Chapter Thirteen
He gave nothing away as he stood before her in the middle of her kitchen, just ten feet from her front door. He didn’t shove his hands in his faded blue jeans pockets or fidget as some guys did when put under the spotlight. Instead he crossed his arms, his sleeves rolled up, his flexed forearms pulling at the seams of his off-white dress shirt. But she was far from a weak woman who’d cave to a man, no matter how hot he was.
“Where is this coming from?” he asked.
She hated that s**t. “You’re asking a question from a question, seriously? Just answer me straight out, and be honest: What is this? Because have you looked at yourself in the mirror and then looked at me?” She swallowed the building ache in her throat, knowing she wasn’t a beauty queen and dimmed in comparison
