My mother insisted on purchasing two of the largest suitcases possible, Louis Vuitton rolling cases in an easily recognizable and slightly obnoxious shade of bright pink. She’d spent more on my luggage than some people did on a car, and they were heavy. I’d loaded them up with my precious books and far too many pairs of shoes before I left. The porter stumbled, losing his grip on the first suitcase, and nearly fell.
I rushed to help, but someone else beat me to it, a tall, mountain of a man. I stopped in my tracks and stared. I may have been drooling. He was, for lack of a better word, beautiful.
Broad chest. Long legs. Strong, muscular arms. Golden, glowing skin. Chestnut hair flowing in riotous curls around his face and down to his shoulders. Eyes in a warm shade of brown. The edge of a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt.
Something unexpected curled in my chest. Was it…lust? I hadn’t felt it in so long I almost didn’t recognize it. But I wasn’t the only person staring at the bronzed god in from of me.
“Heavens to Betsy,” said Hilary under her breath. “I’ve never seen anything so pretty this close up.”
He was pretty, and he was also pissed off, most likely at the owner of the two enormous and ridiculously heavy pink suitcases. Me.