I swept my hands down my skirt, straightening any wrinkles, and took a deep breath before knocking on Mr. Dubois's door. I was about to knock again when the door swung open.
"May I help you?" A deep masculine voice with a delicious French accent asked. I looked up at the man towering over me and lost my speaking ability.
I took in every inch of his body, his olive-colored skin, gunmetal-gray eyes, heavy dark brows, and long thick lashes that most women would kill to have. His chiseled jaw was covered with a perfectly trimmed beard. He was wearing a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. With his muscular body, he looked more like a club bouncer or a bodyguard for some celebrity than an entrepreneur. My appraisal fell to his feet, his bare feet. Even his feet were sexy.
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