Zayne’s deep brown eyes- like his mother’s, pierced mine, a small charming but cunning smile on his face. He didn’t look surprised. Did he know?
I was a reeling mess, head calculating, eyes blinking. This must be some sort of game or dream, I thought. But as Zayne stepped forward to approach me, reality couldn’t be any further.
His gaze didn’t break from mine as he took my right hand and brought the back of it to his lips, pressing a kiss there longer than necessary. A cold chill swept through my body. The kind of attraction I had towards Zayne was confusing.
I knew I couldn’t hate him from the very first time we met at Chris’ birthday party. It was impossible to hate Zayne Greyson. You could only wish you did.
“Hi, pretty.” Now I realized why his mother’s British accent sounded famil
