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"I jumped." He straightens his tie again, not meeting my eyes. "Got clear just in time."

My mouth drops open. The audacity! "You did not jump! You flew through the windshield like a - like a human cannonball! Your head made a dent in the pole!"

"You must have been mistaken." His voice is smooth as silk, but there's an edge to it now. "The sun was in your eyes."

I sputter, gesturing wildly at the wreck. The evidence is right there - the shattered windshield, the crumpled hood, the splintered telephone pole. How dare he stand there in his perfect suit with his perfect hair and tell me I didn't see what I absolutely, definitely saw?

"I know what I saw!" The words burst out of me. "You hit that pole so hard it should have killed you!"

His finger is warm against my lips, the contact so sudden and unexpected that my breath catches. My whole body seems to hum, like a tuning fork struck hard, and my knees wobble. I should step back, put some space between us, but my feet are glued to the ground. His touch is electric, sending tiny shocks racing down my spine.

"Shhhh," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping over velvet. His yellow eyes lock onto mine, and I feel like I’m falling into them, drowning in their molten depths. "Don’t trouble yourself about trifling matters. There are much more important things to discuss."

Oh God, he’s still touching me. His finger lingers, tracing the curve of my lips before sliding down to my jaw. His touch is impossibly light, barely there, but it sets my skin on fire. I fight the urge to lean into it, to melt against him like I’m some kind of over dramatic romance heroine. My brain short-circuits, torn between panic and… something else. Something that makes my stomach twist and my pulse race.

"L-like what?" I manage to choke out, my voice breaking on the last word. It’s a miracle I can even speak, honestly. My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

"Like you, me, and candlelight on a moon-drenched bay," he says, his voice dropping to a purr that sends shivers down my spine. His finger continues its slow exploration, skimming along my jawline, brushing against the hollow beneath my ear. His touch is hypnotic, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making some embarrassingly needy sound. "Magic time, Mamacita."

Magic time? Did he just saymagic time? My brain scrambles to process the words, but all I can focus on is the heat of hishand, the way his thumb grazes my cheekbone. My stomach twists, and I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

"A-are you, um, asking me out?" The words tumble out in a squeak, and I immediately want to die. I sound like a middle schooler, not a grown woman who’s supposed to have her life together. My face feels like it’s on fire, and I’m torn between the overwhelming desire to pass out, throw up, or maybe just spontaneously combust.

His smirk deepens, and I can see the amusement dancing in those golden eyes. He’s enjoying this. Of course he is. He’s probably used to reducing women to stammering messes with just a touch and a few well-chosen words. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to remember how to form a coherent sentence.

"You tell me," he says, his voice dripping with that same honeyed smoothness. "Does the idea of candlelight, a moonlit bay, and me… intrigue you?"

Intrigue me? That’s one way to put it. My brain is currently a swirling mess of panic, confusion, and… something else. Something warm and fizzy that makes my cheeks burn and my stomach dip. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but the words get stuck somewhere between my brain and my tongue. All I can do is stare up at him, my heart hammering in my chest.

"I'll pick you up at eight." His voice wraps around me like silk, and my knees nearly buckle.

"My name is Lanz. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Tyler," I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice. My heart's doing a samba against my ribs, and I'm pretty sure I've forgotten how to breathe properly.

"Tyler." The way he says my name makes my toes curl in my shoes. Like it's precious. Like it's poetry.

His fingers brush mine as he takes my phone, and electricity zips up my arm. I watch, dumbstruck, as he types in his number with casual confidence. My phone looks tiny in his hands, and I can't stop staring at his long fingers moving across the screen.

The wail of sirens grows closer, but Lanz doesn't seem concerned. He strides toward the approaching emergency vehicles like he owns the street, leaving me frozen in place. My brain's still trying to process what just happened. Did I really just get asked out by a man who should be dead? Who walked away from a car crash like it was nothing?

I watch as he speaks to the first responders, his voice too low to hear. His hands move as he talks, painting some story that has nothing to do with me standing in the street like an idiot. Nothing to do with him hitting a pole with his head.

"Tyler, I caught him!"

Cindy's voice snaps me back to reality. She's running up, red-faced and panting, with Goliath's leash wrapped tight around her hand.

"Did that guy get killed trying to not run you over or what?"

I open my mouth, but no words come out. How do I even begin to explain what just happened?

CHAPTER 2

LANZ

The taxi driver's eyes widen as I hand him a hundred-dollar bill.

"Keep the change."