Page 8 of Brutal Savage

Okay, so maybe my “not into people” era has got a teeny dent.

His mouth twitches a fraction before it loses the amusement. And once his attention falls to my lips, his throat bobs.

My gut jolts hotly, the sudden electric energy between us making my heart skip right up my esophagus. And the more his penetrating gaze sears into mine, the more my skin grows prickly.

He stares like he knows me…or wants to.

Neither of which are good.

He stalks a step forward, and my breath hitches. His eyes bore deeper into mine, the air around us thicker with my undeniable urge to throttle him. Or have him return the favor. I’m not really being all that picky at the moment.

My pulse spikes from this pull between us. From this quiet, yet unnerving attraction I’m fighting like hell to pretend doesn’t exist.

He doesn’t appear like the type of man I need to be attracted to.

I’ve had my fill of dangerous men.

And this one? He even smells like danger.

Who even is he? I’ve never seen him before. I’d have instantly recognized him.

“I really should be going now…” I whisper, attempting to sound brave and totally unaffected, yet completely and utterly failing.

He doesn’t say a word.

Instead, he drags in a slow breath, his fingers reaching for my face, stopping just short before he pushes a strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear.

And just from that touch alone, I forget how to breathe.

I can’t seem to look away, to move and walk out of this place. He keeps me rooted somehow, like he holds the key.

His mouth twitches as though he knows precisely what he’s doing to me.

With gentle strokes, he smooths down his tie, the thick veins on top of his large hand snaking beneath his skin.

I hate that I want him.

That my body craves his.

My stomach drops from the exhilarating tension building inside me, like with one touch I’d fall apart.

The intoxicating scent of his cologne surrounds me—something masculine and expensive—making my heart beat faster while my mind conjures up thoughts of him and me ripping at each other’s clothes.

Clearing my throat, I force myself to shake off the magnetic connection between us and head for the counter. But I can sense him behind me, feel the way his body almost brushes mine.

I take slow, shallow breaths, trying my best to forget that he exists, and order an egg burrito and coffee for Gran.

“Is that all?” the cashier asks, glancing behind me at him.

The room is still eerily quiet, making me shudder.

His hot breath creeps across the back of my neck, turning me to ash.

“No,” that husky timbre drawls out, sending a shiver slinking up my spine. “She’s going to order something for herself.”

He outstretches his arm from behind me and hands her a card. And as he does, his fingers graze my arm like a slow-dancing flame, torching me where I stand.

I look over at him from behind my shoulder. “How do you know that?—”

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