Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

Even though I’m not looking at him, his attention is a force
I can physically feel on my body. In my stomach. On my skin.
I close my eyes and slowly exhale, trying to steady my nerves.
Then—blame it on the buzz—I jump off the cliff in front
of me. “Today was supposed to be my wedding day.”
After an oddly tense pause, he prompts, “Supposed to be?”
I clear my throat, knowing that my cheeks are red, but
there’s nothing I can do about it. “My fiancé disappeared. That
was five years ago. I haven’t seen him since.”
What the hell, he’d find out from someone soon enough
anyway. Diane Myers has probably already mailed him a
handwritten essay about the whole thing.
When he remains silent, I glance over at him. He’s sitting
perfectly still in his chair, his gaze steady on mine. His
expression reveals nothing, but there’s a new tension in his
body. A new hardness in his already stony jaw.
Which is when I remember that he’s a recent widower. I’ve
just stuck my foot in my mouth.
Hand over my heart, I breathe, “Oh, I’m so sorry. That was
thoughtless of me.”
His brows draw together in a quizzical frown. It’s obvious
he doesn’t know what I mean.
“Because of your…situation.”
He sits forward in his chair, folds his arms on the tabletop,
and leans closer to me. Eyes glittering, he says quietly, “Which
situation is that?”
God, this guy is scary. Big, hot, and really scary. But
mostly hot. No, scary.
Shit, I think I’m drunk.
“Maybe I’m wrong. I just assumed—”
“Assumed what?”
“That when you saw me in my wedding dress…that you’re
new in town and you seem very, um, a little, how should I say?