One Hell of a Guy: The Cambion Trilogy, Book 1 by Tammi Labrecque Page B
Authors: Tammi Labrecque
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though, doesn’t really begin to describe what he’s doing. His advance isn’t quite a strut, and it isn’t quite a swagger — it’s somehow both of these and neither of these and something in between. Perfectly, sexily in between.
There’s that word again: sexy. It’s so incongruous, but good Lord, the voice isn’t enough? ( And the eyes , I can’t help thinking. And the jaw .) Does he have to exude overwhelming masculinity and raw pheromones with every step as well? It’s insane. I can’t look away.
I’m not too caught up in watching his progress to note, however, that every other woman in the diner — even Dot — has stopped what she’s doing to watch him make his way across the floor.
Finally, validation! I’m not imagining things.
While this is a relief, it doesn’t speak well for the taste of the women in the diner — myself included, of course. I mean, really. Mother-of-pearl snaps?
He stops when he reaches our table and favors each of us with a smile. I stare at him, bemused. That smile is as much a killer as the voice and the eyes, exposing perfect straight white teeth even as it crinkles up the corners of his eyes in an alarmingly endearing way. And shows off his dimples.
Great. Dimples, too.
Our usual table against the wall normally seats two, but he snags a chair from the next table over, turns it around and — of course! — straddles it, crossing his arms over the back and resting his chin on them. He doesn’t seem to notice that his knee is now resting against mine, though I can’t seem to notice anything else. Actually, that isn’t true. I’m also spending a lot of time noticing the way his tight jeans stretch over his thighs. “Good morning,” he says. “Have you ladies ordered yet?”
Did I actually think I remembered what that voice was like? If so, I was wrong; memory can only capture a pale shadow of that voice. It coats the words like warm maple syrup, rendering me speechless from the joy of listening to it. It’s outright stupid that anyone can sound like that, let alone this guy.
I appraise the snaps again. They’re still there.
I look down at my menu and try to think of something to say. I come up blank.
“We haven’t had a chance yet,” Kari says. “I just got here myself.”
“Are you feeling better this morning?” he asks, and when Kari doesn’t answer I realize he must be talking to me.
“I feel fine, thank you,” I say, trying to sound perky. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You seemed awfully down last night.”
“No, no, I was fine, I just had a lot to drink.”
He looks like he might argue with me, but Kari pipes up. “Dot’s going to kill you for sitting on that chair like that,” she says.
I don’t think Dot is going to do any such thing, and Mitch doesn’t look terribly concerned either. Probably doesn’t find himself on the receiving end of too many stern lectures from the fairer sex, and Dot is still one of us, after all.
“I’m sure she’ll forgive me,” he says, leaning precariously backward to try and steal a menu from the next table over. “I’ll order a ton of food.”
“Here, take mine,” Kari says, and passes her menu to him. It’s a good thing his back is now turned to the rest of the place, because the smile he flashes her would give Dot — and every other woman there — a heart attack. I want to kick myself. My immediate reaction is to wonder why I didn’t give him my menu; then he would have smiled at me.
My next reaction is to remind myself that I’m really not attracted to him.
“What do you recommend?” he asks, and there’s a long pause before I realize that since Kari isn’t answering, he must be talking to me again. I look up and catch the full brunt of those eyes.
“I’m not hungry,” I blurt.
“I am,” he says, his voice lower, almost a rumble, and his eyes hold mine. He’s doing it again! I swallow hard and his lips twitch. Is he holding back a smile? Is that supposed to be a double
There’s that word again: sexy. It’s so incongruous, but good Lord, the voice isn’t enough? ( And the eyes , I can’t help thinking. And the jaw .) Does he have to exude overwhelming masculinity and raw pheromones with every step as well? It’s insane. I can’t look away.
I’m not too caught up in watching his progress to note, however, that every other woman in the diner — even Dot — has stopped what she’s doing to watch him make his way across the floor.
Finally, validation! I’m not imagining things.
While this is a relief, it doesn’t speak well for the taste of the women in the diner — myself included, of course. I mean, really. Mother-of-pearl snaps?
He stops when he reaches our table and favors each of us with a smile. I stare at him, bemused. That smile is as much a killer as the voice and the eyes, exposing perfect straight white teeth even as it crinkles up the corners of his eyes in an alarmingly endearing way. And shows off his dimples.
Great. Dimples, too.
Our usual table against the wall normally seats two, but he snags a chair from the next table over, turns it around and — of course! — straddles it, crossing his arms over the back and resting his chin on them. He doesn’t seem to notice that his knee is now resting against mine, though I can’t seem to notice anything else. Actually, that isn’t true. I’m also spending a lot of time noticing the way his tight jeans stretch over his thighs. “Good morning,” he says. “Have you ladies ordered yet?”
Did I actually think I remembered what that voice was like? If so, I was wrong; memory can only capture a pale shadow of that voice. It coats the words like warm maple syrup, rendering me speechless from the joy of listening to it. It’s outright stupid that anyone can sound like that, let alone this guy.
I appraise the snaps again. They’re still there.
I look down at my menu and try to think of something to say. I come up blank.
“We haven’t had a chance yet,” Kari says. “I just got here myself.”
“Are you feeling better this morning?” he asks, and when Kari doesn’t answer I realize he must be talking to me.
“I feel fine, thank you,” I say, trying to sound perky. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You seemed awfully down last night.”
“No, no, I was fine, I just had a lot to drink.”
He looks like he might argue with me, but Kari pipes up. “Dot’s going to kill you for sitting on that chair like that,” she says.
I don’t think Dot is going to do any such thing, and Mitch doesn’t look terribly concerned either. Probably doesn’t find himself on the receiving end of too many stern lectures from the fairer sex, and Dot is still one of us, after all.
“I’m sure she’ll forgive me,” he says, leaning precariously backward to try and steal a menu from the next table over. “I’ll order a ton of food.”
“Here, take mine,” Kari says, and passes her menu to him. It’s a good thing his back is now turned to the rest of the place, because the smile he flashes her would give Dot — and every other woman there — a heart attack. I want to kick myself. My immediate reaction is to wonder why I didn’t give him my menu; then he would have smiled at me.
My next reaction is to remind myself that I’m really not attracted to him.
“What do you recommend?” he asks, and there’s a long pause before I realize that since Kari isn’t answering, he must be talking to me again. I look up and catch the full brunt of those eyes.
“I’m not hungry,” I blurt.
“I am,” he says, his voice lower, almost a rumble, and his eyes hold mine. He’s doing it again! I swallow hard and his lips twitch. Is he holding back a smile? Is that supposed to be a double
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