Page 7 of Devil in Her Details

And entirely inappropriate!

Heat crept up her neck.

As if summoned by the very impropriety of her observation, his head turned.

Their eyes locked.

Lord. Heaven. And small mercies.

The ribbon slipped from her fingers.

She’d overheard ladies gush about a look that stopped time. She’d found the notion implausible. She revised that opinion now. Time seemed to catch right there and right then, and she was fairly certain her heart forgot that it should beat. But it was not merely that their eyes met, but the manner in which they did.

His gaze closed over hers like a hand, firm and inescapable. Honestly, if he were anything other than a man of flesh and bone, like a mythical god or something, she’d have sworn he had pulled her very soul into his grasp. As though the pane of glass between them were nothing more than air.

He did not look away either. He might not even have blinked. Only when he passed beyond the edge of the shop did the contact between them snap. Lilly blinked away the abrupt disorientation and glanced toward Calvington’s carriage again.

How strange.

And the strangeness continued as the man passed her shop again!

Only, this time, he didn’t glance inside, so their eyes didn’t meet. Instead, he strolled past with his chin held high and what might have been—she couldn’t say for sure—a fierce scowl on his face. One she surmised from his pinched side profile. Had he perhaps gotten lost and grown as flustered as she when their eyes locked? The explanation was the only one she could come up with. But he didn’t seem like a man who got lost. What had just happened? Why was a big, black panther prowling past her shop?

The man entered her sight again.

Lilly’s eyes widened.

She could not, however, come up with any explanation as he passed for a third time. Unless . . . but no. He would not require her particular services.

Can’t judge a man’s quirks by his boots, Lilly.

True enough.

This time, she could clearly detect the hard clench of his jaw. Obviously, the man was on a mission he’d rather not be on. The look of someone fulfilling an obligation he had agreed to under duress and was now actively regretting. Whatever had brought him to her door, he hadn’t come willingly. And he stopped right before her door. His gaze lifted to meet hers through the glass before he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The bell above the door chimed softly—an absurdly cheerful sound for such a dangerous-looking man.

Mercy.

She hadn’t been able to tell the color of his eyes before. Now she could. They were dark—not in color alone, but in depth. In fact, the entirety of this man could be considered as such. She hadn’t been off in her assessment of him as a panther. She couldn’t miss the scar cleaving his right cheek and the unfathomable strength this man possessed. A thousand questions filled her mind, ranging from why this man had entered her shop, to whether he worked for Calvington, and what battle had he fought to receive such a wound.

His gaze remained locked on her, and for the life of Lilly, despite lifelong breeding, she could not find a single sentence of greeting that would do for this man. Fortunately, she didn’t have to, for he spoke first.

“Good afternoon.”

Blazes.

His voice. Gooseflesh erupted all over her. How could a voice be so deep? So throaty. So sinful. And this close, a distance of mere inches, he seemed to tower above common life. She had to crane up her neck to hold his gaze. He truly he had the look of a man set apart from ordinary mortals.

“Ah, yes. Good afternoon.” Sir? He didn’t feel like any sir! “How can I be of help today?” Perhaps he had awkwardly come to purchase a ribbon for a sweetheart, but even thinking the thought, she dismissed the possibility. The man looked more suited for bloody battles than romantic overtures.

Don’t be too quick to judge.

“I require your services.”

Lilly blinked at the man, her wits once again scattering like startled birds.

“My services?”