Kristen Granata

I arch an eyebrow as my gaze roams over the cop’s son.

He towers over me. With a square jaw and dark features, he bears a strong resemblance to his father—except for his thick brown hair, which is unfortunate for him because he won’t be keeping much of it

I arch an eyebrow as my gaze roams over the cop’s son.

He towers over me. With a square jaw and dark features, he bears a strong resemblance to his father—except for his thick brown hair, which is unfortunate for him because he won’t be keeping much of it

“And there’s supposed to be an apology in there somewhere,” his father whispers loud enough for me to hear.

James’s jaw tics before he sets his eyes on me. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”