CELESTE
I wasn’t prepared for Knox to barge into my room. Nor was I prepared to hear his voice. Of all the people I expected to see standing there, he was the last one I wanted. And damn it all, why did he have to look like that?
Six feet five of raw intimidation and infuriating perfection. His shirt clung to a chest sculpted like it had been carved from stubbornness. His skin was that sun-burnished tan that made you think of heat and trouble. His dark hair was tousled, and those brooding charcoal-gray eyes looked at me like they were dissecting my soul, piece by piece, deciding if it was worth keeping. He was beautiful in the most inconvenient way possible. And I hated that.
Part of me wanted to run into him and pull him close, and the other part wanted to shove him out of my room and
