Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
That feeling.
The unmistakable weight of being watched.
I turned my head, pulse kicking up, and found him, standing ten feet away.
Tall.
Dark.
Ridiculously handsome.
Like. . .panty-wetting.
A man built for Hollywood camera lenses and self-touching fantasies.
Leading man fine—razor-sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, lips that looked sinful even when at rest.
Yet he stood there, six feet tall and in the flesh, boldly watching me without the slightest hint of shame.
Oh damn.
His eyes—unholy green, the color of emeralds held up to candlelight—burned into me as if they saw something deeper than what I had let the world see.
I bet when he first walked in here, the very space sighed.
His black hair was dark and effortlessly tousled.
His body was slim, but toned like he worked out weekly not for strength, but for control.
And he was dressed in a sleek tuxedo that must have been intended to trigger visual orgasms.
Yet. . .there was something foreign about him too. Something too elegantly refined about him to say that he was American.
His very stance screamed that he was a man who had grown up on luxury.
On art.
On passion.
Is he looking at. . .me?
I slyly turned away, knowing I’d already gawked over him long enough. I did a quick check around me and only saw the black wall.
However, I could still feel his bold gaze on me.
Why is he staring like that? Have you never seen a Black woman before?
A little bit of anxiety seized me.
Relax.
I breathed in and out.
You’re just. . .freaking out because he’s fine as hell and watching YOU.
For God’s sake, he was the type of man I'd want to intimacy coordinate on a set. Someone so devastatingly gorgeous that I wouldn’t hesitate to adjust his modesty patch, to smooth my hands over his cock in a perfectly professional manner—while swallowing the heat curling at the edges of my composure.
Keep it cool. Hey. . .you do look gorgeous as well. If I were a man, I would stare at me too. . .right?
If Laila had been here, she would have made a damn scene.
She wouldn’t have let me stand here overthinking this moment, wouldn’t have let me drown in the quicksand of my own self-doubt while a man that fine was burning holes into my soul with his gaze.
No way.
Laila would have let the entire room know that I was single.
Loudly.
She would have waved him over like she was conducting air traffic control at JFK, grinning from ear to ear, snapping her fingers like a damn Cupid in designer heels.
"Eh, you! Yes, you! She’s single! Come get her number!"
Hell, she might not have even bothered waiting for him. She probably would have just started yelling my number out herself, or even worse, gotten it directly from my phone and handed it over like a gift-wrapped invitation to my thighs.
That thought alone almost made me laugh out loud.
Instead, my clutch buzzed in my hand.
I reached inside, fishing for my phone, knowing it could only be one person.
Laila.
And I was correct.
I read the text.
Laila: I checked your LinkedIn and didn’t see the picture. Give me your username and password so I can hook you up.
I grinned.
You are relentless.
I typed back quickly.
Me: Never mind that. You better have your ass in that gown and ready to go. Don’t have my big bro waiting for his hot date night.
I hit send and tucked the phone back into my clutch, shaking my head.
Laila was the perfect wing woman, even from miles away.
Alright. So. . .I’m sure his date is back or whatever. I’ll just. . .you know. . .glance that way to confirm.
I slipped my gaze along the walls like I was so into their blackness and then. . .slyly. . .I turned to the left and checked him again.
Fuck.
He was STILL staring at me.
Not glancing.
Not casually looking.
But BOLDY staring.
And that stare wasn’t polite.
It wasn’t casual.
It was the kind of gaze that should’ve been illegal in public spaces—hungry, unfiltered, dark with something that sent a flush down my spine.
Alright now, handsome. I kidnap fine men so. . .be careful.
As if he heard me, the line of his jaw twitched.
Mmmm.
I blinked, heart hammering, and turned away sharply, not used to that kind of attention.
That level of enthusiastic intensity from any man.
Maybe. . .he would like me to kidnap him.
I swallowed, exhaling slowly.
Okay. Listen. You’re daydreaming.
There was no way he was alone. No man that looked like that would be by himself on Valentine’s Day. His model lover was probably in the bathroom, powdering her nose, or fixing a gown that had cost more than my entire trip.
Still. . .
I glanced back one more time.
Eh. . .this is crazy.
He was still watching me.
And this time, his mouth curved with a hint of wicked knowing.
Heat curled in my belly—low and slow—unexpected but impossible to ignore.
Well damn. I stand. . .corrected. . .maybe. . .
Before I could fully process everything, a soft, refined voice interrupted my thoughts.