As she lowered her hand down to her side, he caught sight of the small white cylinder. It was an electronic cigarette. She’d quit.
She raised her head then, like she knew someone watched her, and he wanted to keep walking, avoid this awkward moment. Avoid those eyes he didn’t think he’d ever see again and never thought he’d wanted to see again. But now that his eyes locked on her hazel eyes—the ones he knew began as green on the outside of her iris and darkened to brown by the time they met her pupil—he couldn’t look away. His boots wouldn’t move.
The small cigarette fell to the ground with a soft click and she straightened, both her feet on the ground.
And that was when he noticed the wedge shoes. And the black apron. What was she doing here?
“Camilo.”
Other than his mom, she was the only one who used his full name. He’d heard her say it while laughing. He’d her moan it while he was inside her. He’d heard her sigh it with an eye roll when he made a bad joke. But he’d never heard it the way she said it now, with a little bit of fear and anxiety and . . . longing? He took a deep breath to steady his voice. “Tatum.”
He hadn’t spoken her name since that night Trevor called him and told him what she did. The night the future that he’d set out for himself and for her completely changed course.
She’d lost some weight in the four years since he’d last seen her. He’d always loved her curves. She had it all—thighs, ass and tits in abundance. Naked, she was a fucking vision.
Damn it, he wasn’t going there.
But now her face looked thinner, her clothes hung a little loose and he didn’t like this look as much. Not that she probably gave a fuck about his opinion anymore.
She still had her gorgeous hair, pinned up halfway with a bump in front, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her cheekbones. And she still wore her makeup exactly the same—thickly mascaraed eyelashes, heavy eyeliner that stretched to a point on the outside of her eyes, like a modern-day Audrey Hepburn.
She was still beautiful. And she still took his breath away.
And his heart felt like it was breaking all over again.
And he hated her even more for that.
Her eyes were wide. “What are you doing here?”
Something in him bristled at that. Maybe it was because he didn’t feel like he belonged here. But then, she didn’t either. She never did. They never did.
But there was no longer a they.
An Excerpt from
HERO BY NIGHT
Book Three: Independence Falls
by Sara Jane Stone
Travel back to Independence Falls in Sara Jane Stone’s next thrilling read. Armed with a golden retriever and a concealed weapons permit, Lena Clark is fighting for normal. She served her country, but the experience left her afraid to be touched and estranged from her career-military family. Staying in Independence Falls, and finding a job, seems like the first step to reclaiming her life and preparing for the upcoming medal ceremony—until the town playboy stumbles into her bed . . .
Sometimes beauty knocked a man on his ass, leaving him damn near desperate for a taste, a touch, and hopefully a round or two between the sheets—or tied up in them. The knockout blonde with the large golden retriever at her feet took the word “beautiful” to a new level.
Chad Summers stared at her, unable to look away or dim the smile on his face. He usually masked his interest better, stopping short of looking like he was begging for it before learning a woman’s name. But this mysterious beauty had special written all over her.
She stared at him, her gaze open and wanting. For a heartbeat. Then she turned away, her back to the party as she stared out at Eric Moore’s pond.
Her hair flowed in long waves down her back. One look left him wishing he could wrap his hand around her shiny locks and pull. His gaze traveled over her back, taking in the outline of gentle curves beneath her flowing, and oh-so-feminine, floor-length dress. The thought of the beauty’s long skirt decorating her waist propelled him into motion. Chad headed in her direction, moving away from the easy, quiet conversation about God-knew-what on the patio.
The blonde, a mysterious stranger in a sea of familiar faces, might be the spark this party needed. He was a few feet away when the dog abandoned his post at her side and cut Chad off. Either the golden retriever was protecting his owner, or the animal was in cahoots with the familiar voice calling his name.
“Chad Summers!”
The blonde turned at the sound, looking first at him, her blue eyes widening as if surprised at how close he stood, and then at her dog. From the other direction, a familiar face with short black hair—Susan maybe?—marched toward him.