Miller Fenwick wants the kind of love his friend Alexx found with Raoul Marchand. But so far, he's had no luck. After a date that fizzled more than sizzled, Miller ends up at Charisma, and he thinks he might dance. Just see what happens when he's standing at the edge of the dance floor, and he thinks he's being watched...
But he’d only had the one glass. And he hadn’t even finished that. He wasn’t such a lightweight, when it came to holding his alcohol, and he knew it.
He told himself it was just his imagination. But just to be safe, he began a slow cautious turn, looking around him, without appearing to be searching for anything—or anyone.
And there he was.
Standing a heartbeat away from Miller was one of the sexiest men he’d ever seen in his life. A man every bit as sexy as Raoul Marchand, although not in the same feral way as the werewolf.
This man was light where Raoul was dark. His hair was a honey blonde which stood out by virtue of being obviously natural, in a place where most blondes were either created by the sun or came from a bottle. He stood a little taller than Miller, exuding a presence that went beyond the merely physical, possessed of the bearing and mien of a veritable god.
But it was his eyes that drew Miller in and held him spellbound. Blue and green, like staring into tropical waves, flecked with bits of pure molten gold. And the way he was staring at Miller was sending the most delicious shivers traveling up and down his spine.
The man took a step toward Miller, his hand outstretched. Before Miller quite realized what had happened, he’d placed his own hand inside of the other man’s, and he found himself being drawn onto the dance floor.