Page 1 of How You See Me
Prologue
How did my friend’s sister end up in my arms?
A few minutes ago, I was surrounded by six single women, minding my own business in a popular restaurant in Richmond, Virginia.
Blissfully ignorant of what was happening behind me, I didn’t know Josie had arrived and taken the seat I’d vacated at her brother’s table.
I wasn’t looking for her. I’ve trained myself not to.
But I should’ve seen her coming. Should’ve felt the shift in the air, the prickle at the back of my neck. Then again, even if I had, nothing could have prepared me for that tap on my shoulder.
Since the day she took Jordan home from the hospital after his accident, our conversations have been strictly clinical, sticking to only updates about his recovery.Nothing more, as if the electricity bouncing between us doesn’t exist.
Then she threw five words at me tonight that detonated the illusion. “Would you like to dance, Sergeant?”
There were two possible answers.
I chose the wrong one.
I fucking said yes.
And now, Jordan, my brother-in-arms and closest friend, watches us from the shadows, jaw tight, eyes like live grenades. He knows me. Knows I would never betray him.
But the way my hand splays across his sister’s back? Yeah. That says otherwise.
She fits against me like the hours I held her at the hospital carved her shape into my muscle memory. I tell myself this is the last time I’ll touch her. I can let myself enjoy it for this one song. It’s harmless. We’re in public. Not crossing any lines.
But this is Josie. The woman Jordan talked about so much, I feel like I know her.
Her hair, golden curls cascading down her back like sunlight, brushes over my arm. She smells of strawberries and sugar, hope and goodness, and the combination hits like a heavyweight punch to the chest.
She’s a bright light, and I’ve lived in the dark so long I barely blink anymore. Yet, something about her sweetness calls me from the depths. Tempts me. Weakens my defenses.
And that’s another reason why I need to stay away. In my world, gentleness gets you killed.
Her hands glide up my arms to settle on my shoulders, lifting her shirt from our height difference. My thumbs move without permission and brush over the exposed skin above her jeans. And just like that, a familiar ache kicks in. The one I buried after the first time I touched her.
She tilts her head back, eyes holding mine until they drop to my mouth. Her lips part slightly, caught between a breath and a decision. I waver in the same limbo.
I’m a man, after all, holding the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I want to kiss her. Hard. Deep. The kind of kiss that makes her forget every other guy who’s had the pleasure of holding her. But that’s instinct. Wanting her is easy with her body heating mine through my thin T-shirt.
“Hayes.”
My name sounds like a plea, and my service reflex has me bending down to hear why. Her breath skims my ear, shooting sparks down my spine. They settle a bit lower—somewhere I wish I could ignore.
“Can you walk me to the ladies’ room?”
I straighten. Not sure what code that’s supposed to be. But the tender way she looks at me—uncertain and almost afraid—stumps my refusal impulse.
I’m afraid she could make me do just about anything with those eyes.
I nod, and she takes my hand, leading us off the dance floor and through the crowded tables like this is normal for us. There’s nothing normal about the way my hand burns in hers or how badly I want to hold her again.
Outside the restroom, she leans on the door. “Thank you. I’ll be right out. Don’t leave. Please.”
She waits for my promise, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. I can’t think when she does that.
I nod, the motion seeming to satisfy her enough to duck inside.
