Sarah froze, the air in her lungs turning to ice. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm that threatened to shatter her composure. Martin. What was he doing here? He despised golf—he had always called it a "monument to boredom for the unimaginative rich people." Yet, there he was.
She felt a tremor start in her fingertips and quickly clasped her hands together, digging her nails into her palms to ground herself. She cast a desperate, searching glance toward Sebastian, wondering if his razor-sharp senses had locked onto the same target. His jaw was set like granite, his eyes—usually dark and inscrutable—were now narrowed into slits, fixed firmly on the man in the designer blazer.
"I see him," Sebastian murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that only she could hear. He didn't waste a second. He gripped her elbow, his touch firm and possessive, and steered her away from the line of sight before Martin could pivot in their direction.
