“What are you doing here?” she demanded, folding her arms across her chest. He shrugged, and it was all she could do not to salivate over the breadth of his shoulders. “Obviously,” he said, “I’m stalking you.” God, did he have to sound so matter-of-fact about it? “Why?” she gritted out, horrified to find herself fighting a smile. She was not amused. She was irritated. No, she was worse than irritated; she was disgusted, horrified, and gripped by murderous rage.
