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evening.**
       I stared at the message in confusion, as if it were written in braille. Why in the world, after two and half weeks of not seeing each other or even speaking, really, would he send me this message? My blood began to run a little hot at the thought of him shacking up with his other family all weekend, trying to brush me aside with the cover of a business trip. I didn’t even bother answering, but placed my phone on the table as my drink was delivered.
       I brought the glass to my lips, closing my eyes as the vodka and vermouth slid over my tongue. It had been a while since I’d indulged in a real drink and in this moment, it couldn’t have tasted any better. I picked up the skewer that held one green olive and placed it in my mouth, my teeth gliding the olive off and onto my tongue. In that same moment, I saw the door open and I halted, the skewer paused, trapped between my teeth.
       A man walked in and part of me hoped and prayed he was there to see me. The other part, the part that wasn’t prepared to deal with the type of masculine beauty he possessed, hoped and prayed he would walk right past me. My breath snagged in my lungs as his eyes met mine and he started toward my table.
       Dark hair and dark eyes. Eyes so dark, they could have been chocolate. His chestnut hair was shaved short on the sides, but was longer on the top, just long enough to slide through his fingers when his hand ran through it. I watched as his big hand came to his forehead and then moved through locks that looked as though they might feel like silk. He was wearing a black leather jacket that looked soft and worn. Although the jacket fit well enough, it hugged his biceps and the sight of the muscles hidden beneath the supple leather made my stomach flip. He wore a black button-up shirt beneath the amazing jacket, the top two buttons undone, and only part of the hem tucked into his faded blue jeans, ending with black leather shoes to match the jacket.
       And he came right for me.
       He stalked toward me with his eyes zeroing in on mine. I didn’t stand when he stopped next to me, did not move a muscle except the ones in my neck that made it possible for my eyes to remain locked on his. My head tilted up, captivated by him, and I couldn’t even find the words to utter a greeting.
       “Lena?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. There was that voice again. The voice matched the man: hard, dark, rough. My poor body couldn’t handle the combination of all the parts which made up that man, especially when they were coming at me all at once, assaulting me. My stomach flipped – bottomed out. My heart pounded and my mouth went dry.
       “Yea…yes…that’s me,” I muttered, right after I pulled the skewer from my teeth, which I’d managed to leave hanging there like an idiot. Still not standing or reaching out my hand to shake his. Just staring. He was the one who broke our eye contact, looking at the chair opposite me before he placed himself in it.
       “I’m Preston. Thanks for rearranging your schedule and meeting me here instead,” he said, nodding at the waiter who appeared a moment later to take his order. “Scotch. Neat.” The waiter gave a nod and disappeared again.
       “It was no problem,” I said in response, surprised I was able to put together a complete sentence. I had never been affected by a man this way before – not even Derrek. Instantly, but just for one tiny second, I felt guilty for the primal and guttural reaction I was having to this man – I was a married woman, after all. But just as quickly as the guilt came on, it slinked away and left me feeling slightly smug. I could, and would, admire this man as long as he was in front of me. And I would enjoy it too.
       “So, tell me. How can I be of service to you?” He placed his forearms on the table, clasped his hands together, leaned forward, aimed his coffee colored eyes at me and waited for my response.
       “Well,” my