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devastatingly gorgeous.
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Chapter 3

     
    JB's bitching halted mid-rumble, just as Stacey's speech had.
    Gaping, she took a long, hard look at the blond giant who filled every inch of the doorway. He was at least six foot four, with a sword hilt peeking over his left shoulder and a brawny chest that would make Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson jealous. His arms were massive, ripped with taut muscles that stretched the golden skin covering them. He wore a straight black, sleeveless v-neck tunic that looked painted on and pants that clung to lean hips before flowing into loose pants legs. On his feet he sported wicked-looking combat boots.
    "Wowza," she murmured, duly impressed. The man was hot, hot, hot. Even in a costume. Chiseled jaw, a sinner's mouth, arrogantly slashed brows, and a perfect nose. In fact all of him was perfect. At least the parts that she could see. Gorgeous in a way that was hard to define. There was something different about him, a physical charisma or perhaps a foreign appeal? She couldn't put her finger on what it was that was so unique; she knew only that she'd never seen a more beautiful man, ever.
    He wasn't beautiful in the "pretty" sense. He was beautiful in the rocky moors sense, or the Serengeti sense. Harsh and untamed. Awe-inspiring in a wholly intimidating way. And because she was intimidated, Stacey did what she excelled at.
    She got spunky.
    Cocking her hip to lean into the door edge, she flashed a bright smile. "Hi."
    Bright, azure eyes widened, then narrowed.
    "Who the hell are you?" the man demanded, his voice rumbling with a burr that was charming and delicious, even though his attitude wasn't.
    "Nice to meet you, too."
    "You're not Lyssa Bates," he rumbled.
    "Damn. What gave me away? The short hair? The big butt?" She snapped her fingers. "I got it! I'm not drop-dead gorgeous and built like a brickhouse."
    The corner of his luscious mouth twitched. He tried to hide it, but she saw it. "Honey, you're gorgeous and built, but you're not Lyssa Bates."
    Stacey touched her nose, knowing that she had to be looking like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and sporting bloodshot eyes to boot. Some women looked great when they cried. She wasn't one of them. And built? Ha! She'd had a kid. Nothing was where it used to be and she'd never dropped the last ten pounds from her pregnancy. Unable to think of a witty comeback because her brain was fried by his maybe-a-compliment, maybe-a-joke, she said, "Lyssa's out of town. I'm watching things for her while she's gone."
    "Is Cross here?" He looked easily over her head and into the condo.
    "Who?"
    He looked back down at her, frowning. "Aidan Cross. He lives here."
    "Uh, yeah. But if you think he'd let Lyssa go anywhere without him, you're nuts."
    "True." Something passed through his eyes as he looked at her.
    Jeez, she had to go on vacation to wherever the hell Aidan was from. Obviously Hunkalicious on the porch was from there, too. Same brogue. Same sword fetish. Same hotness level.
    "I'm going to stay here until they get back," he pronounced, taking a step forward.
    Stacey didn't budge. "No way."
    He crossed his arms. "Listen, sweetheart, I'm not in the mood to play games. I feel like shit. I need to crash for a while."
    "Listen, babe," she retorted, mimicking his pose. "I'm not playing. Sorry you feel like crap, but my day sucks, too. Go crash somewhere else."
    She watched his jaw tighten. "Aidan wouldn't want me staying anywhere else."
    "Oh yeah? He didn't say anything to me about anyone coming by. I don't know you from Adam."
    "Connor Bruce." He thrust a massive hand at her. She hesitated a moment, then took it. The heat of his palm burned her skin and spread tingles up her arm. She blinked.
    "Stacey Daniels."
    "Hi, Stacey." He tugged her into his chest, lifted her feet from the tile, and stepped into the condo, kicking the door shut behind them.
    "Hey!" she protested, trying to ignore how delicious he smelled. Musky and exotic. Male. Sexual male. Dominant