When Jess hit the wall of heat upon exiting the plane, she foolishly thought it was the only shock she’d have to deal with. However, the stifling, unbreathable air was nothing compared to the one of seeing Frederick, dressed in green fatigues and leaning against a military Humvee, smoking a cigarette. Filthy habit. Just another thing about him that only served to heighten her dislike, and she did dislike him. She’d often wondered over the past few years if once she set eyes upon Frederick—a good-looking guy at six foot two, built like a linebacker, with blue eyes and black hair, a true raven breed—she’d feel the attraction that once made her think she loved him. Looking upon his chiseled visage, with its shadow of a beard, and seeing the muscled arms bared by his short-sleeved shirt, it amazed her to note she felt nothing. Okay, not exactly nothing. Rage. Irritation. An urge to slap him, yes.
