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One

Azelie Vargas became aware of the whispers and giggles, and she looked up to see her three favorite seniors gesturing wildly toward the window. They were matchmakers, those three. They came into the coffee shop, every day at the same time, and ordered the same drinks and pastries. Sometimes Azelie treated them, knowing they were on a tight budget.

Penny Atwater had been best friends with China and Blanc Christian for nearly sixty years. They still lived next door to one another in San Francisco homes that shared a wall. None of them drove. They'd taken the bus everywhere as children growing up and then later continued to do so as adults. All three referred to themselves as widows and shared a love of dancing. Blanc had been a professional ballroom dancer and had taught in a studio with her sister, China.

Azelie loved their passion for life. She wasn't so certain of their enthusiasm for finding her a romantic partner. Still, they made her laugh because they wore bright clothes and had such a joy for living. The three referred to themselves as "the merry widows" and then would laugh with such enthusiasm it was difficult not to join them in their merriment.

Two gentlemen, Doug Parsons and Carlton Gray, had been neighbors with the three women for over forty years. Their houses were on either side of the merry widows' homes. They often came into the coffee shop around the same time as the three women, sitting with them and reminiscing about funny or poignant times from their past. Azelie enjoyed listening to them. She suspected most of those coming to the coffee shop did as well.

The coffee shop wasn't a trendy one. It was a mom-and-pop organic coffee shop, so the prices were a little higher. But everyone who frequented it was loyal. Azelie went there to study for her classes or read. Sometimes she worked on the book she was currently writing. She'd been lucky enough to have three books published and had a contract for a fourth. They were moderately successful, which meant she made some money on them. Not a lot, but it helped to pay for her college classes.

The man the three seniors were all atwitter over stood on the sidewalk just outside the coffee shop. He'd come in twice before with another man. Both times the women in the shop-including her-were rendered speechless at the sheer beauty and power the two men exuded. Even Shaila Manger, the owner, came out of the kitchen to ogle the men. Her husband, David, simply laughed good-naturedly, not in the least upset that his wife of thirty-eight years found the two men hot.

Personally, Azelie did have a bit of a crush on the taller of the two men. Just looking at him took her breath away. She was careful not to stare when he had come in with his friend. In fact, she kept her gaze glued to her laptop. That didn't stop the three seniors from gesturing wildly and giggling like schoolgirls. The men had to have noticed-they would have been blind not to-but she refused to acknowledge the matchmaking or the fact that the women had managed to ferret out the names of the newcomers.

Naturally, it was Mr. Gorgeous and Powerful that was coming into the coffee shop alone today. She would have been perfectly fine if his friend Lazar Alexeev had come in. Her body didn't have the slightest reaction to Lazar-but Andrii Federoff, holy cow, she'd gone up in proverbial flames. That had never happened to her. Not once. It was disconcerting and just a tiny bit horrifying that without even trying Andrii could set her body on fire.

Azelie had never seen a man quite like Andrii before. He was tall with broad shoulders and so much muscle through his arms and chest she didn't know how his shirt could contain it all. His hair was a true black streaked with silver. The silver didn't make him look older, but his eyes did. He should have had gray eyes, but the color was lighter than gray, so he appeared to have silver eyes. When he looked at her, she had the mad desire to do anything he asked of her. Not a good thing. She wanted to be independent, and over the last couple of years she had worked hard to suppress the need in her to nurture and serve others.

Clearly, she hadn't succeeded-yet. Not with the seniors who she bonded with. There were also the parents she helped out occasionally in the park she frequented. And now there was Andrii. She was staying far, far away from him.

She had gleaned from the conversation she'd overheard between the two men that Lazar lived close, and Andrii was visiting because he had business in San Francisco. She'd never seen Lazar in the coffee shop, but that didn't mean he wasn't there at different hours than she was. He was probably considered good-looking-at least the merry widows, the owner of the shop and a few other females ogled him when he was there with Andrii.

Lazar had a build similar to Andrii's in that he had wide shoulders and a thick chest and arms, giving him an appearance of power. His hair was dark, and he wore it slicked back and neat, much neater than Andrii's shaggy hair. His eyes were hazel and at times looked amber to her. There were freckles all over his face, which should have detracted from his looks but only seemed to enhance them-at least to the other women.

The moment Andrii entered the shop, she was acutely aware of him in the room. She didn't have to look up to know he was there. She knew exactly where he was every minute. He had such a presence. She sat at her usual table, a small one for two people only, toward the back of the shop. She had a good view of the windows and could see two streets, as the coffee shop was on a corner. Instead of looking at the views-or at Andrii-she brought up the book she was currently reading. She hoped the novel would keep the butterflies from fluttering in her stomach.

With one finger, Azelie pushed back the glasses threatening to slide from her nose. The thick black frames annoyed her when they insisted on falling right when she was reading something exciting. She loved books and the adventures they could take her on. It wasn't like she was ever going to be leading a wild and crazy life, so reading about exotic places and heroes and heroines appealed to her-especially ones that were monogamous. And happy endings were always important, no matter if there was murder, mystery or mayhem.

It was impossible to shut out the giggles of the merry widows. For no reason at all, color swept up her neck into her face. She was certain the women were gesturing wildly toward her. Sighing, she glanced up over the top of her glasses, blinking rapidly several times to bring her surroundings into focus. Her gaze collided with a pair of eyes more liquid silver than gray and very intense. His lashes, very black and thick, didn't take away from his chiseled features. The fact that he wore his black hair longer, and it was streaked with fine threads of silver, only enhanced the entirely masculine vibe he had going. As far as she could tell, there wasn't an ounce of fat anywhere on him.

