The Secret Affair
But he walks toward me, his movements jerky and unbalanced.
“Why do you hate me?” he asks, the question a quiet accusation. “You look at me like I am a piece of dirt on your shoe.” I try to walk past him, but he blocks my path.
His eyes, those striking blue eyes, hold a mixture of challenge and pain. I find myself looking, truly looking at him. He is beautiful. The word echoes in my head, a shameful admission. The sudden, unwanted arousal I feel in my jeans is a shock, a betrayal from my own body.
Hot Chapters