Kinsley Burke

I felt eyes on me as I neared the entrance. Not the actual eyes, but their steady gaze. A man stood to my right, tucked into a cove of brick walls and boxes. His expression left a warm tingle on my skin. How could one simple stare burn so dang hot? It put the hellhound’s flames to shame.

I had paused mid-stride upon spotting him but then forced my feet to move as if I hadn’t seen him. No telling how long he’d been watching me, but a nice perk of living in a large city was not being classified as rude for shoving past strangers while maintaining vacant expressions of recognition. 

“Rough day?” His voice was deep and soothing. I could have added sexy, but I didn’t. 

While my face remained forward, now even my ears burned from his stare. Fifteen more steps until achieving goal number one. Goal number three, relaxing my aching muscles in lavender-smelling bliss, couldn’t come fast enough. I had no time to be side-tracked by a man wanting answers for a supernatural showdown his mind simply couldn’t comprehend—even if my peripheral vision declared him to be as sexy as my brain refused to acknowledge.

I informed Feet to keep walking, and Peripheral to stop glancing.

“You look like you could use a drink,” the man continued. “I’m a whiskey kind of guy.”

I was a wine kind of girl unless I was around Aunt Kate. Then I was a vodka, gin, tequila, and almost anything else I could get my grubby hands on kind of girl. Aunt Kate was a bad influence.