Page 9 of Accidentally Mine

I bit my lip. That sounded very fact-based.

Was he a doctor? He could’ve been a doctor.

The suit was very businessy, though. And it wasn’t just any suit, either.

It was an expensive one, for sure tailored to his lean, athletic frame.

With his masculine hands held up to his nose, what looked like diamond cuff-links winked at his tanned wrists. Obviously successful.

And I couldn’t deny it. Hot men in suits? My Achilles heel, for sure.

You’d think I would’ve had my fill of successful men in suits. Anthony even wore one when we went to Fenway together.

I wished I preferred men in flannel, like my dad , and prayed to god that my taste in menswear would change. Because maybe then I wouldn’t be finding this man in front of me even remotely attractive.

But I was. Oh, lordy, I was. In fact, the moment he’d spilled coffee on himself in the Common Café, and I’d watched it seeping into his pants, I’d been jealous of that warm liquid because it had the privilege of touching the muscles I knew must be under that expensive fabric.

Too much time spent with Aunt Marie, obviously.

I crouched in front of him as he removed the handkerchief and pinched the bridge of his nose.

His gaze locked on mine, those chocolate eyes rimmed in the darkest of lashes.

Bedroom eyes. Sexy eyes. He looked hot, adrenaline-pumped, like he’d just gotten into a fight to win my honor.

His thick, dark hair was rumpled, playing into my fantasy.

My heart fluttered when the corner of his mouth, with full, suckable lips, lifted into a definite smile.

“Well. Note to self…never sneak up on you again.”

I smiled as those probing eyes drifted down to my chest. I was only wearing a light shirt, and now my nipples were poking through. God, help me. Way to give away everything I’m feeling.

I shivered and slipped back into my oversize cardigan, hugging it around my chest. People stood around watching us, their eyes full of judgement. Great. Just a perfect way to call attention to myself. “Are you okay?”

He peered up at me, a question in those penetratingly warm eyes. “I feel like I should be asking you that.”

“Me?” His lack of anger continued to surprise me. “I’m fine.”

He studied me dubiously. It didn’t take a sleuth to crack that lie. I was like a jumping bean, bouncing on my toes in a crouch.

His nose had stopped bleeding, thank god. I should have stood, apologized, lost myself in the crowd. But instead, I was caught up in his gaze, and it was playing such absolute havoc on me that it was a wonder I didn’t melt right into the floor.

A distant rumbling told me the train was approaching through the tunnel.

“Was there something you wanted?” I asked, as soon as I could be sure my voice wouldn’t tremble. I couldn’t stop myself.

He nodded, a single dimple popping as one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “I think it was something you wanted. To give me your number.”

“Hmm. Very funny. Does that kind of pick up work well for you?” I rocked back on my heels, faking like I was shocked.

It was probably a skill that worked very, very well for him.

Still, never in my life had my heart leapt like this, like it was going to thunder out of my chest and jump straight into his arms. The feeling I’d had in the coffee shop the moment I first saw him returned, and all I wanted to do was touch him.

Have him touch me. He could probably walk into a club, snap his fingers, and women dropped their panties in his wake.

But I was not just any woman, not anymore.

I was a woman with a big problem. A problem who was currently locked up in prison…but not for long,

It’s just a number, Geri would say. There was a time when, if an attractive man asked for my number, I’d give it to him with barely a question.

My old roommate would’ve agreed that this specimen of male hotness in front of me was definitely worth my digits.

Maybe even more. Like a nice little hot hookup in the dark corner of a bar, trading tequila-flavored kisses.

I couldn’t believe that he still wanted my number after I’d destroyed his nose and ruined a suit that was probably worth more than I’d made with my stories all year.

But that was how Anthony and I had started.

Innocently. With him asking for my number.

I’d taken things slow. And he’d been so, so respectful, for the first six weeks or so.

All the girls in the dorm had been jealous, thought I was so lucky.

They all had wished their boyfriends were like the too-good-to-be-true Anthony Markin, who loved me so much that he didn’t even try to push me for sex.

I was the one who’d ended up pushing him .

I shuddered, and when I came back to the present, the wind from the approaching train recklessly tossed about this man’s lovely brown hair, making it tumble against his forehead.

His gaze locked on my lips, as if waiting for me to utter the numbers.

His pupils changed, making his eyes even darker, and when his gaze dropped to my lips, I could see he wanted to kiss me.

I wanted desperately to be the woman who could rashly hand over her number, then lean in and give him a kiss that would have him thinking of nothing but me for days.

Instead, I hugged my cardigan close and shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said, looking back as the train doors slid open. “I’ve got to go.”

His hair disheveled, he watched me as I stood, looking as if he just knew he’d get what he wanted, eventually. He exuded calm, absolute control. “If I haven’t earned it yet, give me a way to.”

I struggled to stop my knees from growing weak. “What?”

He reached out, his warm, strong hand engulfing mine completely. The touch sent a prickle of heat through me. With that dimple on display once again, he scanned me, his gaze taking all of me in. I caught myself as I started to lean forward, wanting to be closer to him.

“Come back. To the café. You know where to find me,” he said, a challenge in his eyes. “If I haven’t earned your number, at least I’ve earned another chance?”

I momentarily forgot how to breathe. “I…”

I what? I didn’t know how to finish the thought.

“Your train is leaving,” he said, his deep voice pulsing through my veins.

Sure enough, the doors were about to slide closed. Grabbing my bag, I raced for them, slipping through just as they were closing. As the train started to lumber away, I peered out the window as he balled the handkerchief in his hand, rose to his feet, and tossed that expensive cloth into the trash.

Pretentious as all get out.

But that didn’t stop me from thinking about him, all the way back to South Boston.