by J. B. McGee
He arches a brow and mirrors my gesture. “Doesn’t matter, huh?”
I tilt my head. “Seriously.”
This time he lifts both his brows. My stomach flips when he runs his hand through his sun-kissed brown locks. “I have to go. I’m running late. And so are you, aren’t you?” His smile vanishes.
“How’d—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. “Right?”
“Mystery Giant. That’s what I called you. Now what’s your name?”
He grins. “You’re one to call someone a giant, Jules. What are you?” He looks me up and down. “Five eleven without heels. Poor Charlie.” He glances down at my feet. “Don’t you miss being able to wear those super high fuck me heels that girls like you should wear?”
I wonder if it looks like my jaw is on the floor because his eyes are gleaming with each word he says. He’s playing games. How does he know so much about me? Who is he? And why am I not running from him? As fast as I possibly can.
“Tell me. Can you imagine living the rest of your life not being able to wear heels because your husband is shorter than you? And you know men shrink, right?”
I blink and swallow at the same time. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
He nods and nibbles on his bottom lip. “Yep.” He continues to bob his head as he starts backing away from me, heading toward the door, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Mystery Giant?”
He does this half laugh, half growl thing. Damn, if it doesn’t ignite everything inside of me. “Yeah?”
“What’s your full name so I can do a full background check on you since you seem to be stalking me?”
“Theo Kataigída.”
That was sexy as hell. The way he licked his lips as he looked away then glanced back at me and then his tongue slid between his teeth just a little to say Theo. Did I hear an accent in there? And it almost sounded like one name instead of two. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You’re going to have to break it down for me. Maybe even spell it for me because holy hell. That’s a mouthful.”
Stopping dead in his tracks, he shakes his head and chuckles, raking me over. He takes a step closer, and so do I. What the hell am I doing? But he backs up, and I stop because I should be running in the opposite direction. “You’re cute, Jules. I could sit here all day spelling out so, so many things for you, teaching you things, giving you…” His lips quirk up. “A mouthful.”
Oh, I bet he could. He takes another step closer. My breath hitches.
“Like how to do things with your tongue to produce certain sounds.” Another step. “And how to position your mouth to enunciate clearly.” He’s filled the space in two steps because he’s a fucking giant. “I could break down so much for you. Spell out so many things.” His finger skims my cheek ever so softly, barely touching my skin, sending goosebumps erupting over every pore of my highly sensitive skin. My eyes close, and I suck in a breath, his exotic scent of cedar and sandalwood filling my nostrils. “But we’ll have to save all that for another day when you’re not attached to a fucking asshole. I really should go.”
He pushes through the large glass double doors into the cold, late December night. What’s he even doing here? Who exactly is Theo Katawhateverhesaid? And why was he in my building?
Shaking my head, I contemplate the fact that I’ve just given him a head start to go hide behind the bushes somewhere to jump out and snatch me. Or to break in my car, climb in my backseat, and wait until we’re in a deserted part of town to rape and kill me. Jules. Seriously? If he wanted to rape and kill you, he could have just done that in the elevator. Exhaling, I smooth my lips together and squeeze my eyes closed. My pulse is racing, and it’s not from Theo’s good looks this time. He’s creepy. Totally disarming. He doesn’t need to carry a gun to threaten girls. He just needs to smirk, trail a finger down their cheek, get their legs squirming and begging for him to touch them in other places, and then he can go in for the kill. Snap. Out. Of. It.
Pivoting on my heel, I turn and decide to go out the back entrance. If he is stalking or following me, he won’t expect me to be going out a different way. In fact, he won’t even know about the back way. Smart, Jules. I smile at myself, putting a confident pep in my step, wishing I had heels on my feet to click against the marble floors like Theo mentioned. Damn him for making me feel that way in five freaking seconds. Charlie is shorter than me. I mean, a lot of guys are either a tad shorter or just the same height as me. After all, the average height of a man is five foot ten. And he wasn’t just right about my name, but my height too. I’m five eleven. Creepy bastard.
Sexy creepy bastard.
Heels are overrated. I swipe my ID badge to exit the back door into the parking garage. Thunder clashes, and I nearly crawl out of my skin. My decision to forego the main exit is proving to be a smart one too. I’m just full of great choices tonight. I mean, if you don’t count all the times I kept having dirty thoughts about a sexy, potentially dangerous stranger who knows me, yet I have no clue who he is. I avoided the storm, though, and managed to maintain overhead shelter. Sweet.
Reaching in my purse, I grab my key fob and position my finger over the red button, the one I’ve become familiar with having left the office late so many nights, especially the last couple of months since I’ve been pouring over these reports the way I have been. Glancing left and right over my shoulder, the only noise I hear other than the buzz of the fluorescent lights is the hum of the vehicles, the squeaking of brakes, a few random horns, and then wheels squealing. A firm hand covered with a black leather glove covers my mouth before I can scream.
My back is pulled against a steel chest and behind a huge concrete column. I’m no longer breathing. As if not breathing is going to help save me, make me less visible. “Shh.” Warm breath sends shivers against my cold, exposed ear and neck. The moment I hear his voice, I know who it belongs to. But then the scents of sandalwood and cedar compete with the leather from the glove that still covers my mouth, and that just confirms it. Son of a bitch. I knew it. “Breathe, Jules, but quietly.”
Join us January 30, 2017, for a release celebration for Out of the Storm.
Thank you for reading. It’d mean a lot if you’d take a few minutes to leave a review. I read them all, and I love getting reader feedback.
J.B. McGee is a mother, wife, and the Amazon Top 100 author of the best selling This Series. Amazon Crossing acquired the German rights to her debut novel, Broken. Heartfall, her coming of age novel about a bullied ballerina, is a #1 best seller in the Teen and Young Adult Performing Arts genre. Skipping Stones, a military romance about a young woman strongly influenced by her faith and her family all the while searching for her true love, is a #1 best seller in Women's Christian Fiction.
When J.B.'s not writing, she enjoys reading as well as watching and live-chatting her favorite television shows with her friends. Her favorite shows are Quantico, Blindspot, Grey’s Anatomy, The Bachelor/Bachelorette, Below Deck, The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, and Scandal (mainly because of her love of Scott Foley).
Born and raised in Aiken, South Carolina, she attended Converse College and eventually earned her Bachelor of Arts degree in Early Childhood Education from The University of South Carolina-Aiken in 2006.
In college, she was told by her children’s literature professor she would be the one student from her class to be an author. McGee shook her head and laughed. But in 2012, over six years after that statement was made and after a love of reading had been reignited, she gave writing a shot. J.B. gladly ate crow when she emailed her first book to the above mentioned children’s literature professor thanking her and acknowledging the accuracy of her prophecy.
In 2011, it was discovered that not only do both of her children, but also she and her husband, have mitochondrial disease. Affecting 1 in 2500 people, it has no cure or treatments. Being a writer allows J.B. to care for her family’s unique needs while also providing a platform for rai
sing awareness for this disease.
She is a hopeless romantic who loves to escape into fairy tales—some she reads and some she creates.
J.B. McGee and her family now reside in Buford, Georgia.