Am I the only one who's noticed?
The faces around her certainly didn't seem concerned. Except for Matt, who appeared to be saying something and trying to make eye contact with her.
Something's
different
.
With concentrated effort, Lucy tried to pinpoint the answer.
Good something? Bad something?
But she couldn't decide; her thoughts told her nothing.
“Lucy!”
Matt's voice broke through at last, scattering those thoughts in all directions. Startled, Lucy saw his face come into sharp focus and realized that no one was watching the young man anymore; they were all looking at her.
“I'm . . .” She glanced around, flushing in embarrassment. “I'm sorry . . . what?”
“I said, this is Jared Wetherly. Jared, this is Lucy.”
She realized then that she hadn't taken her gaze off Jared Wetherly since he'd first come through the door. That her perceptions of everyone and everything else had come from other senses, but that her sight and attention had been firmly fixed on this long-lost grandson who had so recentlyâand convenientlyâshown up out of nowhere.
My God, he could be a prince.
This was the first impression that came to her, as her eyes drifted over his hair, his face, down the length of his body.
A prince with night-black eyes.
Those Wetherly eyes, so much like Byron's, deep and dark and fathomless, unsettlingly intense. Eyes that could hold an interminable stare; eyes unhindered by shadows.
Eyes that can see into souls . . .
Eyes that reminded her all too well of that other stranger, that other Jared she'd rescued and cared for, that other Jared who'd claimed to be Byron's brother . . .