Her stomach clenched. Her sex clenched. Her entire body wanted to seize. He was intimidating just because he was so gorgeous.

"Would you mind if I join you? As you can see, the shop is filling up quickly."

She blinked up at him again, trying to catch her breath. Just looking at him made everything she had want to run. She had to look away, afraid she'd make an utter fool of herself if she tried to speak. She looked around the coffee shop. It was nearly empty.

"Zelie."

His voice was smooth. Like the brush of velvet against her skin. She'd never heard a voice like his before. Not ever. He had the kind of voice that made her shiver in anticipation of . . . what? Hot blood rushed through her veins and under her skin, coloring her face a bright red. There was no controlling that wild blush any more than there was controlling the flutter in her sex. And Zelie? No one called her Zelie. It was always Azelie. But she liked the way he said Zelie. Still . . .

"How did you know my name?" To her horror, her voice came out small, not at all like she wanted to sound. A whisper. As if she were inviting him to be intimate with her. She never sounded like that. She might avoid men, but when she spoke to them, she was decisive.

The table was small, and he moved the chair close to her-too close. His thigh brushed along hers. Warm. No, hot. She was suddenly very aware of herself as a woman, every nerve ending springing to life. He was definitely a man.

"The barista calls your name when your order is ready," he said simply. "I'm Andrii Federoff. I couldn't help but notice the beautiful woman lost in her own world."

No one called her beautiful. She wasn't beautiful. She was . . . ordinary. Mousy even. There wasn't a single thing remarkable about her. Not that she was complaining. The fact that no one noticed her helped her to disappear into the woodwork, where she could observe those around her without having to participate.

"Azelie Vargas," she managed to get out without making more of a fool of herself. She couldn't drink her coffee; her hands were shaking too bad. She threaded her fingers together tightly in her lap, wondering why a man as gorgeous as Andrii would choose to sit with her.

"What are you reading? It must be very interesting to have you so completely absorbed in the story."

She tried to fight the blush but was unsuccessful. "I enjoy a variety of novels."

He remained silent, his silver eyes moving over her face like twin lasers. He looked a little moody. Disappointed. Definitely aware she'd dodged his question and not happy about it.

She lifted her chin. She didn't know him. What the hell did it matter if he judged her? "I enjoy reading romance. Happy endings. Stories about men and women communicating and forming families. Being faithful to each other."

Immediately, those strangely colored eyes turned to a liquid silver, approval lighting them. The change sent little darts of fire shooting straight to her sex. Why in the world did his approval of her matter so much? It made no sense when he was a complete stranger, but her entire body responded just to the look in his eyes.

"I've seen you typing. Do you write your own stories?"

His voice was remarkable. She'd never heard anything like it. She felt as if he were wrapping her in velvet. Azelie nodded. He continued to stare at her with his light-colored eyes, burning right through her, exposing her every secret.

"Yes," she whispered. "I do write stories. It's difficult to make a living as a full-time author, so I work at a local club as a bookkeeper to make ends meet." She had absolutely no idea why she blurted out that information, but it just came flying out of her mouth. "I've worked there for years, but had hoped I could quit eventually. That isn't looking too good."

He nodded. "You're published, then?"

"Yes. I've sold three stories so far-romantic suspense-and I've contracted for one more. I'm hoping when I turn that one in, they'll offer me another contract. So far, the books have sold fairly well." She took pride in that. She wasn't a bestseller, but she was definitely midlist. That didn't mean she could quit her day job. She just couldn't make enough money being an author. She understood the cost of paper and ink kept rising.

She also had tried self-publishing. That hadn't worked out for her. She wasn't good at marketing. On top of that, a trend had started where readers returned books after they read them, and authors had to return the money. She couldn't pay her bills. Many authors went under. She was fortunate in that she had a good-paying day job, but having that possibility hanging over her head was daunting. She didn't have the nerves for it. She needed the buffer of a publisher.

"I find it interesting that you work as a bookkeeper and you write novels. It's unusual to do both."

She nodded. "I know. I think my brain is always at war with itself." She flashed him a small smile. "What do you do?"

"I work in security. It's not nearly as interesting."

His voice literally sent chills down her spine. She was grateful she was sitting because she was afraid she might not be able to keep her legs from trembling and she'd fall right at his feet. She really hoped those strangely colored eyes of his couldn't see right into her. She'd never, not once in her life, had a reaction to another human being the way she did to him.

"In novels, the man working security is always interesting."

One dark eyebrow shot up and his lips curved into a slow smile. No teeth, but that almost smile made her stomach somersault. "Have you ever written a hero working security?"

She moistened suddenly dry lips as she shook her head. Again, there was silence, and she knew he was waiting for her to speak. "Not yet."

That earned her a flash of his white teeth. Her heart nearly stopped. She forced her gaze to the to-go mug she had carefully picked up and now held between her palms.

"I don't suppose you would describe him as looking like me?"

She dared to tilt her head to the side and allowed her gaze to drift over him, making certain to start from the neck down. She couldn't look into those mercury eyes, especially if he was looking at her with that focused intensity. "Neck tattoos, broad shoulders, a thick chest, all muscle. If I described my hero like you, my readers would think I was relying on formula writing." She laughed because she couldn't help it. He was beautiful. A gorgeous man who had no business sitting with her.

"Why are you laughing, Zelie?"

"I'm afraid you sat down at the wrong table, Mr. Federoff."

"Why are you so certain of that?"

She gestured toward him, from the top of his head down his chest, grateful the rest of him was hidden. She was finally getting to a place where she could speak to him without making a total fool of herself. She was fully capable of speaking her mind or speaking the truth, but only if she didn't think too much about the rest of his body.