“Are you okay?” The stranger asked in a soft British accent, holding out his hand to help me up. After I accepted it, he pulled me to my feet with ease.

“I had that under control,” I muttered indignantly, brushing the dirt off my ass and fighting back embarrassment at being saved like a damsel in distress.

“Uh huh, it sure looked that way.” He chuckled and touched a gentle finger to my chin where my split lip dripped blood.

At the bold and unexpected contact, I studied my unnecessary savior. From what I could tell in the dimly lit alleyway, his dirty blond hair was cropped short in what can only be a slightly grown-out military cut, and his strong jaw was shaded with stubble. My earlier guess at his dress slacks had been correct as he wore an expensive looking charcoal suit with a white shirt, sans tie underneath, open a few buttons at the collar. Most arresting though, were his eyes. His eyes possessed the most unusual shade of gold with flecks of emerald green in one and fiery orange in the other. Even as I stared at him, he took a fabric square from his breast pocket and gently dabbed at my lip. The contact stung, breaking my trance. I hissed in pain.

“Sorry, love.” he murmured, a sexy smile lifting one side of his full lips. He tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket, then ran his finger lightly over the spreading bruise under my eye and across my cheekbone. At the light caress I shivered, and a faint whimper escaped my throat. My body flushed with the same heat I had experienced when meeting both the twins and Cole. What the hell is happening to me? As though surprised, his brow raised, and then a wolfish, calculating glint shimmered in his mesmerizing eyes.

“Tell me,” he said in a voice like honey. “What was that all about with your intoxicated friend there?” As he spoke, he slid his other hand confidently around my waist and took a step forward, forcing me back a step and planting my back against the wall once again. Only this time, I wasn’t complaining. Why wasn’t I complaining? He was a total stranger, no matter how sexy! It was like I was possessed by a succubus or something. He was tall, and in my flat-shoed boots I needed to crane my neck to look up at him.

“Huh?” I asked, having totally forgotten the question. Smooth, Kit. Real smooth. His throaty chuckle vibrated through my body as he leaned in closer and brushed his satiny lips against my ear, then more firmly over my pulse point. The muscles along my spine quivered as a surge of adrenaline rushed through me, leaving me a pathetic, panting mess.

“Why did your friend just refer to you as ‘Foxy Girl’?” the delectable stranger questioned against my skin in his panty-dropping voice, and I melted a little more. Not enough to lose my brain entirely, though it was getting close.

“Because of my hair color, obviously.” Only a half-lie, since it was how I first got the name.

He pulled back from my neck and gave me an assessing look. His eyes flicked from my hair to my face, and then he seemed to take his time memorizing my features. He ran his rough thumb across my lower lip, and I tried not to moan, still riding high on the hormone rush.

“How curious.” he muttered, then abruptly pulled back, leaving an ice cold void where his body had been.

“Be seeing you around, Fox.” He winked one stunning golden eye, then strode his fine ass out of the alley without so much as a backward glance, leaving me gaping after him.

What the hell just happened? My mind felt like scrambled eggs, all awash with shock and betrayal and frustration. Not to mention the confusion at how uncharacteristically docile I had just gone under the sexy British stranger’s hands. I lifted my fingers to touch where his thumb had caressed my lip, and I froze, a cold spike of fear jolting through me. The split in my lip had completely healed, and I would be willing to bet the bruising under my eye was totally gone now too.

Fuck.