Page 19 of Ardently Yours

I knew what he looked like. But when I met him the first time, I wasn’t looking at him the way a woman looks at a man.

It’s the difference between seeing a photo of a ripe peach . . . and holding one, still warm from the sun, in your hand, then taking a big, juicy bite.

I could take a bite out of him.

I did not just think that.

Oh, but I could. Not hard. Just a taste. Right on his full lower lip. Maybe his bicep—Good Lord, what is wrong with me?

But he’s . . . he’s . . . My brain stutters.Outrageously attractive.

Arden’s twilight-blue eyes sparkle with warmth and crinkle at the corners. His smile could grace a toothpaste commercial—his teeth perfectly straight and perfectly white.

My bottom four front teeth crowd together because we couldn’t afford braces.

His jawline looks chiseled by the gods. He’s tall and lean, but muscular. Arden probably has a six-pack. I have tiny silvery stretch marks.

His light brown hair is perfectly windswept.He has a tan in November.

Right. Because he just got back from a vacation on the Amalfi freaking Coast a week ago.

His suit looks like it’s in love with him, and a black cashmere scarf hangs loose and unknotted around his neck.

Given our first meeting and his last email, I was worried he’d be stern and frightening. At no point did I consider that I’d takeone look at him and want to climb my kind, supportive online friend like a tree. I haven’t beenlustingover him.

I can’t be doing this right now. I have to focus. There are things more important than attraction, like keeping RealFreedom from coming in here with a backhoe.

I smile back, careful to keep my mouth closed so my crooked bottom teeth don’t show. He’s already seen my smile in photos, but it’s not the same in person.Obviously.

Zipping up my iridescent, white puffer jacket that I got on clearance for eight dollars last spring, I lean my weight on one hip and try to look casual and unfazed. Neither of which is remotely close to how I feel. “So . . about that prison record . . .”

His lips twitch.

Sweat dots my forehead as heat shoots up my neck, through my face and out the top of my head. This situation is serious, and I just made it sound like he drove all this way for a joke.

Arden’s brow furrows, his expression transitioning to concern. Stepping closer, he puts the back of his hand on my sweaty forehead, then my cheeks. “Are you ill, Charlotte? You look feverish.”

His scent is amazing. I couldn’t smell anything until he was close enough to touch me, but now, I’m lost in it. It doesn’t scream anything. It coaxes. “Comecloser. Closer.”

I haven’t had a libido to speak of in two years. And then it was only ever with my fiancé.What am I even doing right now?

I jerk away, waking from my touch and scent–induced, lust-filled daze. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I mutter, beyond mortified. “I’m notsick. I’m just a little”—inappropriately turned on—“nervous.”

He immediately steps back. “I apologize. That was out of line. My manners are usually better than this.”

“You have him flustered, Ms. Miller,” Reese says.

Startled, I turn to the man with the earpiece.

The driver tips his head. Clear as day, his expression saysI figured you forgot I was here. Sure would hate for you to do anything you’d regret.

Too late.

Why is he hovering around us, looking like some kind of federal agent? He’s smiling, but he’s watching me like I’m a time bomb that could go off in Arden’s face at any second. Like heseesme.

Reese shoots Arden a brief, annoyed glance, then winks at me. “He’s usually better about giving new peoplesome space.”

I shake my head. That’s not true. The first time Arden met me, he tried to put hiscoaton me. “I’m not really a new person. We’ve been friends for a while.” I look back at Arden. “I’m not offended or afraid because you touched me. Truly.”

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