In His Sheets
Handsome didn’t quite cut it.
He was stunning, the kind of man who made people stop mid-sentence without even realizing it. His hair was jet black, cut sharp at the sides, falling just enough over his forehead to make him look recklessly elegant. He stood at least six-foot-five, broad-shouldered with the kind of posture that came naturally to men who owned rooms without saying a word.
His face was all clean lines and high cheekbones, his jaw defined, his mouth firm. But it was his eyes that did it—steel-grey, cold and deliberate, scanning the crowd like he was already two steps ahead of everyone there.
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