. Really. It wasn't your fault at all.”
“I told you I would pay for them, and I will.”
There's a hint of steel in his voice that I don't dare contradict. Instead, I hang back as he pays for the jeans with a black credit card. And then I follow him out, ignoring the stares from the sales associate and the other shoppers, who are no doubt wondering about our relationship.
I unhook Benji's leash from the stand there for just that reason, and take a deep breath to thank the man one more time before bolting out of there, when a hand falls on my shoulder: warm, insistent, large.
“Let me take you out for coffee,” he says, and it's impossible to say no, because I don't want to. In an hour, this man has managed to turn me into a pile of barely sentient goo. I know what my best friend would say if she were here: She would warn me against this ultra-smooth and seemingly ultra-rich guy. But for some reason, I just cannot bring myself to care.
Somehow, all my common sense has gone out the window, and my libido has entirely taken its place.
2
LEAH
“Ihave coffee.” I hold my cup up, the one that’s still mostly full because I forgot about it in all the excitement.
“That one’s all watered down now,” he says, and holds out his hand, and for a moment, I just stare.
I know the guy isn't just offering to throw the cup away for me; I’m agreeing to so much more. I don't know how I know, but I do. Do I accept? Should I give my coffee to this guy and let him throw it away for me, knowing that means he’ll take me for coffee after buying me a pair of jeans?
I know nothing about this man, save for the way he makes my body react. That shouldn't be a good enough reason. It should be the reason for the exact opposite response. I should say thank you and run, never looking back. Yes, this man is handsome—sexy ashell—but something about him sends shivers down my spine.
How many articles have I read that have warned me and other women always to trust our gut feeling, our intuition, and what it’s trying to tell us?
Still, I find myself handing him the cup, which he takes and throws into the nearest garbage can.
“Do you normally think about things so thoroughly?” he asks smoothly, nodding his chin down the street.
My cheeks heat, and I scrub at them as though that will somehow get rid of the blush of embarrassment. “Just being cautious.”
“Good,” he says, stopping to let his Cane Corso sniff at a stoop decorated by flowerpots before we continue. “It always pays to be cautious, as long as you don’t let it hold you back from experiencing good things.”
“Mmm,” I agree lightly.
“I’m Viktor, by the way.” He says it in a casual tone, and I realize we haven’t even exchanged names.
“I’m Leah.”
Viktor stops and takes my hand, and I freeze. “Leah, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
My entire body is shorting out from his touch, from the feeling of his large warm hand around mine. My stomach tightens and my toes curl, and I barely manage to mumble, “Nice to meet you, too.”
And then the touch is gone, and my hand feels cold despite the day’s warmth. I almost reach for him again out of instinct but manage to control myself as Benji pulls to catch up to his enemy-turned-friend.
