She rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Get real. You made no impression on me at all whatsoever.” She crossed her arms as if to hide her racing heart. No doubt her heart was racing because she was so angry. “Besides, you didn’t tell me you name, if I recall.”

With a creak of leather, the man unfolded his large frame from the chair and made his way across the room to where she stood. Her senses were filled with the smell of the leather and a subtle, heady smell of aftershave. She wanted to run her fingers across the day’s growth of beard on his jaw, touch his lips … she thought she would suffocate. He stood in front of her and gave a little bow.

“Dylan Stuart, at your service.”

“Dylan …” said Chelsea in a small voice.

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