Control

Oh, shit.

That was the first thought I had when my eyes met his hazel ones across the expanse of my shop. A man I had never seen before. He was the kind of man who sent a rush of heat through your body the moment you laid eyes on him. The kind of man who, with one look, made you think about getting naked. The kind of man who inspired you to slip your left hand behind your back, hiding the visible sign to the world that you were married.

I had never done that before. Not once during the eight years that I’d been married. He walked into my store on a Friday in late February. His tall frame—at least six foot two—was all muscle. Something about him oozed sex appeal, even though his eyes were dark and he looked as if he carried a burden on his wide shoulders.