His voice was low and soft, slow and magnetic. It held a bewitching quality that tugged at the heartstrings, sending a tingling thrill through her.
That clear, smooth, and steady voice flowed quietly through the bright sunshine.
It struck Evelyn Grant's heart in an instant.
Her eyes flew open. There was no denying it—her heart was pounding furiously.
The early morning in Xylos was silent and still.
Preston Keaton lowered his gaze, standing quietly by the window. The light fell on the side of his face, accentuating his reserved, profound features. He, too, was waiting for her voice.
He had an inkling of what was coming.
'The girl would probably just say something like, "I really like you," to placate him.'
He curved his lips into a faint, gentle smile. On the other end of the line, the girl's voice was unhurried, her breathing light, her tone soft and buoyant.
"Preston Keaton."
