The tilt of her chin? The slope of her breasts? The curve of her hip?
For the life of me, I can’t work out if I know her or if I’m staring like a creeper because she’s hot.
Because let me tell you, she’s damn hot.
The most logical place I’d know her from would be the bar I co-own with my two older brothers, except she doesn’t look like a Boyd’s regular. Hell, she doesn’t look like the type to frequent a bar at all unless it’s a swanky, forty dollars a drink cocktail lounge, which Boyd’s is definitely not.
Then again, my oldest brother, Carter, found himself a prime piece of class like the woman who has my attention at Boyd’s. I can’t help but grin when I think about my brother’s girlfriend, Livi.
Olivia Wexworth is all class.
How the two of them met at all is a miracle. Seeing them together—the guy from the wrong side of town and the richsocialite—is like looking at a real-life fairytale. Think Cinderella in reverse without the stepfamily.
I have to shift a few feet to the right when the woman turns and heads for the Jaguar parked at the curb. The suit she just left doesn’t glance back when he walks to his own vehicle.
When the suit drives off with an exaggerated rev of his motor, I get a better view of the Jag. It’s shiny and curvy, and I can imagine the rumble of the engine, the power of the V12 as it roars to life. It’s not the car I expected this woman to drive.
From her outfit and the restaurant she exited, I know she’s got money, or the suit has. Maybe I’m stereotyping, but I expect her to drive the latest model Benz or BMW, not the decades-old Jag she’s slipped into.
I frown. It’s been a few minutes of me admiring the car and she still hasn’t started it. She’s got her eyes closed, head back against the driver’s seat and if I hadn’t seen her walk over and get in, I might think she was passed out.
But I did see her moving. Saw the suit she came out of the restaurant with, saw them part without a hug, never mind a kiss.
My frown deepens when I think about the suit and how quickly he took off after they hit the sidewalk. He didn’t even stick around to make sure she made it to her car okay. He just got in his and drove away, and okay, yes, we’re in an affluent part of Sydney, and their cars were parked right next to each other, right outside a busy restaurant, but these days you can’t take chances with shit like that.
What kind of guy leaves his woman to find her own way home after dark?
Glancing up and down the street, I know it’s safe to leave, to stop standing here watching her like a stalker, but I can’t bring myself to move. That niggle of recognition has my feet rooted to the concrete beneath them. For some reason I can’t name, I need to be sure she drives away safely.
I jolt when she opens her eyes, lurches upright and thumps the steering wheel with her hand so hard I can imagine the sound, the pain exploding in her palm. Her lips are moving and images of them wrapped around my cock fill my head, send a zap of lust through my veins.
“Shit.” I chuckle. “She’s probably on the phone.”
It makes perfect sense. No doubt she called a girlfriend after what I’m assuming wasn’t the best night out with her boyfriend. Or date. Another frown pulls at my mouth. I can’t imagine any man with the right to call this woman his leaving her alone on a dark street.
I certainly wouldn’t.
The look on her face goes from a slight frown to a deep scowl in seconds as she leans forward, her chest almost pressed against the steering wheel. She’s got one hand on the top of the wheel, the other twisting the key in the ignition. I think. Except the engine isn’t turning over. There’s no growl of the V12 under the hood, no rumble of a performance engine echoing in the night.
The longer the silence lasts, the more aggressive her movements, and the more I want to go over and help.
When she opens her mouth and lets out a scream that can be heard through her windows and all the way across the street where I’m standing, the urge to help her twists my gut so tight, it’s almost crippling.
“Fuck.” I’m moving before I think about it, straight across the street without checking traffic, heading for her, my body tense, primed for defense or attack or something I can’t name because I have to be honest, I’ve never felt this way before. It’s a barbed scrape over raw nerves, a stab of instinct, a flash of protectiveness unlike anything I’ve experienced.
In less than a second, I’m on the other side of the road, beelining for her driver’s door. At the last second I veer towardthe gutter, stop in front of the car, and give the hood a light double-tap to get her attention. The last thing I want to do is frighten the shit out of her by looming over her door.
When her gaze snaps up to me, I’m struck dumb. The most iridescent green eyes I’ve ever seen lock with mine, and a bolt of electricity zaps me. Her gaze is bright and flashes with life, and images of laughing with her fill my head.
Curiosity and confusion flicker deep in the green before a smile crinkles the edges of those vibrant eyes and tugs at her mouth as the light of recognition flares to life in her gaze.
Ihaveseen this woman before.
She’s Livi’s best friend.
The woman I’ve had the hots for since the second I saw her.
Seven months and three days ago.
