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are, aren’t you?”
    “Sure, that’s what I was for a while. But being from the city isn’t the only thing that defines me.” I don’t mean the words to come out bitterly, but there’s no hiding the hackles that rise.
    Assumptions suck.
    Frown lines appear in his brow. “No, I can see there’s a lot more to you than where you grew up.”
    “Sorry.” I raise a hand to my heated cheek, forcing a sheepish smile. “It was time for a change and so far I’m thinking New Point fits me well.”
    “Me too.”
    “You’re pretty sure of that.”
    He makes slow work of perusing my body, tracing my curves with his eyes. When they meet mine, a purposeful intent is clear. “New Point’s not the only thing that fits you well here.”
    The library is nearly silent, except for our conversation–was he able to hear my heavy swallow?
    “Saturday night, are you free?”
    Again no words form, I don’t think I could speak if the president of the United States walked into the library.
    “Zoe…” He’s caught me. That sexy bartender knows I’m speechless because the grin turns a touch arrogant. “Saturday?”
    My brain thaws, but the words that escape aren’t exactly right. “I only work during the week.”
    Get it together, Zoe!
    “Okay, does that mean you’re available to have dinner with me on Saturday?”
    Placing my hands on the book dolly beside me, I remind myself that I am college educated and know how to conduct a conversation with an attractive man. “I would love to. What did you have in mind?”
    Miles rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his messy hair. His sex appeal is effortless, probably part of his DNA. “Thought I’d introduce you to a New Point tradition.”
    “Tell me more,” I request, my confidence coming back.
    “Picnic on the beach. Bonfire. My plot of sand.”
    “Sure.”
    This time when he moves two steps closer, he does enter my circle of personal space, standing just a breath away from me.
    Without breaking eye contact he lifts a large, tanned hand. It hovers next to my cheek. Through the corner of my eye, I think it may be trembling. His knuckles trail along my skin in a subtle caress. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” His voice is low. Affected.
    “Okay,” I breathe.
    He puts a few paces between us, walking backward and watching me with dark eyes. “Until then, Zoe Baker.”
    Then he’s gone, leaving only the musky scent of sandalwood in his wake.
    Miles
    “ G et it together, man,” I mutter to myself when I hear the library door latch behind me. I stride across the sidewalk and cut through the post office parking lot on my way toward the bar.
    Women do not affect me. They don’t render me speechless with a sweet smile or an innocent flutter of their dark blond eyelashes. A soft flowery scent doesn’t make me jittery. I’m twenty-nine years old and could have my pick of women in this town. It sounds arrogant, I know. But I’m not some egotistical prick between a different girl’s legs every other night. The simple fact is, finding ladies to date, hook up, whatever, has never been a challenge for me. I’m always in control, never letting them close enough to make me think twice about a first impression.
    All of that smoothness evaporated like gas the moment I laid eyes on Zoe. There she was, long toned legs, pert ass begging to be squeezed, hair shimmering like spun gold in the wind.
    Spun gold? Really?
    Suddenly I’m worrying. Does she feel the connection between us? Within a matter of minutes she snuck under my skin, and I’m not afraid to admit I want her.
    If my friends knew what I was thinking, they’d never let me hear the end of it. They’d say I’m acting like a teenage girl crushing on Justin whatshisface. Now I know I’m a lost cause. I’m thinking about that pop star.
    I scrub a hand through my hair, thoughts falling back toward Zoe. There’s something between us. She can’t hide her tremors when I touch her, but neither can I. Hell, it’s