Allie’s going on about some locust pose something-something, and she freezes mid-speech. Even Madison’s smoothie blender stops mid-spin.
And… gods. I’ve never seen Santiago up close, and I can see now why the paparazzi lose their collective shit when the man clears his throat.
He towers over everyone in the room, his shoulders brushing the doorway as he enters. And I kinda thought we had a pretty decent-sized doorway. He ducks, just as his head bonks the little jingly bell that tells us we have a new customer. I wince as he glowers at it, half expecting it to incinerate from the heat of his glare, then he shrugs with effortless grace and walks into the shop.
Into our shop.
“I knew this day would come,” Madison whispers beside me. Her whisper becomes a whine. “But why did he have to come in on a day I’m wearing a crewneck?” She’s always going on about her breasts being her best feature, and I can’t blame her. Next time, she definitely needs the V-neck. Girl’s got tits for days and ought to showcase them.
But while I would normally give her a sympathetic look or a pat on the arm, I can’t seem to even swivel my eye sockets from the specimen of absolute masculine perfection who’s moving over to me with the grace of a prowling mountain lion.
Lethal. Powerful. Predatory.
I do the quickest, most delicious, not at all discreet once-over I can as he makes his way over to me. I grip the counter for support in the most casual way possible.
His face. My God, that face, like the manly version of Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand ships. He’s all hard angles and strength, somehow softened by gorgeous eyes framed with long lashes that are way too pretty for a man like him. Combined with a perfectly straight nose and lips that look like they’d know what to do to a woman, it’s all polished off with a five o’clock shadow that makes him look dangerously dark.
Shiver.
He’s wearing this pale, robin’s egg blue dress shirt, open at the collar, no tie. Good Lord, there’s this little triangle of golden skin that peeks out, and my mouth goes dry. The sleeves are rolled up, accentuating the same golden-brown skin of his arms, all corded muscles and veiny in that “I lift weights for breakfast” kinda way some men have. Strong, powerful arms that could hold a girl down in the most delicious of ways. Effortlessly. Maybe even with one hand.
Hel-lo.
He looks like he’s just shrugged off his suit coat at the end of a long day, and now he’s—
Talking to me. “There you are.”
Oh.
Oh, my.
Why yes, Mr. Santiago, that’s probably the best pick-up line I’ve ever heard.
My fingers graze my collarbone and I flash him my most fetching grin. There are some rumors about him being an ass but blah blah whatever, a girl has needs.
“Hello there,” I begin, when he reaches the little girl, wraps his fingers around her wrist, and gives her a little tug so she hops down from the stool.
Madison snorts and whispers, “Bitch, you thought he was talking to you.”
I elbow her, but she keeps on snorting.
Antonia, however, is not amused. She is also the only girl in this entire shop immune to Santiago’s charm. She yanks her hand out of his.
“Don’t you touch me,” she says. “I’ll call the police.”
Madison looks at me in surprise, and then we both look at Santiago. His jaw firms, but he takes a step back from Antonia, then crouches down so he can look at her eyeball-to-eyeball.
“You can’t run away from me like that.” That voice. Dear God, that voice, all silky smooth and stern. So deliciously stern.
She rolls her eyes. “Puh-lease.”
I stifle a grin. The girl has attitude up the wazoo, and I love her.
“Antonia,” he says in a warning tone, all bossy. “Behave yourself.”
I clutch the counter for support. His voice is all deep and husky and doing all sorts of strange things to my body.
I’m not the only one that felt that vibe. Madison’s begun to fan herself with the smoothie maker lid.
“Oh God,” she whispers. “Aren’t we supposed to hate him?”
“What?” Antonia snaps at him. “I came here to talk to Sam.”
He narrows his eyes. “Who’s Sam?”
Why do I feel guilty?
I raise my hand. Raise my hand, like he’s my professor and he’s calling on me in class.
I wish. I would intentionally break the rules just so he’d keep me after class. And then I’d—With effort, I pull myself back to the present.
What is wrong with me? Overworked and undersexed.
“I’m Sam,” I say, and my voice is all weirdly squeaky. Madison snorts again. This time, I stomp on her traitorous foot.
That gets his attention. He gives me a sharp look I feel straight between my thighs, then he unfolds himself as he stands, facing me. I wasn’t prepared for the full power of his gaze on me. I could maybe handle it if there was an ounce of friendliness to him, but he’s glaring at me.