9
Sienna
A prickle of awareness ripples across my skin. Crossing the floor, Jace takes a barstool at the far end. His jacket clings to his shoulders, shows off his slim waist. He looks sleek, streamlined.
The bartender hands him a drink.
When Jace reaches for it, the makings of his tattoo peeks over the mandarin collar of his shirt. His back is erect, straight as if he's gathering strength to face whatever is in store.
He turns and meets my look head on. I flush, but don't turn away. I will not turn away.
I hold his gaze. Search for those familiar silver-green sparks in his eyes. Search for a clue that the man I saw outside, the one overcome with emotion, is the same cold, calculating man I'd met in Silicon Valley.
What I see instead is a man who is shattered. Jace is hurting. The s
