Page 3

A lice scribbled into her notebook. She had successfully managed to do what her therapist ordered.

She was sitting at a bar. Check. She had spoken to the waiter and ordered a drink.

Check. She had made eye contact with that man she couldn’t get out of her mind.

Bonus check. She had sat here writing and sipping her drink, alone, for at least thirty minutes. Check.

She glanced at her smartwatch and cursed.

Damn thing had run out of battery earlier in the day.

She rummaged in her purse for her phone.

Fifteen minutes? It had only been fifteen minutes.

How was that possible? She glanced at her drink.

It was almost empty. She rubbed her temples.

Okay. She could do this. She could sit here alone for another quarter-hour.

No one was looking at her. Heck, the place was practically empty except for a few people.

This wasn’t their busiest time. She was safe.

She wasn’t being paid attention to. She was just another customer enjoying a drink.

Another person in the multitude. So why did she feel as if someone was staring at her?

“It’s your anxiety.” Ugh, she could hear her psychologist lecturing her— “People are too busy minding their own business to worry about you.”

Okay. She could do this.

She set an alarm on her phone and stuffed it back in her purse. Fifteen more minutes.

She glanced at her notebook and frowned.

She had mentioned him. Repeatedly. Which meant her therapist was going to ask her about it.

Her cheeks burned. She didn’t want to talk about him.

It had been a brief glimpse. A moment her heart had fluttered.

He wasn’t her type. She didn’t have a type.

But if she did, it wouldn’t be him. He was too big, too dominant.

He’d eat her up and swallow her whole. She picked up her pen.

Nope. She preferred to let it remain a fantasy.

“What are you writing?”

She jumped in her chair. She dropped her pen, but large hands grabbed it before it hit the ground and placed it back on the counter. Slowly, she turned around. Her heart picked up its rhythm.

He was here.

Her mouth dried. She frantically searched her brain for something to say but words eluded her.

Why was he standing so close? His perfume wafted up her nose.

Woodsy, yet spicy. She found his gaze. She had been right in describing his eyes as fiery.

They were the color of molten amber, not brown or green, but a warm mix which reflected the light and gave the impression of being molten fire.

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Had his voice lowered? It echoed within her, developing an ache which spread across her chest. She tore her gaze away—which was a mistake. They landed on his lips, framed by a carefully groomed beard. They stood out like a cherry atop a decadent piece of cake.

“Look at me, Baby Girl.”

Her gaze lifted back to his eyes as her brain processed what he’d called her.

“I’m not your Baby Girl,” she managed to say. The words came out in a whisper so low she didn’t think he could have possibly heard her.

“Not yet, you’re not.” He grinned. And the sight made something within her snap. Desire flushed her skin, and a tremble coursed through her.

“Please,” she murmured.

He took a step closer. He wasn’t touching her but he didn’t need to. She could feel herself moistening, her nipples hardening beneath her shirt.

“Please what, Baby Girl?”

“Please, step.” She wanted to gesture with her hand, but her fingers were glued to her sides.

“Closer?”

He took another miniscule step. He didn’t have much room after all. His body bumped against her knee sending an electric shock through her. A growl-like sound came from somewhere. Whether it was him or her she couldn’t say.

“Back” she murmured.

“What’s your name, Baby Girl?” He touched her knee.

She shook her head. It was too much. He was too close. What did he want from her? A man like him would never notice someone like her. Anxiety came spiraling in, creating a tight knot in her stomach. Nausea assaulted her. She was going to be sick.

He must have noticed because this time he did take a small step back.

“Breathe,” he demanded. “Through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. Slowly. That’s it.”

He gently grasped her hand and placed it on the counter.

“I am here. My hand on top of yours. Warm. You are touching the counter. Do you feel the wood? The small indentations? The stickiness? Ew...”

She chuckled. Tears prickled her eyes.

“That’s it, Baby Girl.”

“My name is Alice.”