A fashionably beat-up leather jacket hung open to show a navy t-shirt that clung lovingly to his broad chest and lean torso, and his full lips were curved in a smile as I… …as I gawked up at him like an idiot. The loose curls of his thick, red-gold hair lay in a sexy, tousled mop that sparkled with scattered raindrops. The invitation-only kind, populated by actors, models, minor royals, and Beyonce. Then I turned to the guy beside me and thought, okay. It wasn’t like we were in a crowded nightclub where the hot guys get served first. And his eyes skimmed right over me to land on the newcomer instead. When Lenny had finished pulling a pint of Guinness for the glum-looking man I thought was my postie, he glanced my way. I eased to the side, putting some distance between us, and did my best to catch Lenny the bartender’s eye. He was so close, I could feel his body heat, and smell his rather nice shampoo. So why the guy who’d just blown in on a cold blast of rain-scented air felt it necessary to shove himself right up beside me, I had no idea. In other words, there was more than enough room at the bar. for the grim commute into London, while those of us smart enough to work from home were gleefully still in bed. We didn’t get many tourists at this time of year, and at least half the population of Chipping Fairford had dragged themselves off to the train station at six a.m. It was a cold Tuesday in February, in the Cotswolds. IT WASN’T EXACTLY CROWDED İN the pub, even though it was lunchtime.
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