Suppressing an eye roll, I turned.
And felt my heart unmoor from my chest.
I blinked at the vision, then squeezed my eyes shut and peered again.
There in the doorway stood Lachlan Hayes 2.0.
Lachlan, the made-over version.
Paolo would’ve been giddy with the way his clothes hung on Lachlan. A steel gray suit hugged his body, and his white shirt set off a contrast that drew attention to the skin exposed by the top three buttons left undone. He wore no tie, but the pocket of his jacket held a square of deep fuchsia, a small pop of color that was as sexy as it was subdued.
But what absolutely transfixed me was Lachlan’s face.
I could actually see it.
And it was unexpectedly beautiful. Very much like the moment of impact in a car crash, I had milliseconds to prepare, and the force of the hit sent me tumbling head over heels into confusion and shock.
Lachlan’s hair had certainly met a pair of scissors, but Blaire had taken great care to leave a few inches of length—enough to satisfy should a lady desire to walk her hands through the shiny russet strands.
The acreage of facial hair that had occupied the lower half of Lachlan’s face had been brush hogged, leaving only a trim shadow that went from one ear, dipped to his chin, and ended at the other lobe. That left a lot of face to be seen, and I had flashbacks to the boy Lachlan had been in college. There were hints of him there, but now the boy had grown into a man. And, my goodness, was that man unexpectedly handsome. His skin looked soft enough to touch, and his unruly brows were now tamed to set off his moss green eyes.
While those piercing eyes might’ve been the new star of the show, Lachlan’s lips deserved a nod as best supporting actor. Without the choke hold of a mustache, his mouth was on display, revealing two full lips, plump, slightly parted in thought, and entirely kissable.
If one was into that sort of thing.
Frannie fanned herself. “Hold your Spanx, girls. Mr. Tall, Ginger, and Gorgeous is walking our way.”
Sylvie ran her tongue over her white teeth. “Suck in your guts, stick out your chests, and telepathically convey invitations to dark corners.”
“Stop drooling over Olivia’s husband,” Rosie scolded. “That man is your husband, isn’t he, sis?”
He was. Every gorgeous, reformed bit of him.
The four of us stood transfixed, held captive by the new edition of Lachlan Hayes. His walk needed thematic music—a soundtrack to accompany his every confident and dapper step.
He pulled a pair of glasses from the inside of his jacket and slipped them on.
“Not glasses,” Rosie whimpered. “Oh, gosh, I’m a sucker for glasses.”
As was I. And in those specs, Lachlan looked like he could recite poetry, score a touchdown, and kiss a girl until she forgot her own name. All at the same time.
He was ten long strides away when his pace slowed. Green eyes held mine, and his lips pressed together. Lachlan glanced down at his suit then back to me.
I slowly nodded my approval.
Frannie’s smile never wavered. “He looks like he wants to sweep Olivia up in those big strong arms and make out in the travel section.”
Lachlan ran a hand over his face, and I wondered if he missed his full beard. It had been his shield, a place for that ruggedly annoying face to hide.
Someone stopped him with a greeting, and Lachlan broke eye contact with me long enough to bid the party guest good evening.
I’d just gotten my erratic heartbeat under control when Lachlan appeared at my side. “Hello, ladies.” His voice—my goodness, I’d missed that voice. “Mind if I crash your party?”
“Don’t you look sharp,” Sylvie said. “Olivia, doesn’t he look sharp?”
“He does.” I couldn’t believe the transformation. Lachlan certainly hadn’t been hard on the eyes before, but now he looked like that CEO he’d wanted to portray. A roguish, press-you-against-the-office-door-and-kiss-you-senseless CEO.
I really needed to skip a month of Sexy Book Club.
