“I heard you were hot.”
At the sound of the deep, masculine voice, Annabelle came up from the floor behind her desk so fast she smacked her head on the corner. “Ouch.” She sat back on her heels and rubbed the back of her head as she glared at the man standing in front of her.
Mike Sloan. She groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to dive back under her desk and stay there. Might have known. It seemed that she was doomed to be at her worst whenever he was around. He leaned against the side of her doorway, all six feet three inches of rugged male perfection.
At least in her mind he was perfect. His face wasn’t classically handsome, but strong. The bump on his nose suggested that it had been broken, maybe more than once, and his soulful brown eyes were deep-set. His hair was a rich brown and just a bit too long for fashion. He usually kept it tied back with a leather thong. And his lips. Yum. Not too thin and not too thick. Just right for kissing.
Oh, Lord, she was just sitting here on the floor, staring at the man. What was it about him that made her lose all common sense?
He’d asked her a question. Hadn’t he? “What was it you said?” She strove for her best librarian’s voice. The one that said “I’m in charge of the situation.” It worked well for six-year-olds. But from the way Mike was grinning, it obviously wasn’t working with him. She sighed, totally disgusted with herself.
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