Page 2 of Wrong Number

There was something about her that made it impossible to look away. I hadn’t seen her face, but just from the back of her form, I knew she was new. Her dark hair tumbled down her back in cascades of soft milky chocolate brown that looked so silky I had to shove my hands into the front pockets of my pants. Half of it was pinned up with the sweetest, prettiest bow that swayed with every move she made. The bow was a contrast against the utilitarian navy-blue jumpsuit she was wearing.

“Shit,” she whispered and bent at her waist to pick up the cleaner she’d dropped.

Her ass in the air for a split second was all it took for my body to react. I hadn’t felt anything like it since I’d been a teenager. My heart started to pound in my chest. I’d moved up in my career the way I did because I’d always followed my gut, and now my gut was not only yelling, the fucker was shouting!

Something big was about to happen.

Before I could turn and get the hell out of there, she straightened and turned. The profile of her face surged way too many emotions to the surface. Shit I had never, not once, felt. Not even close.

Possessive need to protect and cherish pounded against me and seeped past my heart and right to the marrow of me.

All from seeing the profile of her face.

I didn’t even know her name. For a moment, that cynical, jaded part of me tried to rein me in, but it was too late.

When she turned fully around and our eyes connected, it was game-fucking-over. The only thing that ran through my head, the only word that bounced and repeated when my green eyes locked with her hazel ones, was mine.

“Sorry.” She blushed and stepped to the side, ignoring me. I managed to move to the coffee machine and refill my mug while watching her through the reflective material in the break room. They were abstract reflections of her, but it was enough. And as quickly as she'd appeared, she was gone.

The break room was clean and quiet. But my heart didn’t settle. Neither did my head.

Without sharing a single word or finding out her name, I wasn’t the same man I’d been five minutes earlier.

I had to find out more about her.

one

vivi delacruz

My phone rang, and without looking at it, I knew what it said.

Unknown caller.

But I knew.

I knew exactly who it was.

My hand trembled as I moved my thumb to the answer button. There were a million and one reasons why I should ignore it, why I should send it to voicemail. But only one reason to answer.

Him.

Nix.

“Hello,” I answered as calmly as I could and anxiously waited to hear his voice.

“I didn’t think you would answer,” he remarked, his voice scratchy and deep. Somehow, the tone went straight to the core of my body, making my sex ache. Pulse. There was something about it, something that sounded familiar about my sexy somewhat stranger, but no matter what, I couldn’t put my finger on who he could be.

Nix.

“Why?” I asked, softly slipping back into my bed. Spring had rolled in, raising the temperature during the day, but it was still chilly at night.

“Because of last night,” he reminded me like it was no big deal. My pulse picked up speed at the reminder. My face went hot, and I licked my lips. Last night’s call was one for the books.

“Last night,” I whispered, unable to hide how much that call had affected me. How I hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything for more than five minutes without thinking of last night’s dirty, sexy conversation. A conversation that had worn me out so much I had slept through my alarms and been late for work.

“Hmm,” he grunted, and I knew that tone.

I was more than familiar with it. I didn’t miss the way his breathing changed just slightly. Just a little, but I’d noticed it. I always did. There wasn’t a lot I missed when it came to my unknown caller. I knew exactly what he was doing on the other end of the line.

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