Star Crossed Read Free

door swung shut behind the newcomers. As it did, a man stepped into the bar ahead of the three women. Despite being hard to shock, A.J.’s breath caught halfway to her lungs.
    He was the most breathtaking specimen of maleness she’d ever laid eyes on.
    Being tall herself, A.J. liked tall guys. This fellow was six and change—maybe as much as a nickel. Even without him in it, his suit was yummy. Bespoke was what tailors called clothes like that. No tie obscured his strong brown throat, and his collar was unbuttoned. A serious chest shaped the smooth white cotton, though not an inch of the cloth was strained. His shoulders were football broad, his trim waist circled by a dark belt.
    A.J. had a feeling his trousers cut across his designer shoes at some mathematically ordained spot.
    Despite the perfection of his apparel, as he looked around the bar he seemed at ease rather than prissy. He could have been gay, but her gut said not. He had genuine scruff on his cheeks, the bristle the only not-polished thing about him. Like an ad for a luxury an average Jane like her shouldn’t covet, he removed his sunglasses.
    A.J. suspected they cost more than her severance pay.
    His eyes were some light color, creased at the corners and observant. His mouth, which was slightly pursed, made her wish she were sitting down.
    It was the sort of mouth any woman would dream of exploring.
    “Shit,” the bartender said in an undertone. “This is not going to end well.”
    For one stupid second, A.J. thought Gina was talking about her attraction to the guy.
    She wasn’t. When A.J. glanced at her, she jerked her head toward the group of bikers around the pool table. They’d stopped playing to watch the newcomers.
    “Hel- lo , ladies,” murmured the bearded one with the big belly.
    Okay, A.J. should have noticed Handsome Man’s companions before then. She checked now and found three stunning, made-up, blown-out fashionistas in outfits too skimpy and eccentric for the joint they’d walked into.
    None wore shoes she could have run two steps in.
    A.J. didn’t know if it were wise or stupid that the group ignored the bearded guy’s greeting.
    “We’ll have a quick one,” their male escort said.
    “A quick one!” the Brit complained. “Luke, we’re celebrating.”
    Luke chucked her gorgeous caramel colored chin, her jawline sharp enough that he should have cut himself. “This is my round. Don’t forget I’m poorer than you three.”
    “Not for long,” sing-songed a willowy redhead who was almost as tall as him. “ITM frickin’ signed you today. You’ll be whipping out your black Amex before you can say Sean O’Pry.”
    “That’s not all his fans will want him to whip out,” joked the final girl. Yet another six-footer, the curly haired brunette had a face as cute as a Kewpie doll.
    Shit , A.J. thought, belatedly adding up the pieces. They were fashion models. Their clothes were eccentric because they were couture.
    The man they called Luke smiled indulgently. He seemed less impressed over his good fortune than the women.
    “Come on,” he said, herding his flock of beauties to the bar.
    He nodded at A.J. as he reached it—but as if he’d been raised polite rather than like he’d noticed her. A.J. nodded back dazedly. He’d already turned away. He looked even better at close range. Younger, too. About her age, she guessed. His hair was light brown with gold highlights. The streaks weren’t natural, she didn’t think, but they complemented his clear green eyes. Her nostrils flared as she caught a whiff of clean man and nice cologne. He smelled totally delicious.
    Maybe he felt her staring. He glanced at her again and furrowed his eyebrows. His gaze was like a laser, reaching all the way into her. A.J. had trouble breathing. That amount of focus couldn’t help but make a person feel singled out.
    Special , she thought irrationally.
    She shook herself at the foolish thought, forcing her attention away from him. She