Page 176 of They Are Mine

Not my usual type. But when he slowed his stride, tossed out that lazy smirk, and stepped between me and Grimm’s bullshit?

God. Damn.

That instant realization that I was precious, that he wanted to step in, shield me.

A real fucking man.

My stomach tightens. My thighs press together.

And then…

“Looking for someone, Juliet Lovelace?” That voice.

Low. Teasing.

I whirl.

He’s perched against the wall.

Smirking.

So fucking menacing.

“Callum,” I say, like I’m testing it. Tasting it.

It sounds so good.

He cocks his head, studying me like a puzzle he plans to take apart with his teeth.

God, he’s tall. Solid. Rough.

A scar cuts through the edge of his brow, like he’s seen more fights than I’ve had men.

And those tattoos?

Now that I can see them up close, they aren’t just gang-affiliated.

No, they’re a full fucking language.

Some I recognize. Some I don’t.

Symbols inked into skin to tell a story.

The kind of marks men earn.

The kind that brand them as something more than human.

Something predatory.

But his eyes?

Oh, fuck me.

They’re green.

And his hair?

Blond. Messy. Perfect.

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