Spellbound Excerpt Two

As promised, another excerpt from Chapter One. 

You can buy a copy of Spellbound here.

I settle into my book, mind my own business, and then something happens that I’ve never experienced before.

I have the weirdest sensation eyes are on me.

Yet, it’s more than that. It’s a feeling I recognize, as if I’ve always known it, or have always been waiting for it without knowing I miss it. I have a tingling in the lower spine that spreads erotically, around my pelvis. My heart begins to race and a flush spreads slow and hot over my skin. Strangely, despite the intensity, this sensation is positive, as if my body understands better than my mind, that something I need has arrived.

I glance up from my book, and he's there.

I look directly into the eyes of the most handsome man I have ever seen. He’s sitting at a table just a couple of meters away. He has what looks like a whiskey neat in front of him, and he’s lounging back from the table, legs stretched out and elbows resting on the arms of the chair, with an unselfconscious elegance that takes my breath away. His hands hold an electronic device, but right now, he's staring at me with what looks like surprise in his dark blue eyes. His mouth partially opens as if he's going to speak, and then he pauses, irritation taking over the surprise and glances down into his device again.

But now, the faintest of smiles rests on his perfectly formed lips.

He looks relaxed and in control again, and I begin to wonder if I imagined that silent drama playing across his face just a second ago. The smile tickling at his lips fascinates me into staring, and he glances up, staring fiercely into me, that smile sparkling in his boyish eyes. The tingling sensation in my spine goes crazy and I blush, worried he can read my thoughts that are shocking to me. I look down quickly as I feel the fever of the flush flood my face. When I take a risk and look up again, he’s smiling at his device, looking like his own racehorse just won the Melbourne Cup.

I’m nervous. My body responded violently to his glance, and even as the heat subsides, I can't calm my heart rate down or bring my nipples back from high-beam.

We seem to be the only two people in the bar. That would explain how I could gain the attention of a man that beautiful, I grumpily confess to myself. As I continue to read my book, trying desperately to concentrate, every now and then the electric feeling in my spine radiates through me like sunshine focused on my lower back and I look up to see his dark eyes on me. That ghost of a smile makes his unashamed checking me out somehow appropriate.

But he can’t be checking me out.

Not a guy like this.

Just because he’s in my local watering hole doesn’t mean I can lay claim to that kind of man. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt that is open at the collar, and a dark gray suit that looks like it was handmade by local artisans in Florence. Even his black shoes are polished. Noticing them makes me shuffle and hide my Chucks, inwardly cursing myself for not throwing on a dress before I headed out the door.

“Always dress like you’re going to meet the love of your life sweetheart,” my mother says, “Because some day you will.”

Until this moment I always thought that was such a load of crap.

“If he loves me, he can love my Chucks,” I always say back. Right now I hate my Chucks and wish to holy heaven I’d worn the D&G heels I found in the second hand store a month ago that were the steal of the decade for fifty dollars of my hard earned cash. It doesn't matter if Mr. Briefcase-stare-across-an-empty-room-at-me likes the Chucks or not, I hate them while he looks at me like that.

I need drink number two.

I stand and immediately regret my decision as the intensity of his gaze intoxicates me as if I’d had four wines, not one. I stumble toward the bar feeling his eyes on me with every step. I try desperately to act cool, totally aware I must look like a complete fool because I do not possess the grace or elegance to pull off this casual act. He will know I’m made a mess under his gaze simply because I’m trying too hard to not be a mess under his gaze. I suck my slightly rounded belly in (too many beers this winter) as I walk to the bar, trying to accentuate my tiny waist in my cute jeans. Thank goodness I wore the good jeans and not the cargo pants that could almost be tracky-dacs they’re so ugly. I only have a white tee on and my leather jacket, but that isn’t too uncool a look.

What I am I thinking. Suits don’t go for arty chicks anyway.

I make it to the bar, relieved to have something unmoving to grip.

I’m still trying to act cool, pretending I don’t notice he’s only moved his eyes as he’s watched me cross the room, pretending I don’t notice when he stands and walks in full command of himself toward me, pretending I don’t notice my flushing skin set on fire from his approach.

God, I wish I know how to be cool!

And then he’s standing right next to me, an elbow on the bar, turned in my direction. I’m still facing the bar, too scared to look at him, pretending I care where Joe the bartender is.