The man effortlessly stopped her from closing the door.
Lianne looked up in surprise.
Seth Sinclair braced one hand against the doorframe, his gaze lowered and fixed on her cheek.
She stared at him, her pupils dilating. His image was reflected clearly in her sparkling, almond-shaped eyes, which were like scattered stardust.
She was the frightened Nightingale inside the door; he was the unknown storm outside.
Lianne's eyes swept upward, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, then the high bridge of his nose, and finally a pair of narrow, dark eyes with cold, sharp corners.
Seth Sinclair leaned in slightly, still propped up by one hand on the doorframe. His dangerously handsome face drew closer, and Lianne subconsciously tightened her grip on the doorknob.
Seth Sinclair lifted his lazy eyelids and said with a straight face, "Go get your ID."
From this height and angle, Lianne could feel his hot breath, diluted by the air, drifting down onto her face.
