Julia
“The food is here," Van called as he walked toward the door to the suite. His long legs were clad in blue jeans and his button-up shirt was untucked with the sleeves rolled up to nearly his elbows.
Leaning back against the dining room chair, my soft sweater fell from one shoulder, revealing the camisole I wore beneath. It was then that I realized Van had my full attention, enthralling me with the powerful yet graceful way he moved. Donovan Sherman was the personification of a man in control—a wolf, a predator. Effortlessly, he commanded a room, whether it was with hundreds of guests as at my parents' party, or here, with only the two of us.
And at the same time there was a calmness about him.
Do others see the calm or only the wolf?
My gaze went to the computer monitors befor
