Chapter Four
Viviane looked at the guy, really looked at him, for the first time.
He was handsome. Really handsome. He was almost perfect-looking with the strong chin of an African prince, a long patrician nose that pointed to the aristocracy of Europe, and the plump lips of a delighted cherub.
To top that off, he was clean cut, like a city wolf. His beard and mane was shaved to within an inch of its life. His brown skin glistened in the dusky moonlight. But the suave, gentlemanly look of the top half of him was out of sorts with his bottom half.
Her eyes tilted down to the well-worn hiking boots with old muck caked on the tips. The same substance that befell his feet were a faded stain on the kneecaps of his cargo pants. Her nose told her that the linen shirt he wore was laundry fresh
