He was suppose to protect his heart, not lose his own...
Callen has always had a stoke of luck with everything. The ladies to his missions, he succeeded in them all.
But all Callens luck strikes out, Literally...
When a daring mission cost his life...
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His Lordship had begged to differ, although the next morning Elizabeth had cause to regret being so firm in her insistence on going to London. If anything, Callen looked even more furious than when he'd left the night before. The chill in his gaze blew through her heart like a winter wind. She looked away, wondering what it was about the man that made her heart pound like a woodpecker gone mad.
"Good morning," she said softly. The fact that they were alone made her unaccountably nervous. Ridiculous, she told herself, trying not to fidget in her chair. She'd climbed trellises with jars of hateful spiders in her hands. Jumped roofs with injured kittens in her arms. She'd even shot a person once. Of course, that had been an accident. The point was, Callen made her feel the veritable ninny. As if she'd lost her wits. Like those silly women at balls who swooned when a handsome man strolled by.
She fixed her eyes on the tiny violets imprinted on her dress, determined not to let him see how her breath quickened when he stopped before her.
"Where's your Aunt?"
Look up Elizabeth, you can do it. And she tried, she truly did. Her gaze got caught on skin-tight breeches that revealed thighs of David like perfection. Next they paused on the bulge in his breeches. A very large bulge, she amended, blushing. His hips were the next detour. Masculine hips. Everything about him was big, even the fist clenched at his sides.
She peeked up further. His white shirt had parted to reveal a sun-bronzed chest. She swallowed. She noticed the same white streak marks from his hand take over half of his chest. She saw a strange tattoo, a dagger with wings on either side. The quote was just as strange, Who Dares Wins. Her hand ached to touch the decorated flesh.She swallowed again. Good heavens, would she ever get used to looking at the man? And his shoulders, they were so wide. His neck so think. His chin had a teeny-tiny cleft in it. His lips were so achingly sensual, she licked her own in appreciation. She steeled herself, looking into his eyes.
And Blanched.
He was livid.
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"Are you done?" he snapped.
Well, no, not really. She'd have liked to stare at his lips a bit longer. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.
