He wore army-green camouflage and his hair was cut short. He was soaked to the bone. His brows were sharp and severe, yet the line of his brow bone was surprisingly soft, giving him an imposing, almost aggressive, appearance.
Sharp and cold, yet nonchalantly composed.
His fingers were long and slender, not rough like the soldiers she imagined. His knuckles were even slim and fair, the bones long and distinct.
Resting on the steering wheel, they exuded a clean-cut efficiency rarely seen in ordinary men.
Noticing Sydney Sawyer sizing him up, he turned his head to look at her.
His eyes held a naturally lazy, captivating charm.
They hinted at a wild, untamable spirit, like kindling waiting for a flame.
"What is it?" He smiled at Sydney Sawyer.
Her breath hitched, and her face flushed crimson. She fumbled for a tissue and haphazardly wiped the water from her face.
"Are you a soldier?"
Sydney Sawyer didn't think he looked like one.
