Page 17 of His Stolen Queen
I had seen blue eyes in various shades and hues. I always took notice of every man I encountered who had them. They were the only discernible features I could remember from my dreams, so of course I continuously sought them out. I was desperate to find that exact shade, but I could never find what I was looking for.
Until now.
Even from ten feet away, I could tell I'd never seen a blue quite like them.
Except in my dreams.
My wide eyes devoured the rest of him, unable to believe that such a handsome and formidable presence was standing before me. He made Blond and Silent look mediocre in comparison.
His cheekbones were high and defined, his nose narrow and straight. God, even his lips looked like they were carved from stone. Full and sensuous. His hair was a deep, dark black and ruffled as if fingers had run through his full locks. Yet, instead of looking messy, it appeared perfectly tousled.
An image of him rolling me beneath him on red satin sheets suddenly filled my head. I could see myself, as clear as day, reaching up and running my fingers through his hair as he stared down at me with a gaze steeped in devotion.
The vision was so strong and familiar that my eyes inexplicably filled with tears, and I hurriedly blinked them away before any could escape. A part of me wouldn't have been surprised if he vanished from sight. Surely, he couldn't be real?
But he was still standing there—tall and rigid and making no attempt to speak or approach. His strong jaw clenched, and his fingers splayed wide before curling back into tight fists. Over and over, his hands worked while his keen gaze roamed over my face, as if memorizing each feature.
It suddenly occurred to me that we’d been staring at each other in silence for a socially unacceptable amount of time.
"I—" My voice croaked before I cleared my throat and tried again. "Sorry. I'm Alice Harper from Spaces by Alice. Are-are you Mr. Angelou?"
I could sense who he was before he confirmed his identity—as if a part of me already knew him.
He strolled closer, his movements smooth and unhurried. I tracked his steps with a knot in my chest. My heart was beatingin my throat, and I had to fight back the urge to cover the space between us with my own legs.
What was happening to me?
Even that elusive spot on my neck was starting to throb, and I instinctively rubbed it with my forefinger and middle finger.
He stopped abruptly, his gaze narrowing on the action, and I swore I heard a deep growl. My short fingernails dug into my palm, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him.
"I am Acheron Angelou." His voice cut straight through me. It was deep and had a slight English accent mixed in with another I couldn't quite discern. It was similar to how Von and Mr. Blond and Silent spoke.
I offered my hand, realizing too late that I should've wiped the dampness from it first. I wasn't making the best impression. I was tongue-tied and nervous.
Mr. Angelou glanced at my offered hand for a few long seconds, his nostrils flaring. His eyes met mine, and I couldn't look away. He slowly engulfed my small, trembling hand with his much larger one.
I bit my lip to prevent another gasp from slipping out. That peculiar feeling of déjà vu flickered again inside me. It was the oddest sensation. It was almost as if we had done this exact action before: touching hands. The feeling was so overwhelming that I jerked back awkwardly from his touch. I cradled my hand, rubbing the back of it as the phantom feeling of his warmth still lingered.
He wasn't alarmed by my reaction. His jaw pulsed tightly again, and his chest rose and fell in rapid beats.
"Are you an actor?" I suddenly asked. "Or-or some sort of celebrity?" It was the only explanation for my bizarre reactions. I must've seen him somewhere—in some gossip magazine perhaps, or on a TV show.
His eyebrow flicked up quizzically. "Why do you ask?"
"I just—I feel like I've seen you before." His intense stare heated my face. "You look familiar, but I can't place you."
I'd never been this forward with a client before. I'd dealt with my share of minor celebrity clientele: an NFL player and a couple of soap stars. The NFL player had been gorgeous, but I never felt tongue-tied around him. I never mentioned his celebrity status or inquired about his career. I never cared before. But with Acheron Angelou, something niggled in the back of my mind, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
"Hmm…maybe we know each other in another life."
It was odd that he would word it that way—knowinstead of knew.
We continued to stare at each other, the air sizzling with a prolonged tension that I refused to put a name on.
Finally, he broke the silence. "I apologize that we are only now meeting. Believe me, I did not intend or want to be away from you for so long."
My brow furrowed again at his odd turn of phrase. He must mean being away from this project for so long. "That's okay. No need to apologize." I fixed him with an overly bright smile, finally getting my act together. I needed to shake off whatever this haze was and salvage my professionalism.
