His hair, a rich shade of chocolate-brown, fell past the collar of his T-shirt in tousled waves and yet did nothing to soften the sharp line of his jaw, the harsh slash of his cheekbones. His brows were thick and drawn together as he studied her warily, his green eyes flecked with gold. He had a slight dimple in his chin, broad shoulders, a flat stomach and muscular arms. Beautiful and, she realized, pissed off. What a crying shame. Someone that pretty shouldn’t scowl so much. “You,” he bit out, “are a crazy person.” Nora’s hands stung from the reverberations of hitting the car with the crowbar, her heart raced from her exertion. “Not crazy. Just determined.” Although, she thought with a glance at her poor car, she might plead temporary insanity. But it had felt surprisingly good—in a therapeutic way—to hit something after all the trauma and drama of the past few weeks.
