Page 5 of He Is Jensen: Part One

I go utterly still, warning bells ringing in my head. The same high school, the same years? That’s a monster-sized coincidence, and I don’t believe in coincidences. The look on Caleb’s face says he’s in agreement.

“What’s the woman’s name?” I ask, though, on some core level, I already know.

“Layla Walters.”

Chapter two

Layla

Houston, Texas— Twenty-four hours later…

Three months of hidingis long enough.

I pull my blue Volvo to a halt in front of my quaint, two-story stucco house surrounded by miles of grassy hills and droopy willow trees, ready to embrace whatever the future might hold. I come from a family of fighters—of military men and the tough women who know how to hold their own. I can almost imagine my father and brother crawling out of their graves to shake sense into me if I didn’t fight to the end.

Stepping out of my vehicle, I’m instantly battling the strong wind gusts that promise a midnight storm. Somehow, I manage to shove the door shut, my flared black skirt flapping around my knees and my loose, long brown hair lifting around my shoulders. It was near ten o’clock after a tiring day of travel, somy baggage is just going to have to wait until morning. Anxious for the comfort of home, I hurry down the sidewalk that is hugged by a stone border I’d laid with care a year before. The high moon peeked from the cloud cover, casting the path in dull light. A smile tugs on my lips as the house comes into view, a sense of knowing this is where I belong, where I am strongest.

My territory.

My turf.

There is nothing better than home.

But my smile is short-lived.

I reach the stairs leading to my porch, and the motion detectors flicker to a soft glow before I have the chance to set them off. My heart leaps, and I’m poised for flight, my heart thundering in my chest as a man steps from the shadows of the corner, the rocking chair creaking with his exit. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with thick blond hair, the stranger seems to consume the porch and the very air around me.

I should be turning and running, but I hesitate, not because he’s tall, broad, and good-looking, but because there’s something familiar about him.

“Hello, Layla,” he greets in a deep, sandpaper-rough baritone.

I blink with the memories that flood my mind, stunned that my schoolgirl crush is here, right here, standing in front of me. But it can’t be. Can it? “Jensen?”

“It’s been a long time,” he says softly.

“I…I can’t believe you’re here.” But he is here—illogically, oddly. Jensen Prescott is standing on my doorstep. The older, even hotter version of the boy I’d once known—a man now, his face more defined, his body more sculpted. “Howare you here? How is this even possible?”

“I’d rather explain inside, if you’ll invite me in.”

The wind gusts, lifting my hair and then my skirt.

I gasp and grab the material and shove it back into place, but not before Jensen has been offered a direct view of my unmentionables.

Recovering from my exposure, I expect to find amusement on Jensen’s face, but he frowns as he scans the yard, as if he were looking for some unknown threat.

“We should really go inside now,” he says, his gaze settling back to me, and though he hasn’t moved, there’s a new edge to him, a sense of increasing discomfort.

His unease becomes mine, flitting through me, my own senses tingling with awareness and telling me that something is behind me, watching me,stalkingme. It’s all I can do not to run up the stairs toward Jensen. Instead, I hesitate, forcing myself to remain in place. No matter how sexy and familiar Jensen might be, I don’t know him, and it’s been years since our flirtations.

And it’s weird that he’s here.

How does he know where I live?

Caution with him prevails, despite the continued niggle of warning that someone is behind me. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here or even how you found me.”

“Invite me inside, Layla,” he says, his voice low and tense, bordering on a command.

I open my mouth to speak and shut it as a droplet of rain smacks me in the forehead. That’s all the encouragement I need. I run up the stairs toward Jensen.

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