Excerpt of Zero to Sixty by Marie Harte

Ivy sighed. Time to go puppy hunting again. She double-
checked to make sure she’d locked the front door, then
used the restroom. She left through the back hall and had
just opened the backdoor to leave when a large man
appeared from out of nowhere.

She gasped and jumped back.

He just stood there, looming like a giant, his hands
tucked into his jean pockets. He had to stand well over
six feet tall, and his frame looked massive. He wore a
zipped up, padded black jacket that only enhanced his
size. His short, dark-brown hair could use a cut, and his
eyes remained shadowed despite the overhead patio light.
She thought she saw a hint of ink along his neck but
couldn’t tell because of the play of darkness over his
features.

“Ah, hello,” he said in a deep voice. A shivery voice.

When he didn’t make any sudden movements, she started to
relax. He backed up a step to give her more space, and
she cleared her throat.

“Hello. Can I help you with something?”

“Sorry. I knocked on the front door, but no one answered.
So I came around back, like the sign said to.”

A normal thing any client might do. But this man was no
athlete or nine-to-fiver with tight rhomboids. This man
screamed dangerous, in more ways than one. For some
reason, when the light hit his mouth, she couldn’t look
away, thinking how pretty his lips were in a face
chiseled from granite.

“We’re closed. But if you’d like to schedule a massage, I
can give you my card.”

“Um, okay.” He took another step back. “I can wait out
here while you get it.”

She fished in her purse and found it, then took a leap of
faith and left the office, locking the door behind her.
Leaving her with this stranger, alone, in the confines of
the small back patio outside the office. The one fenced
in for privacy.

Ivy got a grip on her runaway imagination, sensing no
real danger from the man, just overwhelmed by his
presence. She held out her card. “Here you go.”

He took it, careful not to brush her fingers. But jeez,
he had big hands. “Ivy Stephens, LMT.” Licensed Massage
Therapist—since she’d put herself through school eight
long years ago.

She nodded. “Bodyworks is closed now, but any of us here
can help you. My number’s on the card.”

“Great. Thanks.” He shuffled his feet. “I’ve been
thinking about getting some work done.”

“Yeah?” She walked cautiously around him and exited the
side gate. She continued along the side of the building,
back to the lit and populated main sidewalk. Ivy blew out
a breath, trying not to feel so relieved.

“Yeah,” he said, walking next to her. “Name’s Sam.” He
stopped on the side of the walk, out of the way of foot
traffic, and held out a hand.

She stopped and took it, to be courteous. The heat in his
humongous palm startled her. As did the calluses. She
glanced down, and his sleeve rose up his arm, revealing
tattoos. A look at his neck showed she’d been right
earlier. He had what looked like inked vines and barbed
wire creeping up his neck from under that jacket. Wow.

He let go of her hand slowly, his gaze narrowed on her
face.