Wherever It Leads(5)

“Like how?”

“Like if he was cheating on you, which he was.” His eyes darken. “If he was involved in something he shouldn’t be.”

A chill tears through me. “Like what?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It might just be that he’s seen things overseas that have changed him. You know as well as I do that he’s not the nice, easygoing guy he once was. He’s on edge constantly, calculating, broody. You can do better, and I say that from the position of being his friend.”

“And you think it’s a good idea for you to go to a place that he’s been and you think may have changed him?”

“I’m not going as a security contractor. I’m going as a doctor and it’s where my heart says to go. It’s my calling, Brynne.”

I tried to understand. I openly supported his insane idea, even though I felt like it was a huge mistake. I helped him with his paperwork and even helped pack his gear before he left. The excitement in his voice, the sparkle in his eye when he talked about the difference he may make to the people of Zimbabwe in his six months overseas was undeniable.

I frown as we pull into the busy parking lot of Angel’s Market and I don’t see anyone standing around with a phone in their hand. Presley throws the car in park and we climb out, heading towards the main entrance.

“What do we know about this mystery man besides the fact he sounds like cashmere?” I raise my brows and watch Pres slide her sunglasses over her eyes.

“His name is Fenton and he’ll be waiting by the bananas.”

I follow a few steps behind her, a sudden rush of memories skirting through my brain. “Bananas! That’s where I set it down,” I exclaim. “Now I remember! The pineapple poked a hole in my coffee right there and I had to get it to the trash! Yes! That’s where it is, I bet.”

“No bets about it,” she says as the doors automatically open and we step inside the store. “That’s where he said it was.”

“I’m so damn . . .”

A soft gasp replaces the rest of my sentence.

I know it’s him. Because whatever a cashmere voice sounds like, this man looks like he’s the one to own it. He’s tall, probably six-three, with jet black hair and rich olive-y skin. He’s dressed in black pants and a tight black t-shirt that hugs his muscled arms and wide chest. He stands at the bananas, working on a white cell phone and I’m instantly relieved it isn’t mine.

“My Lord,” Pres mutters under her breath as we near him.

He glances up, first looking at Presley and then instantly past her. To me.

His gaze slams into mine, almost physically knocking me off my feet. I stumble, my steps faltering under the heaviness of his stare. It feels like his eyes should be blue, but as I peer into them, I realize they’re grey. A steely color that’s not warm or cool, just intense.

I don’t know what to make of him and I certainly can’t process it because he’s too beautiful. Too male. Too intoxicating as we get close enough to smell the expensive musk of his cologne.

And then he smiles, his full lips stretching to both sides of his slightly stubbled cheeks, and I’m sure my knees are going to wobble beneath me, leaving me one embarrassed pile of goop on the floor.

Presley, ever on her game, flips her hair before extending a hand. “You’re the man I’m looking for.”

If I could react, I’d roll my eyes at her innuendo. Instead, I just stare like a cartoon character. There are probably little hearts extending from my pupils, exploding right above his head.

“I might be,” he says, looking at Presley.

“Do you want my name or something to confirm it?” she hints.

“Well,” he drawls, his voice as luxurious as Presley made it out to be, “I believe you said it was your friend’s phone. So if that’s the case, I think it’s her name I should get.”

Presley’s jaw drops at the same time as mine. They both look at me.

“If you just show it to me, I can tell you if it’s mine,” I half stutter.

His smirk deepens. “I’m pretty certain it’s yours. Your pictures are on the camera roll.”

“You looked at my pictures?” I gasp, my cheeks heating. “You had no right to do that!”

“How else could I be sure the right person came to pick it up?”

He has a point, but I still don’t agree. Yet I don’t want to argue. Not at least until I have my phone. It feels like such an invasion of privacy and I should be offended, or at least, mock-offended, but I’m really not. Not even when I try to dig deep to find the feelings.

“Thank you for finding it and tracking me down. Can I have it back now?” I ask.

He digs a large hand into his pocket, too near his cock for my own good, and retrieves it.

“Thank you,” I whisper. My fingertips brush his palm as I take it. The contact sends shivers down my spine.

“It’s my pleasure.”

“We’d love to thank you,” Presley says, batting her eyelashes in his direction. “Is there anything we can do?”

He glances at her before resting his gaze on me again. “First, reset your password. It was entirely too easy to access your information and I don’t think I need to explain the consequences if it had fallen into someone else’s hands.” He raises his brows. “Make it something random,” he adds.