Chapter 1
Gabriella
I peeked my head to the right to see how much longer the line ahead of me was. All I saw was a sea of suits. Black, navy, charcoal gray. A pattern of dull colors leading to my morning salvation. The smell of coffee beans wafted toward me and I breathed in deep, hoping that breathing it in would somehow work the same as drinking it. I breathed out, knowing it was a fruitless effort.
I took one small step forward, tapping my foot impatiently against the light wood flooring of the coffee shop. This was just the pickup line. To the left of me was even worse. The order line. The line of people weaved through the circular tables and woven chairs, stopping just at the door to the sidewalk bustling with early morning commuters. I was glad I thought ahead, placing my order on my phone on the walk here.
It wasn’t like I even needed the caffeine. I was buzzing without it, but my morning iced coffee was a ritual I didn’t skip. Even on a day like this. A day that I had been waiting for.
The thought of what today held sent a thrill through me, running up my spine like a xylophone mallet moving to the highest key. I bit back a smile and shook my head as I looked down at my feet that were wedged into my favorite pair of heels. Black patent leather pumps with a slight point at the toe. They were just on the cusp of toe-numbing, but I ignored the slight pain because they looked so good.
I needed to look good today. I needed to look the part.
“Next,” the barista called out.
I looked up and realized I was next. I took a small step forward, but stopped when someone brushed past, stepping in front of me. I smelled him before I saw him. A woodsy scent, with a slight hint of sea air. The heavenly aroma settled comfortably around me as my eyes followed where it was coming from. They landed on a man towering over most everyone in here, dressed in a twill gray suit that was cut to hug every line of his solid frame, who now stood at the counter in front of me.
Blinking away the distraction of how good his backside looked, I jerked my chin back at what had just happened.
Did he really just do that? Did he really just cut me in line? And everyone else?
“A double espresso on ice with a splash of cream,” he said, his voice deep. Not only had he just cut me, and everyone else in this line, but to make it worse, he was also in the wrong line.
My mouth opened as if I was about to say something. But I didn’t. No one said a word. Not even the noticeably flustered barista taking his order. I wasn’t sure if it was because he had probably just pissed off a lot of people, or if it was because he looked as good from the front as he did the back. He slid his black matte Mastercard across the glossy counter.
“I’m sorry, sir. My machine isn’t working all of a sudden,” the young barista said, her eyes filled with dread as they looked up at the man.
“Of course it’s not,” I whispered to myself, my annoyance beginning to creep in.
I watched as the man waved her off like it was no big deal, trying not to pay much mind to just how long and slender his fingers were. Was I really getting caught up in a man who I had only seen his backside? Let alone, a line-cutter.
I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he hadn’t seen us all standing here waiting.
Ha. Here I was, making excuses for him just because he smelled so damn good. And wore a suit that put everyone else in here to shame.
But really. It was like it was molded to his broad shoulders. My eyes ran over his upper back and lower…
Seriously. Molded.
“I’ll just restart it,” said the barista, quickly jabbing at buttons with her chipped black polished fingernails. I heard other patrons groan their annoyances behind me.
The man nodded and slowly turned to lean with his back against the counter, not caring that he was facing a line of ticked-off customers. I sucked in a breath as his face practically smacked into my eyes. Chiseled jaw. Clean shaven. Jet-black hair. Eyes the color of tumbled beach glass.
I suddenly was no longer mad. No longer annoyed. No longer thinking about anything else but the set of lips pressed into an easy smile.
He reached into his jacket pocket, his platinum Rolex reflecting off the pendant lights hanging above him, as if he needed any more emphasis than the spotlight that probably already following him around in his everyday life. I watched as his thumbs moved across the screen easily, his eyes following the words he typed out. I found myself wanting to know what was on his screen. Work? Girlfriend? His mom?
He clicked the side button and slid his phone back into his jacket pocket. He slowly looked up and his eyes met mine. Sharp and green, and boring right into me like he could read the thoughts that suddenly heated my cheeks. It felt like someone had justsucker-punched me below the ribs. I quickly looked away, my heart hammering in my chest as I reminded myself to breathe.
Get it together.
My phone buzzed in my purse just then, pulling me out of my head and the millisecond of a moment I was just lost in. I reached into my black leather bag that hung low on my shoulder, happy for a distractionfromthe distraction standing in front of me, and pulled out my phone.
Dad.
Not exactly who I wanted to talk to when there was a creeping sensation running up my inner thighs, heating the space between them. I quickly clamped my thighs shut and willed the feeling away before tapping the screen.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, trying to bring my voice down a pitch as I tried to ignore the feeling that those green eyes were still on me.
