Westerly Cove, Book 3
This mysterious island hermit managed to avoid entanglements ... until she walked into his cabin.
It wasn't fear. It was a strange mix of curiosity, compulsion, and desire.
He was bare to the waist, and she hadn't been wrong about his strong, muscular body. There wasn't a scrap of fat on him anywhere, just lean muscle rippling beneath light bronze skin dusted with curls of dark hair. His face was broad and handsome, with a nose that was just a little crooked as if it had been broken once. Dark hair framed high cheekbones and a strong jaw.
His eyes were just as startling green as the ones she had been dreaming about. They weren't pure green, but rather, had a ring of dark blue around the iris and fine threads of amber and brown. Summer forest eyes, striking and pure.
For a moment the two of them stared at each other, as if he somehow found her as captivating as she found him. Then he stood up suddenly, and she was entranced all over again by the flowing, rapid grace of his movements.
The blanket fell away, making Mira intensely aware that he was wearing nothing but a pair of beat-up jeans slung low enough over his hips that a dusting of dark curls were visible above the waistband.
"Dane," he said. His voice was deep and rough, as if he didn't use it much.
"What?" Mira said dazedly, wrenching her gaze to his face.
"Dane," he repeated. Then he seemed to run it back in his head. "My name. I'm Dane."