(What can I say? I had a big thing for cowboy romances in my early twenties. Don’t judge me.)
The mixture of hostility and suspicion hit me like a sucker punch. I stopped short after only a handful of steps, trying to decide where to look first; who to look at first. It didn’t help matters that, in addition to being rather inhospitable, they were also all absurdly attractive.
Had I walked in on some sort of modeling convention?
First, there was Mr. Man Bun by the New Age bookshelf, who had wicked facial hair and eyes so bright hazel they were nearly gold. If he wasn’t enough to give me heart palpitations, there were two identical twins — yes, I saidtwins— with lush dark hair and inky, intense eyes lounging on a green velvet sofa by the window display, whose handsome faces were contorted into such menacing expressions I nearly piddled like a nervous chihuahua confronted with a set of dobermans.
Moving on!
My eyes skimmed quickly over the broad frame of a guy standing with his back to me (who appeared to be sipping from a giant coffee mug), and did not stop until they reached the espresso bar, where two couples were clustered. The pair on the stools — a girl with dark glossy hair and a bookish, blond guy with spectacles — seemed friendly enough, smiling faintly in welcome.
The pair behind the vintage cash register — a drop-dead-gorgeous redhead, plus a freakishly hot brunet brute who looked suspiciously similar to the scary-intense twins, only his eyes were so bright green I could make out the shade at a dozen paces — wore mismatched expressions. (Hers, welcoming; his, decidedly less so.)
From Georgia’s description, I figured this must be the infamous Gwendolyn Goode.
“Um…” I swallowed hard. “Hello…”
The room full of hotties all stared at me in silence, clearly waiting for me to explain myself.
Shit.
I tried (and failed) to cover the uncertainty in my tone. “I’m looking for the owner of this shop…”
The air grew even more tense as I trailed off. Everyone glanced at the redhead. (Myself included.)
“That would be me,” she said, walking out from behind the counter to greet me, breezing by the man who’d been sipping from his mug when I first walked in. I finally got a glimpse of his face… and was instantly flooded with panic as I realized it was a face I recognized.
Chiseled jaw.
Full mouth.
Dark brows.
Aristocratic nose.
Insanely blue eyes.
Shit, shit,shit!
Of all the cafe-slash-apothecary-slash-bookstores in the world…
The man leaning casually against the counter was none other than Detective Cade Hightower. Our gazes locked for a supercharged moment. His coffee mug was frozen halfway to his mouth. He looked just as stunned to see me as I was to see him. Which was, perhaps, why he didn’t say a single word as he stared at me, those magnetic ocean eyes scanning me up and down with a mixture of surprise and… something else. Something I was way too chickenshit to identify.
As for me, I didn’t allow myself more than a second of gazing at that head of glorious Clark Kent hair, nor the muscular body that filled out that crisp white button down in a way that should be considered entrapment… but, hell, a single second was enough.
More than enough.
By the time I peeled my gaze away from him and directed it back at Gwen, she’d come to a stop a handful of feet in front of me. The green-eyed hunk, for the record, had shadowed her every step across the shop and, as I watched, not-so-subtly positioned his towering frame in front of hers. As though he was protecting her.
Fromme!
I tried not to take this personally. I was a stranger, after all. From the “touch her and die” vibes rolling off this guy, I got the immediate sense he would protect the woman at his side from any potential threat, no matter how small. That he’d lay down his life for her, even kill for her, without blinking.
I didn’t know whether to be intimidated or insanely jealous that no one had ever, not once, looked at me the way he was looking at her. Though, it must be said, he did not seem exceptionally pleased when she stuck out her hand for me to shake, grinning at me like we were long lost friends.
“Gwendolyn Goode,” she introduced herself. “And you are…?”
I hesitated a short beat — during which my eyes darted to Cade. He was still frozen, mug mid-air, watching me. I jerked my eyes back to Gwen’s as I forced my hand to lift from my side and clasp hers for a (very) brief shake. I was wearing my gloves, but… still.