Page 3 of Mr. Sandman
Six words—a prayer that was sure to send me straight to hell.
Mr. Sandman, please bring me three.
Maybe burning was my kind of heaven.
Chapter Two
It made no noise.Triggered no alarm.
I stared at the button, almost wondering if I’d even pressed it because nothing had changed. But just when that uncertainty took hold, I heard a low, firm knock followed by the opening click of a door.
Except it wasn’t a door that opened. It was the bookcase I thought was embedded in the far wall. A bookcase door.A secret door.Later, I could think about how to install one of those in my apartment, but not now.
Not when the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on walked through the opening.
Tall. At least six foot five. Broad shoulders encased in an expertly fitted and impossibly crisp white button-down. The top button was undone to expose a perfectly tanned triangle of skin. Wide chest and narrow waist… it didn’t seem like enough to liken him to a football player; he looked more like… an Olympian. Part god, part man. Full cherry lips. An aristocratic nose. And dark waves of hair, thick enough that it made my fingers itch to churn through them.
He exuded authority—the kind that was intimidating to me because it was warm and possessive. Like it was his business to take care of you—like it was his only purpose. But in my world, being taken care of was a sure sign of weakness, so my first reaction—well, second reaction after my lower parts appreciated this specimen of masculinity—was to balk at it. To straighten my spine and lift my chin, to let out the invisible barbs that kept everyone else at bay.
“Tara.”
My breath caught. One word—my name—and I was rendered defenseless.
I couldn’t think of the last person who’d called me by my first name. It was always Ms. Monroe. Even the senior partners had simply dropped theMsand called me Monroe. But it wasn’t the lack of formality that made my lungs stutter; it was the way he’d said my name properly.
He’d said Tah-ra, not Tear-a. And I had no explanation for why my heart skipped a beat. No explanation for why the simple correct pronunciation of my name was enough to make it feel like this heart-stoppingly gorgeous man knew me.
Maybe it was because even people who knew me pronounced my name wrong. Maybe that was why I’d just started insisting onMs. Monroe—and how I’d taken another unintended step in the direction of solitude.
“Hi.” I swallowed hard and floundered. Somehow, the woman who crafted every closing argument in court on the spot, thriving on the precipice of another victory, wassuddenly rendered speechless. “And you are… Mr. Sandman, I presume?”
Obviously, not his real name.
And that was the second blow of vulnerability to my cold confidence; he knew my name, and I only knew his moniker.
One side of his mouth turned up slowly.“Vaughn.” He let the door drift closed behind him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The way he said pleasure promised that meeting had nothing to do with it.
I nodded, and my tongue darted out to drag along my bottom lip.Now that I was accustomed to the warm buzzing of my cells, I realized no one was waiting behind him.
“Where are the others?” I blurted out, wincing at the demanding edge to my tone.Another habit.
His smile widened a fraction before he turned and strode to the small bar cart in the corner of the room, allowing me to pay my respects to his perfect ass with several moments of silence.
“Would you like a drink?”
I blinked twice.
“Yes,” I said without thinking, only to then recall that he hadn’t answered my question.
And neither did he ask what I wanted to drink.
Amber liquid splashed into two glasses. No ice. No mixer.Straight intoxication.
He approached me, his presence commanding the room—and me. It wasn’t until he stood right in front of me,extending me a glass, that I truly appreciated how tall—how big he was. With only inches between us, he obliterated my ability to see anything but him.
“Thank you, but you didn’t answer my question.” I tookthe glass but only held it steadily in front of me, refusing to bring it to my lips and join him in a sip.
