like me can buy into.
I don't even have to talk to this Stevenson guy for more than three minutes to already know that he is the complete opposite of safe. He is probably everything my parents were always afraid would come knocking on their door looking to ravage their only daughter.
First of all, look at him.
I'm looking for someone to snuggle at night, not smother me. In fact he's so huge that there's no real way he's even going to be able to fit under the table to pick up my things. Although now I see that he doesn't even have to. His arms are so long that he can maneuver them easily under the table and reach for whatever's under there without too much awkward bending. It's actually kind of impressive.
And speaking of his arms.
Holy hell.
His arms are huge. The wingspan of his hands alone makes them look like they could easily smack someone into next week. His biceps are thick and muscular. Chiseled and strong. And my favorite part of a man's upper body, especially this man's body, are his forearms. Both are roped and strong and adorned with what looks like many sessions worth of intricate tribal ink. I've always liked tattoos from afar. They're not something I'd ever have the nerve to do, but I think they are beautiful. Especially when they adorn a man who's built like a tank.
"Here you go, Miss White."
He scoops up all of my things with one of his hands, while toying with me carefully using those two titanium saucers of his. Eyes that are confusing the hell out of my poor ovaries.
I've never been good at keeping a poker face, but there's no way this man needs to know how hot I think he is. I'm sure he already knows. So I bend my head slightly down in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact, as I accept the contents of my handbag and place everything back inside. He holds onto one thing though. One of my business cards.
"Sabrina White." He reads the card aloud while casually playing with it between two fingers. "That's a beautiful name for an equally beautiful woman."
I hate that the first thing that I do is start smiling after that lame line. Not a big smile, but a smile nonetheless.
His words are cliché.
His glare is obvious.
And I'm still grinning like a simpleton when I notice Jason sitting in his car, watching the two of us with a blank look across his face.
"Umm, my date is here. I have to go."
"Until next time, Sabrina White."
I watch as he slips my business card in his back pocket.
"I doubt it," I grin, although I'm somewhat flattered that he's choosing to hold onto my information, even though he and I both know that there will be no next time. I mean he looks like he eats women for breakfast (literally) then sends them on their merry way with a pat on the ass and maybe a couple of bucks for an Uber car.
But I'm not going to lie. I purposefully walk towards the exit of the restaurant with a little sway in my step, just like the hostess did earlier, because I know that he's watching. Something tells me that he likes to watch. What the hell, right? I never do stuff like this, and I'll never see him again.
As I smooth my skirt down the sides of my hips and thighs, and carefully place one stiletto heel in front of the other, I can't help but look in the glass doors ahead of me. Just to make sure that stranger danger is still checking me out, and when I do, I catch his reflection.
His platinum pupils dancing.
Looking straight at me.
And his mouth grinning shamelessly at the view of my behind.
So I sway my hips a little harder. Then turn around and give him a small wave good-bye. One that I make sure Jason can't see. And it's at that moment that I see and feel what I've been waiting for all night, except it's from the stranger's eyes instead of Jason's.
Pure. Unadulterated. Heat.
SAINT
Three Years Ago
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
"You need to kill some time, Mike. She's not ready."
"She's not here yet?!"
"Naw, man. I think she's still at the hotel with
I don't even have to talk to this Stevenson guy for more than three minutes to already know that he is the complete opposite of safe. He is probably everything my parents were always afraid would come knocking on their door looking to ravage their only daughter.
First of all, look at him.
I'm looking for someone to snuggle at night, not smother me. In fact he's so huge that there's no real way he's even going to be able to fit under the table to pick up my things. Although now I see that he doesn't even have to. His arms are so long that he can maneuver them easily under the table and reach for whatever's under there without too much awkward bending. It's actually kind of impressive.
And speaking of his arms.
Holy hell.
His arms are huge. The wingspan of his hands alone makes them look like they could easily smack someone into next week. His biceps are thick and muscular. Chiseled and strong. And my favorite part of a man's upper body, especially this man's body, are his forearms. Both are roped and strong and adorned with what looks like many sessions worth of intricate tribal ink. I've always liked tattoos from afar. They're not something I'd ever have the nerve to do, but I think they are beautiful. Especially when they adorn a man who's built like a tank.
"Here you go, Miss White."
He scoops up all of my things with one of his hands, while toying with me carefully using those two titanium saucers of his. Eyes that are confusing the hell out of my poor ovaries.
I've never been good at keeping a poker face, but there's no way this man needs to know how hot I think he is. I'm sure he already knows. So I bend my head slightly down in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact, as I accept the contents of my handbag and place everything back inside. He holds onto one thing though. One of my business cards.
"Sabrina White." He reads the card aloud while casually playing with it between two fingers. "That's a beautiful name for an equally beautiful woman."
I hate that the first thing that I do is start smiling after that lame line. Not a big smile, but a smile nonetheless.
His words are cliché.
His glare is obvious.
And I'm still grinning like a simpleton when I notice Jason sitting in his car, watching the two of us with a blank look across his face.
"Umm, my date is here. I have to go."
"Until next time, Sabrina White."
I watch as he slips my business card in his back pocket.
"I doubt it," I grin, although I'm somewhat flattered that he's choosing to hold onto my information, even though he and I both know that there will be no next time. I mean he looks like he eats women for breakfast (literally) then sends them on their merry way with a pat on the ass and maybe a couple of bucks for an Uber car.
But I'm not going to lie. I purposefully walk towards the exit of the restaurant with a little sway in my step, just like the hostess did earlier, because I know that he's watching. Something tells me that he likes to watch. What the hell, right? I never do stuff like this, and I'll never see him again.
As I smooth my skirt down the sides of my hips and thighs, and carefully place one stiletto heel in front of the other, I can't help but look in the glass doors ahead of me. Just to make sure that stranger danger is still checking me out, and when I do, I catch his reflection.
His platinum pupils dancing.
Looking straight at me.
And his mouth grinning shamelessly at the view of my behind.
So I sway my hips a little harder. Then turn around and give him a small wave good-bye. One that I make sure Jason can't see. And it's at that moment that I see and feel what I've been waiting for all night, except it's from the stranger's eyes instead of Jason's.
Pure. Unadulterated. Heat.
SAINT
Three Years Ago
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
"You need to kill some time, Mike. She's not ready."
"She's not here yet?!"
"Naw, man. I think she's still at the hotel with
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