The Game by Kira Blakely

Author:Kira Blakely [Blakely, Kira]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 3

Gemma

When I saw him getting out of his sleek silver Mercedes, I thought I was dreaming. He was tall, with broad rippling shoulders, and his dark hair was longish, just about grazing his shoulders. He was smiling and had said something polite, while taking a few long steps in my direction. I was still slightly dazed, reeling from all my tumultuous thoughts.

I was slightly shocked to see a stranger stepping out of a Mercedes, and more shocked because this stranger looked like he could grace a magazine cover.

His face was chiseled — an angular jaw, a sharp pointy nose, ridged brows and a long slanting forehead. His eyes matched his hair, a shining obsidian black. He had day-old stubble and deep dimples marked both his cheeks. He was in jeans and a plaid shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. But he wasn’t fooling me, those were definitely not his work clothes.

“Can I help you with that?” he asked, walking up to my car. I followed his every movement with my eyes. The way his long athletic legs moved, the muscles on his shoulders, how large his hands were. He placed one on the trunk of my car.

“I can manage, thanks,” I said, forcing myself to snap out of the embarrassingly lustful thoughts I was having of him. This was no time to gawk at a stranger. I was still late for work.

The man didn’t make a move, despite what I had just said.

“Are you sure? Is it your tire?” he asked.

I dropped my hands from my hips. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s my tire, and I’ll change it,” I snapped, surprising even myself with the tone of my voice.

His dark glittering eyes focused on me, on my body. It was like he was assessing me with a keen trained gaze, trying to figure out my shape under my clothes. That smile lingered on his face, and the dimples remained. Despite the mature look on his face and the dusting of gray around his temples, those dimples added a boyish charm to his appearance. I had to shake my head to get the thoughts out of my head.

“Is the spare in your trunk? Pop it open; I’ll haul it out for you,” he said.

I shook my head vigorously. “I can do it myself, thanks. You can leave now, I can manage.” My words came out in a jumble as he disoriented me further. As if the messed-up thoughts in my head hadn’t been enough. He remained where he was, with his hand on the trunk and I walked over to it. We were very close now and he stood his ground, not moving an inch. I couldn’t reach the clasp on my trunk because of him.

“I’m just trying to help. It’ll only take a couple of minutes if you just let me,” he said, a little authoritatively now. He seemed like a man who was used to getting his way.

“I know how much time it’ll take; I’ve done this before,” I snapped at him again.

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