Giselle always had her sister’s back. Ever since they were little. So why was she suddenly thinking, wavering, searching for another option?
Why? Because of the handsome man standing in front of her, inches away, his presence swallowing all the air in the corridor. His eyes—those infuriating, perfect eyes—were buried into her very soul, stripping her bare without ever touching her. And his last words crawled across her spine like an insect she couldn’t swat away.
I’m standing in front of you?
Who says that?
More importantly, why did it affect her so much?
The words were harmless. Innocent, even. But her mind twisted them into something else entirely, something hot and reckless and utterly inappropriate. She imagined his hands on her waist, his grip firm and unyielding, imagined him
