She couldn’t relax. Couldn’t catch her breath.It was his fault. Troy Sheenan.Taylor’s fingers curled into her palms. She stared blindly out the windshield into the night with the thick swirling snow, her chest tight, aching with bottled air.Of all people to stop...Of all people to offer to help.Why did it have to be him?And worse, why couldn’t he be arrogant, and rude, and absolutely despicable? Dislikable? Why did he have to be almost... charming?Nice.She shuddered inwardly, thinking that he might even be quite nice, if he weren’t, well, so impossibly, ridiculously good looking.Because he was.Tall, handsome, black hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw, dimples.A man with all those attributes couldn’t be nice. Truly handsome men were never nice. They were spoiled, overly confident, insincere. They were accustomed to women falling to their feet and throwing themselves at men, bosoms heaving... and so forth.Taylor’s lips compressed and she lifted her chin a fraction.She couldn’t place all the blame on handsome men.
