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She's surrounded by people who spend their lives making damn sure they're noticed, and somehow the one woman who isn't trying has become the only person in the room I can't stop looking at.
My fingers curl around nothing.
What the hell?
I don't react to women like this.
Attraction? Sure.
I'm not dead.
I've met beautiful women. Dated beautiful women. Slept with beautiful women.
Beauty isn't exactly a scarce commodity in my world. Usually, I notice it, appreciate it, and move the fuck on.
This time, I am decidedly not moving on.
Because this isn't just attraction. It's the way my attention keeps returning to her even when I deliberately drag it somewhere else.
The way I want to know why she's uncomfortable.
Who she's looking for.
What put that determined set to her mouth?
What those hazel eyes look like when uncertainty isn't hiding in them.
What she'd look like smiling instead of scanning the room with that serious little crease between her brows.
Whether that thick hair feels as soft as it looks.
And why the hell she seems so determined not to be noticed when she's easily the most noticeable woman in the room.
At least to me.
Most of all, I want to know why the sudden thought of someone else walking over and finding out all those things before I do irritates the absolute shit out of me.
What the hell?
The feeling is immediate.
Visceral.
Possessive.
And inconvenient as fuck.
Because I don't even know her name, and I'm already wondering what those dark gold-flecked eyes would look like focused entirely on me.
She's stunning. And not because she's trying to be.
Maybe that's the problem.
She doesn't look like a woman waiting for Mitchell Knight to notice her. And for the first time in a very long time, I'm the one doing the noticing.
I want a closer look.
Hell.
