No one informed my stomach that we were stopping, however, and my few bites of dinner (along with a protein bar I had earlier) project from my mouth and splatter on top of a pair of polished leather shoes.
Oh gods. I’ve just puked on someone.
I swipe a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
A deep, masculine voice makes my spine tighten. “And I only just got these.”
He sighs heavily and a shudder rocks through me. Should I look up and face even more humiliation? How much worse could this day get?
I close my eyes and exhale. The queasiness in my stomach subsides, and I venture a look.
My gaze tracks from the now ruined shoes to a pair of pressed jeans and up to thighs so tight a superhero would be jealous. My gaze keeps moving as my mouth goes dry, which is disgusting since the heavy taste of vomit still sits on my tongue.
The chest on this guy is so muscled it looks like those muscles made baby muscles. On top of that, his biceps strain against the sleeves of his starched white shirt. A shadow casts over a jawline that unravels to forever, and deep sapphire eyes glitter at me. This wizard’s handsome on a level that should be criminal, and topping off his beauty is a royal scowl that’s directed straight at me.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Clean it up,” he grinds out.
I get it. He’s mad. He’s had a bad day. So have I. But if there’s one thing that my grandmother taught me, it’s that you attract more flies with sugar than you do vinegar. And nice is what I do.
I force myself onto shaky legs and slowly unfold. Our gazes snap as I stare up at him.Up, yes. He’s tall—a good head taller than me, and from this closer vantage point his scowl is even deeper.
But I’m not one to be deterred. I smile brightly. “Once again, I apologize. It was an accident.”
“Clean it up,” he demands angrily.
Who is this jerk?“Excuse me?”
His jaw flexes. “Clean. It. Up.”
“Do. You. Have. A. Rag?” I throw back.
His gaze rips from mine in a very annoyed look. “No, I don’t. Use magic. You’re a witch.”
And there’s the rub. I don’t know this werewolf or vampire or whoever this is, so I don’t owe him an explanation as to my lack of magic. Also he’s got my hackles up by not accepting my apology. Who does that? What woman-hating man sees what is clearly a damsel in distress and stomps on her pain?
“I’m afraid that I’m unable to do that.”
His eyes flare in surprise before landing back on me. “And why’s that?”
I curl my fists onto my hips. “That’s none of your business. Yes, I puked on your shoes. I’m sorry. It was an accident. Wipe it off yourself.”
With that, I step around him and stride forward. But my legs are still wobbly. So’s my head, apparently, and I lose my balance, falling backward.
Right onto the stranger.
“Oomph!”
He catches me in arms of steel, dipping me until my back arches and my breasts lift, tugging free from the soft fabric of my dress and exposing my lacy black bra. His gaze drops to my swollen breasts for a moment so long it oversteps the awkward line, and when he finally tears his gaze away, our eyes collide.
His face is finely chiseled, and I realize that he looks like a very irked Henry Cavill, strong jaw included. His stare is so fierce that my cheeks flame like there’s an inferno burning beneath my skin. Ironically it matches the smoldering heat in his eyes. They become liquid sapphires as his throat bobs dramatically, his eyes drinking me in.
The world suddenly tilts, and a tingle crawls down my head to the base of my neck, where it washes down my arms.The sensation continues to my core, where the strangest thing happens. Lust, the I-want-to-rip-off-my-clothes-and-shove-my-tongue-down-someone’s-throat lust overtakes my body, exposing me in the most basic of ways, so much so that I feel absolutely naked in front of this man.
And it feels really kind of right.
Before I get a chance to question the etiquette of shoving my tongue in a stranger’s mouth (which is so wrong— I’m in love with Edward!), my senses brighten like a solar flare. I can smell the rain-drenched earth under the cobblestones. I feel pinpricks of humidity that become goose bumps on my arms. And most of all, I feel the stranger’s muscles tighten—his hands, his chest, his thighs, his…you know what.
