Page 21 of Reckless Vow

The man is wearing a bespoke—no way an off-the-rack would fit this well—suit. Okay, not even the whole suit. Due to the current weather, he shed the jacket.

It’s hot after all.

Like really, really hot.

Like a heatwave just changed my trickle of sweat into a river pouring down my spine. And my face… I hope it doesn’t look as red as it feels.

So now all six feet five inches of muscles and planes of his perfect body stand in front of me in a crisp white shirt, chocolate vest and pants.

To add to his overwhelming presence, he’s wearing sunglasses. Along with the five o’clock shadow on his square jaw, it gives him the air of a bad guy.

What does that song say? Good boys go to heaven, but bad boys bring heaven to you?

With the sun shining from behind him, he might be just some heavenly creature. Or a well-disguised devil, probably.

And for the love of God, his hair is cut. It’s buzzed on the sides and longer, perfectly mussed on top.

What the whole image does to my ovaries is concerning. I swallow, remind myself of the need to breathe and open my mouth. Not to say anything—I’m speechless—just to salivate.

“Brook?” He cocks his head.

“You cut your hair,” I croak. My voice doesn’t sound healthy.

“Of course I did.” He shrugs.

Because of course he did? Because I told him I didn’t like it? Or he’d grown his hair all this time and then just this morning decided to change his image?

He should have kept the man bun. It was easier to dislike him.

Electricity zaps through me when he extends his hand, rubbing my arm like I need consoling. I do, I guess. Jesus.

“You’re crying.”

Oh shit. I wipe my cheeks quickly. My little moment of panic before he showed up. I forgot about that in the influx of physical sensations his arrival incited.

“You’re late,” I snap to cover my meltdown.

“Oh, you worried I stood you up?” He puts his hands into his pockets and, fuck, I hate how gorgeous he looks.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He flinches. “That’s rich coming from you.”

How dare he? Memories try to take over, but I can’t go there. Not now. And hopefully not ever.

This will be a long year as it stands already.

I wish I could see his eyes. Stupid shades.

“You could have come earlier. We better go.”

“I’m not late. We still have ten minutes. Were you so anxious to marry me you got the time wrong, sweetheart?”

Asshole.

I check my watch and swallow. I truly was early. Maybe for the first time in my life.

I showed up early for my fake wedding. I don’t even want to think about the wicked ways of my subconscious.

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