Chapter 131
Rohan Mitra was 6'2" of broad shoulders, lean muscled torso, and a swagger to his hips as they propped against the doorframe. His dark brown hair curled in thick, sexy locks around his ears. It was almost as striking as the combo of his gold eyes and brown skin from his East Indian/Jewish heritage. Less appealing was the enough-arrogance-per-square-inch that left me amazed there was any room for his internal organs.
Thankfully, he wasn't in full rock god mode, like eyeliner and a smile dripping with killer lyrics and promises he'd be only too happy to keep. No, his quirked lips, worn jeans, and untucked white shirt with its cuffs rolled up to expose strong forearms were more rock god casual Friday. That meant a sliver of my brain was able to keep functioning even if most of it was busy envisioning ripping his clothes off.
Or figuring out the most painful use of my magic on his person.
"You're sputtering, Nava," he said.