“Here, these are the photos I took.” I point the screen toward him and start to page through them, showing him all of the images. “Would you like to see the others I took as well?”
“Yes.” He whispers.
I continue to show him the images of the water, the sky, the boats, the mountains. I can’t help but smell his clean scent as he intently looks at the photos, scrutinizing each one while pulling his lower lip through his thumb and forefinger. His brow is furrowed.
Sweet Jesus, he smells good.
I’ve taken over two hundred photos this morning, so it takes a few minutes to page through each one. When I’m finished, he looks up into my eyes and I see his embarrassment and I’m not sure, but he looks almost sad.
My heart gives a flip as he smiles, a true full-blown, no holds barred smile, wiping away the sadness, and shakes his head slowly. He could melt glaciers with that smile. End wars. Resolve the national debt crisis.
“I’m sorry.”
“So you should be.” I turn the camera off and start to walk away from him.
“Hey, I’m really sorry.”
“You must be awfully full of yourself if you think that everyone with a camera is taking your picture.” I continue walking and of course he’s caught up with me, matching my stride.
Why is he still here?
He clears his throat. “Can I ask your name?”
“No.” I respond.
“Um, why?” He sounds confused.
Hell, I’m confused.
“I don’t give my name out to my muggers.”
“Muggers?” He stops mid-stride and pulls me to a stop beside him, his hand on my elbow. I look down at his hand and, raising my eyes back to his, pin him with a glare.
“Let go of me.” He does immediately.
“I’m not a mugger.”
“You tried to steal my camera. What do you call it?” I start walking again, realizing I’m heading in the opposite direction of my house. Shit.
“Look, I’m not a mugger. Stop for a minute, will you?” He stops again, rubs his face with his hands and looks at me.
I face him, put my hands on my jean-clad hips, my camera hanging harmlessly around my neck and glare at him.
“I don’t know who you are,” I say in my best no-nonsense voice.
“Clearly,” he responds and a smile tickles his lips and I can’t help but feel my stomach clench, hoping he gives me that big grin again. My not knowing him seems to make him happy, but it’s pissing me off. Should I know him?
“Why are you smiling?” I find myself smiling back at him.
He looks me up and down, taking in my dark hair, currently tied up in a haphazard bun, casual red t-shirt that hugs my breasts, jeans, curvy hips and thighs, and returns his deep blue gaze to mine. His smile widens and I lose my breath.
Wow.
“I’m Luke.” He holds his hand out for me to shake and I look at it, still not fully trusting him, then back up to him. He raises a brow, almost as a challenge and I find myself putting my small hand in his big, strong one and clasping it firmly.
“Natalie.”
“Natalie,” he says my name slowly, looks down at my mouth and I bite my lower lip. He inhales sharply and looks back into my eyes.
Fuck, he’s beautiful . I pull my hand out of his grasp and look down, not knowing what else to say, and still confused as to why I’m still standing here with him.
“I… I have to go,” I stammer, suddenly nervous. “It was… interesting meeting you, Luke.” I start to walk around him toward my house, and he steps in front of me.
“Wait, don’t go.” He runs a hand through his already messy golden hair.
“I’m really sorry about all this. Let me make it up to you. Breakfast?”
He frowns slightly, like he didn’t mean to say that, and then looks at me hopefully.
Say no, Nat. Go home. Go back to bed. Mmmm… bed with Luke… All sweaty bodies, tangled sheets, his head between my legs, my body writhing as I come…
Stop!
I shake my head, trying to push the fantasy aside, and find myself saying, “No thanks. I should go.”
“Husband waiting at home?” he asks, glancing at my ringless finger.
“Uh, no.”
“Boyfriend?”
I give him a small smile. “No.”
His face relaxes. “Girlfriend?”
I can’t stop the laugh that comes.
“No.”
“Good.” He’s giving me that big smile again, and I want desperately to say yes to this beautiful stranger, but my common sense kicks in and I remind myself that this is not safe, I don’t know him, and as swoon-worthy as he is, he’s still a stranger.
I, of all people, know about stranger danger.
So I ignore the clenching between my legs, give him another small smile, and I say as politely, and as forcefully as I can, “Thanks anyway. Have a good day, Luke.”
Of course, politely and forcefully sounds all whispery from me right now.
Crap.
I hear him murmur “Have a good day, Natalie,” as I walk briskly away.
***
I walk home quickly, feeling Luke’s eyes on my Kardashian-esque backside until I turn the corner toward my house.
Why didn’t I wear a longer shirt? My heart is thumping, and I just want to be safe inside, safe from sexy-smiled muggers. My body hasn’t responded to a man like this in a long time, and while I admit it feels nice, Luke is just entirely too… Wow.
I close and lock my front door then follow my nose to the kitchen. Jules is making breakfast!
“Hey, Nat, get any good photos this morning?” Much to my delight, my bff Jules is flipping pancakes and I smell bacon crisping in the oven. My stomach growls as I place my camera on the breakfast bar and pull up a stool.
“Yeah, it was a good morning,” I reply. I wonder if I should bring up Luke. Jules tends to be on the romantic side, and she’ll most likely have us married off by the end of the conversation, but she is the one person I confide in about everything, so, why not? “I got some good shots. Almost got mugged… pretty standard morning.”
I smile to myself as Jules twirls around, dropping a pancake on my tile floor, gasping.
“What? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I let out a snort. “Some guy was pissed that I might have taken his picture.” I describe my encounter to her, and she smiles sweetly when I’m finished.
“Sounds like he likes you, friend.”
I snort. “Whatever. He’s just some random guy.”