11
“What are you doing?” Harold said. He was standing right in front of her, and she took in his face, the scars that she really had to look to see. There was something about the way he stood, the way he gave everything to her; she found herself comparing him and Toby, two very different men with two very different personalities.
He had tucked his shades into his shirtfront now. His hazel eyes were so distinct, and his arms and chest were so damn impressive. She had to fight the urge not to stare as he took another step toward her. One more and she’d be able to reach out and touch him. For a second, she considered looking away.
“What?” she said. Even to her own ears, she sounded defensive.
He just shook his head and winced, and she wasn’t sure what to make of his expression. “So we’re
