I stepped into the lobby to find Marcus alone. “Foster said the photographer was here?” “I am.” Twisting toward the door, I silently cursed when my eyes landed on the man in question. He wasn’t short, but he was the perfect height that if I was to wrap my arms around him, I could rest my chin on top of his head. He had short, sandy hair that would edge toward blonde if he only spent more time in the sun. His eyes were hazel that tended more toward green than brown, and his lips were full and inviting: utterly kissable.
