Claim (A Dangerous Man, #3) by Serena Grey Page B

a shooter opened fire in a crowded mall. He’s never forgiven himself for not being there to protect them.
    Guilt can do worse things to a man than make him reserved, so I don’t begrudge Steve his silence.
    I’m about to go back to reading the documents I have on my lap when my eyes go to the window again, and I see the girl.
    Her hair is pale gold, wavy, and held back in a loose ponytail, with a few escaped tendrils framing her face in delicate wisps. Her figure is slight, yet curvy, and her eyes, as she gazes at the car passing by, are a deep, innocent green. She looks lost. Beautiful and lost.
    Something happens to me as I look at her. I forget about takeovers, shares, and software. In the space between dreaming and longing, all I can do is stare. I watch her turn around and walk through a doorway into what looks like a shop. I don’t stop looking even as Steve picks up speed and I have to crane my neck.
    “Stop.” I say the words without thinking.
    Immediately the car stops. If Steve is surprised, he doesn’t show it.
    “Back.” I say, still looking towards the girl. I can still see her through the clear glass front of the shop she entered. I wait impatiently as Steve puts the car on reverse and backs up until I tell him to stop. He parks by the spot where a few seconds before, the girl had been standing.
    I only pause for a moment before I follow my instincts and step out of the car.
    Through the glass, my eyes meet hers again. She’s looking at me, standing as still as a statue. Briefly, I wonder what I’m doing, going to her.
    I consider getting back in the car.
    But I don’t. Instead, I push open the door and walk into the shop, straight towards where she stands staring at me.
    Her eyes are bright, her cheeks red, and her soft pink lips gently parted.
    I have an insane urge to take her in my arms and kiss those lips until I’ve tasted every inch of them. It makes no sense.
    “Good afternoon.” I say quickly, trying to keep a hold of myself. I don’t want to do something crazy and scare her.
    She is gazing at me, a confused frown on her face, almost as if she has no idea what to say in response. “Good afternoon.” When she finally responds, her voice is soft and light, like a gentle breeze on a moonlit night.
    The fact that I’m having poetic impulses makes me want to laugh at myself. Any minute now and I’ll be writing her sonnets.
    “Would you like to buy something?” She asks in that soft voice. There is a very distinct flush staining her cheeks. Is she blushing? I stare at her, fascinated.
    I realize that she’s waiting for a response. “Of course.” I look around, taking in the collection of pretty things in ceramic and glass. “I’d like ah... a gift for my mother.” I turn back to her and watch, captivated, as her eyes widen slightly, their green depths darkening.
    She has beautiful eyes.
    I’m still staring when she suddenly starts to move towards me. My heart nearly stops when she passes right in front of me, our bodies almost brushing against each other as she moves farther into the shop. I take a deep breath, filling my nose with her scent. She smells like shampoo and strawberries, sweet and nice, and yet somehow, extremely sensual.
    I follow her through the shop, only half listening as she talks about the items they have for sale. I’m too busy watching her slender waist and the smooth curve of her hips. She stops suddenly and turns around, and I have to look back up at her face.
    I don’t know what she sees in my expression, but she steps back abruptly, away from me. She looks tense all of a sudden, and I almost feel guilty for checking her out. “We have um... These glass sculptures are all made locally.” Her words come out in a rush, and I can tell that she’s nervous. Well I’m nervous too, nervous, fascinated, enthralled and so many other things I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s somewhat gratifying that she’s as affected by my presence as I am by hers.
    She