sweat covers his broad chest . . . a slight smattering of hair, a throat, and an Adam’s apple—scruff, there is scruff.
I have to stop. If I look any higher, I’ll get a kink in my neck.
Placing my hands on the ground, the rough feel of the sidewalk digging into my palms, I push back onto my knees. The sun is shining behind this person’s head making it hard to see his face. He looks like he has a halo of sunrays that stretch out and around behind him. I blink, wondering if I just died in my fall and this is heaven, because this man sure looks like he was sent here to save me.
He kneels down in front of me, pulling his own ear buds out of each ear. “Are you okay?”
Getting a better look at the celestial creature, I notice something familiar about his dark eyes and pink, full lips.
“I think so. Not sure what happened.” Unconsciously, my lips begin to curl at the ends. This guy is a total stud, and I’m having a hard time taking my eyes off him, forgetting for a moment I’m boycotting the male race.
He helps me to my feet, his large strong hands tucking under my elbows as he lifts me. His fingers stay on my arms a beat longer than necessary, a playful grin gracing his full lips. “You tripped on that tree root. Happens all the time.”
Stop with the sexy grin!
I turn to look at the very large tree root protruding from the ground causing the sidewalk to look lopsided. “Really?”
He laughs. “I have no idea, but I thought it would make you feel better.”
I scowl, because A—he’s a man and has a penis, which I’m disgusted with right now, and B—he’s trying to be nice, and I’m not in the mood for nice.
His eyes widen at my expression, and he takes a step back.
Now on level footing, I get a good look at his face, and my stomach tingles. Butterflies flap their damn wings all over the place. His strong jaw and dark brown eyes make him almost fictional, someone you hear about, see on television but doesn’t really exist. Those full lips tilted in a lopsided grin make him adorably boyish, and his dark brown hair, short but slightly messy on top, combined with his olive skin, makes him temptingly sexy.
His chest is glistening with sweat, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders and an iPod Velcro-ed to his arm. A slight breeze picks up, and the scent of a man surrounds me. Not a gross sweaty man, but a masculine scent that settles deep in my gut and sends a warm feeling swimming through my veins.
He lifts his hand to my cheek. “You scratched your face.”
I step away from his touch and reach a hand to where he just pointed. “I did?” I ask, my fingers brushing against his for a split second. Now that he’s mentioned it, my skin begins to sting a little.
His lips fall, taking on a serious expression, as I make every attempt to back away from him. Sighing, I decide I should be a little nicer. It’s not his fault I’m attracted to giant assholes. I begin to introduce myself, but he beats me to it.
Holding out his hand, he doesn’t hide the fact that his eyes are roaming over my body. I’m short, only five foot two, but I’m built well and have always kept myself in shape. Needing to get outside as quickly as possible, I’d thrown my dark chocolate brown hair into a messy bun, and didn’t take the time to remove last night’s makeup from my green eyes.
I must look like shit.
I’d barely slept at all, rolling around the pristine and silky white sheets of the Four Seasons Hotel with a married man.
Ugh, block the memory.
Caught up in his gaze, I barely hear the name that rolls out of his mouth. “I’m Damian Walker.”
“Addison Peacock.” I shake his hand. It’s huge, twice the size of Matt’s in length and width and holds onto mine for a second longer than necessary. Crap, am I going to compare every man I meet to Matt for the rest of my life? I feel the edges of rough calluses on the bottom of his palm, and they tickle my skin as my hand slides out of his. Looking at the bulging, defined muscles of his bicep I can only assume those calluses came from hours spent at the