“In that?” he asks incredulously, emphasizing the last syllable. His dark eyes sweep over my outfit slowly, unhurriedly, careful to not miss an inch.

The meticulous assessment warms me further, following the previous path of electricity and knocking every nerve along the way. When I think he’s finished, ready to step away, his gaze dips to my hips for a fraction of a second. His mouth parts, and he inhales sharply, muttering a string of words that sounds suspiciously like fucking hell before snapping his attention back to my face like he’s done something very, very wrong.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat and roll my shoulders back, hoping to show I’m undeterred by this increasingly intimate encounter when, in actuality, I’m close to combusting.

“You must have somewhere really important to be. You definitely weren’t wearing this ensemble earlier.”

“You saw me this morning?”

“Er. In passing.” The tips of his ears turn pink, and his hands disappearing into his pockets.

“Oh. I’m just going to a thing.”

“A thing,” Henry repeats. “Like a regatta gala?”

I sputter, surprised by his joke. “Regatta galas happen during the daytime, allegedly.”

The right side of his mouth turns up at my retort, a small smile present. A wretched half-dimple appears with the raise, partially revealing itself and blatantly showing off.

God.

Life would be so much easier if I hated this man.

Henry is a dangerous specimen. His personality is captivating and enchanting; every single time he speaks, he puts you under a spell. His voice is warm and rich as it seeps into your veins, taking on the role of an IV providing life. A bright aura surrounds him, others gravitating toward him like a magnet. He’s popular with everyone in the office, exceedingly kind and funny while also being wicked intelligent and having a thirst for knowledge.

His looks? Downright devastating. Panty-dropping. Giggle-inducing and blush-creating. He’s frighteningly tall, well over six feet. His body is long and lithe, veins running up his arms and muscles filling out his shirts. Moving away from his stature, the rest of him is equally imposing and daunting.

He’s handsome.

Hot.

Suave and charming.

Absurdly so.

His dark, inky onyx hair is always perfectly kept, floppy up top and cut close to his ears on the sides. Now and then a piece will fall out of place and mask his warm, chocolate brown eyes. Eyes that frequently dance with mischief, mayhem, and excitement. Eyes I’ve had memorized for well over a decade, the first time I encountered them head-on permanently ingrained in my memory, refusing to be forgotten.