All I can do is stare in horrified fascination as Mr. Mine rises gracefully to his feet...in order to pick my phone from the floor. He arches a brow when he sees what's on the screen, and when he glances at me, all I can do is smile weakly. "Oops?"
His lips twitch ever so slightly, and I just want to swoon all over again.
How does he do it, seriously?
Why you so, so unbelievably hot, Mr. Mine?
Does this all come naturally to you?
Or is there a secret charm school for men that you took classes in?
Mr. Mine glances at my table, and I'm momentarily distracted by the color of his eyes. Tiger-gold, I can't help thinking, and the color is exquisitely apt. If he was a beast, he would definitely be all big, sleek, and dangerously fast like a tiger.
"May I?"
My heart pounds when I realize what he's asking for. I allow myself a little nod...and a moment later, it's all I can do not to gasp.
That he'd take the seat across mine was a given, or so I mistakenly thought.
But instead he takes the chair adjacent to mine, and my body burns even hotter when our knees bump ever so briefly under the table. It's just the most fleeting of contact, but I feel like it deserves some kind of record for being able to make a woman all hot and bothered in the shortest amount of time.
My gaze drifts to Mr. Mine as I wait for him to apologize and say it's just an accident, but this turns out to be another erroneous expectation, since all he does is gaze at me with lazy, tiger-gold eyes.
"You look nervous."
His voice is just as manly as I remember. It's all deep and strong, with just a hint of roughness that teases you into thinking what kind of beast he'd be in bed.
"Why?"
Sweet, sweeeet baby Jesus.
Something starts spreading sinuously through my veins, and it takes a moment for me to realize it's actually lust that has invaded my blood.
I've read about this, you know.
Like, countless times.
Big bad alphas always purr.
Always.
They usually do it when they've found the woman they want to fuck, and the fact that Mr. Mine is now purring like all of those sexy, fake-mean heroes in my favorites books—-
Get a grip on yourself...self!
"Is it because of this?"
Color steals over my cheeks as Mr. Mine places my phone on the table.
Busted, 2.0.
So I forgot about my little misdemeanor, and now I'm not quite sure how to atone for it. Should I apologize for secretly taking a photo of him? Or should I tell him I was just being selfless, and that I sincerely believed his photo can be an FDA-approved treatment for PMS?
It's hard to figure out what I'm supposed to say, with how I'm suddenly distracted by the way his black cotton shirt has stretched as Mr. Mine leans back against his chair.
Oh yeah, baby!
I still can't tell if he has chest hair or not, but at least the shirt does a great job at accentuating the amazing breadth of his shoulders and the incredible expanse of his chest. I'm not saying he's huge huge like The Rock, but it's more like he's ooh-la-la huge like Henry Cavill, and—-