“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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