She blinked up at him again, trying to catch her breath. Just looking at him made everything she had want to run. She had to look away, afraid she’d make an utter fool of herself if she tried to speak. She looked around the coffee shop. It was nearly empty.

“Zelie.”

His voice was smooth. Like the brush of velvet against her skin. She’d never heard a voice like his before. Not ever. He had the kind of voice that made her shiver in anticipation of…what? Hot blood rushed through her veins and under her skin, coloring her face a bright red. There was no controlling that wild blush any more than there was controlling the flutter in her sex. And Zelie? No one called her Zelie. It was always Azelie. But she liked the way he said Zelie. Still…

“How did you know my name?” To her horror, her voice came out small, not at all like she wanted to sound. A whisper. As if she were inviting him to be intimate with her. She never sounded like that. She might avoid men, but when she spoke to them, she was decisive.

The table was small, and he moved the chair close to her—too close. His thigh brushed along hers. Warm. No, hot. She was suddenly very aware of herself as a woman, every nerve ending springing to life. He was definitely a man.

“The barista calls your name when your order is ready,” he said simply. “I’m Andrii Federoff. I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful woman lost in her own world.”

No one called her beautiful. She wasn’t beautiful. She was…ordinary. Mousy even. There wasn’t a single thing remarkable about her. Not that she was complaining. The fact that no one noticed her helped her to disappear into the woodwork, where she could observe those around her without having to participate.

“Azelie Vargas,” she managed to get out without making more of a fool of herself. She couldn’t drink her coffee; her hands were shaking too bad. She threaded her fingers together tightly in her lap, wondering why a man as gorgeous as Andrii would choose to sit with her.

“What are you reading? It must be very interesting to have you so completely absorbed in the story.”

She tried to fight the blush but was unsuccessful. “I enjoy a variety of novels.”

He remained silent, his silver eyes moving over her face like twin lasers. He looked a little moody. Disappointed. Definitely aware she’d dodged his question and not happy about it.

She lifted her chin. She didn’t know him. What the hell did it matter if he judged her? “I enjoy reading romance. Happy endings. Stories about men and women communicating and forming families. Being faithful to each other.”

Immediately, those strangely colored eyes turned to a liquid silver, approval lighting them. The change sent little darts of fire shooting straight to her sex. Why in the world did his approval of her matter so much? It made no sense when he was a complete stranger, but her entire body responded just to the look in his eyes.

“I’ve seen you typing. Do you write your own stories?”

His voice was remarkable. She’d never heard anything like it. She felt as if he were wrapping her in velvet. Azelie nodded. He continued to stare at her with his light-colored eyes, burning right through her, exposing her every secret.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I do write stories. It’s difficult to make a living as a full-time author, so I work at a local club as a bookkeeper to make ends meet.” She had absolutely no idea why she blurted out that information, but it just came flying out of her mouth. “I’ve worked there for years, but had hoped I could quit eventually. That isn’t looking too good.”

He nodded. “You’re published, then?”

“Yes. I’ve sold three stories so far—romantic suspense—and I’ve contracted for one more. I’m hoping when I turn that one in, they’ll offer me another contract. So far, the books have sold fairly well.” She took pride in that. She wasn’t a bestseller, but she was definitely midlist. That didn’t mean she could quit her day job. She just couldn’t make enough money being an author. She understood the cost of paper and ink kept rising.

She also had tried self-publishing. That hadn’t worked out for her. She wasn’t good at marketing. On top of that, a trend had started where readers returned books after they read them, and authors had to return the money. She couldn’t pay her bills. Many authors went under. She was fortunate in that she had a good-paying day job, but having that possibility hanging over her head was daunting. She didn’t have the nerves for it. She needed the buffer of a publisher.

“I find it interesting that you work as a bookkeeper and you write novels. It’s unusual to do both.”

She nodded. “I know. I think my brain is always at war with itself.” She flashed him a small smile. “What do you do?”

“I work in security. It’s not nearly as interesting.”

His voice literally sent chills down her spine. She was grateful she was sitting because she was afraid she might not be able to keep her legs from trembling and she’d fall right at his feet. She really hoped those strangely colored eyes of his couldn’t see right into her. She’d never, not once in her life, had a reaction to another human being the way she did to him.

“In novels, the man working security is always interesting.”

One dark eyebrow shot up and his lips curved into a slow smile. No teeth, but that almost smile made her stomach somersault. “Have you ever written a hero working security?”

She moistened suddenly dry lips as she shook her head. Again, there was silence, and she knew he was waiting for her to speak. “Not yet.”

That earned her a flash of his white teeth. Her heart nearly stopped. She forced her gaze to the to-go mug she had carefully picked up and now held between her palms.

“I don’t suppose you would describe him as looking like me?”

