Page 11 of Quinlan

The man in the charcoal gray suit who’s prowling toward me isn’t a creep. Doesn’t wield a knife or a cloth with chloroform clutched in his fist.

He’s simply there. Staring at me with the most beautiful sapphire blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Even in the dark, I can tell they glow.

He narrows them, curious and intense, as he starts walking in my direction. I have to look up to keep gazing at him as he invades my personal space. This tall man who’s about six-foot-three.

Damn him, he’s even more beautiful up close. More dangerous.

His brown hair is cut close on the sides, longer and organized on top. His jaw is all sharp edges. His cheeks are a work of highlights and shadows beneath a dark scruff.

And his mouth. It’s the most dangerous part of him. The man smirks, and yet there’s nothing reassuring about it. The way his lips curve. He’s wicked. Devious.

Then they move. “Can I help you?”

Only when he talks do I realize he’s stopped right in front of me. That I’m still scowling and my hands are pinned to my waist. That the heat of his body bleeds into mine.

The fragrance of his cologne carries to me. It smells expensive, like his suit. The hint of spice is enough to make me lose my resolve.

As if he counted on it to make me weak for him.

Asshole.

“I asked…” His hand rises between us, fingers long and manly. Warm, I notice, when he brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. His touch is calculated. Cold. A contrast to the supposedly kind gesture. “Can I help you?”

He touches me as if he knows me. As if he’s familiar with my body, or at least wanted to.

A predator. That’s what he is. His thousand-dollar suit, expensive haircut and smooth voice are a veneer. A trap. And I, for whatever reason, am his prey.

I’m a strong, independent woman.I am.

I wrap my hand around his wrist, needing to yank his hand away from my face.

Big mistake.

A pang of electricity shoots through me from where our bodies are connected. I gasp as it burns me down to my core.

We don’t move, and I feel his pulse beneath my fingertips. Strong. Commanding.

Delicious.

I have to bite down the inner part of my bottom lip to stifle a groan.

“Darling?” His voice jolts me back to the present moment.

He’s been stalking me.

“I’m not your darling.” I remove his hand from my face. Take a step back, to a place where air seeps into my lungs. Where my brain can function. “I’m not your anything.” My low hiss doesn’t deter him.

He inches toward me, crowding my space again.

This isn’t how I’m going to die. I refuse to be hypnotized by a gorgeous man, a predator. I refuse to leave my family because this stalker is so good at his mind games.

“Stay back.” I ball my hands into fists, lifting them between us, pushing at his rock-hard chest. “I took self-defense classes in college. Leave me alone.”

“Or else?” He cocks a dark eyebrow at me. “You’ll punch me for walking down the street? I had no idea strolling was a punishable offense.”

He simply did that. Walk down the street. He didn’t do anything other than ask if he could help me. He also did more.He touched me in a way my one and only boyfriend from junior high ever touched me. And even then, it never felt like this.

I shouldn’t like this.

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