And after lunch with the girls—after all the teasing and laughing and don’t-fall-for-him warnings—I was absolutely not prepared to walk into the shop and find this man standing in it, looking at me like I’m something he’s already decided belongs to him.
But here he is.
And the worst part?
My she-Bear is thrilled.
Preening.
Practically purring.
And me?
Yeah. I’m not doing much better.
He carries my bags to my apartment—because of course he has manners.
Then he’s dropping them in my bedroom.
Like it’s something he does every day. No biggie.
And here I am just kicking myself because now that I’ve seen him in my bedroom I want to see more of him—on the bed to be precise.
No! Bad girl!
He’s just so—so big.
Broad shoulders filling out that white T-shirt like it was made for him.
Tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
Solid. Real.
Not polished or pretty-boy perfect—no, he’s rougher than that.
Like he was built for something physical.
Something primal.
Something that makes my pulse trip over itself just looking at him.
“You smell good, Cookie,” he murmurs.
His voice drops, low and rough, and then—oh.
Oh.
Someone, pinch me.
He leans in.
I feel him before I fully process it—his breath warm against my skin, his nose brushing along the curve of my neck, down to my collarbone like he’s memorizing me by scent.
Holy.
Fuzzballs.
My fingers twitch at my sides.
