“Those shoes are lethal,” he murmurs in my ear. I pull back to see a trace of a smile on his lips, the storm clouds cleared from his eyes. I grip my bouquet. “I’m throwing this entire outfit away when I get home. It’s trying to kill me.” His Adam’s apple presses hard against his throat, a transfixing undulation against his skin. “I think it’s got a vendetta against me, too.” “Not another victim,” I murmur. “Sadly.” He skims me from head to toe. It’s quick, maybe three seconds, but it lingers on my skin. “You look so beautiful I can’t feel my knees.”