She dared to tilt her head to the side and allowed her gaze to drift over him, making certain to start from the neck down. She couldn’t look into those mercury eyes, especially if he was looking at her with that focused intensity. “Neck tattoos, broad shoulders, a thick chest, all muscle. If I described my hero like you, my readers would think I was relying on formula writing.” She laughed because she couldn’t help it. He was beautiful. A gorgeous man who had no business sitting with her.

“Why are you laughing, Zelie?”

“I’m afraid you sat down at the wrong table, Mr. Federoff.”

“Why are you so certain of that?”

She gestured toward him, from the top of his head down his chest, grateful the rest of him was hidden. She was finally getting to a place where she could speak to him without making a total fool of herself. She was fully capable of speaking her mind or speaking the truth, but only if she didn’t think too much about the rest of his body.

She pushed her glasses back on her nose. “You have to know what you look like. Even what you sound like. Men as beautiful as you are don’t give women who look like me a second glance. I have no idea why you decided to sit at this table, but it’s absurd. Did the merry widows talk you into sitting with me?”

His eyes had gone hot silver. Gleaming silver. Mesmerizing. She couldn’t have looked away if she wanted to. “Women who look like you? What do you look like?”

His voice made her shiver, as if she had said something that truly annoyed him. It didn’t show on his face, so she couldn’t exactly say what it was that made her think he was disappointed and even angry, but she knew he was. The silver eyes glittered. Moved over her face. Dwelled on her mouth. Dropped lower. He seemed to be able to look right through her boxy sweatshirt to the body she hid from the world.

He leaned toward her. “I’m going to do you the courtesy of telling you the truth since you’re so honest with me. As for the merry widows, as sweet and funny as they are, I would never sit down with a woman I wasn’t interested in.”

His voice made her shiver. Those eyes had come back up to hers and held her gaze captive. He was interested in her? She didn’t know what to think of that.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I have scars. Not all women find that attractive. Evidently, you do, which is good for me. Your hair is unbelievable. For a man with my tastes and needs, your hair is a fucking miracle. I think you have one of the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen. Every emotion you feel is transparent. Right there. You have incredible eyes. I would know exactly what you were thinking or feeling just looking into your eyes. I’ve been in this coffee shop numerous times and fantasized far too much about having your lips wrapped around my dick. Just looking at your mouth makes me hard. You have tits and an ass, something that I look for in a woman. You also have brains. You’re not afraid of speaking your mind, yet you’re the kind of woman a man like me needs. Women like you don’t come along that often.”

She wished she was offended by his plain speaking, but she had gone damp. Her breasts ached. Her mouth even watered. Color crept under her skin, and there was no way to slow her quickened breathing, so she didn’t try to hide her reaction to his assessment of her.

“What the hell do you think is wrong with your looks?”

He didn’t raise his voice at all. If anything, it was lower than normal, but all the same, his tone was a demand for her to answer him.

She moistened her lips. The minute she did, her gaze dropped to his lap and the heavy bulge outlined against his dark jeans. Her heart thudded a desperate beat, a wild drumming that pounded through her clit.

“I do have a lot of hair,” she conceded. “It’s thick and wild and isn’t very tamable. My eyes are too big for my face. My lips are too much. If I wear lipstick, especially a bright color, I look…” She broke off abruptly.

Sometimes when she was alone at night, she applied a bright red lipstick and wore the only club outfit she had, which she would never dare to wear in public. She would stand far back from the mirror and walk slowly toward it. She turned even redder thinking about how she performed in front of the mirror. She loved to dance. Loved dancing. It was right up there with reading.

Andrii smiled at her, his gaze on her mouth. “I can imagine how you would look and what every man seeing you would want you to do. I would love to walk into a club with you on my arm. You’re so fucking sexy. I like the idea other men would know you’re mine.”

Azelie could tell he was waiting to see if he’d shocked her or put her off with his crude, explicit way of speaking, but her entire body responded to it. That was her dirty little secret. He had evidently taken the time to study her long enough to figure her out. To realize she was the type of woman to respond to a man like him.

“By all means, Zelie, keep going. What else do you think is wrong with your looks? Why do you hide your tits behind those ridiculous shirts? And your very nice ass in those baggy pants? What is the purpose?”

She tried to stay still under his demand for an answer. She was ashamed of her desire to be anonymous. She had her reasons. She didn’t really need to share everything with him. The bare minimum would do. “I’ve been working as a bookkeeper for one of the local clubs since I was sixteen. It wasn’t exactly legal when I started because I was underage. It just sort of happened. The bookkeeper unexpectedly quit right before an audit, and the owner, Alan, needed someone. I’m really good with numbers. Really good. Really fast.”

“How did this Alan know about you?”