“In a moment.”
I splay my fingers out against her lower back and pull her even closer. Her breath catches, and she blinks at me from beneath her lashes. I allow myself an indulgent sweep of her face, committing it to memory.
Fast beats of her pulse flutter beneath the surface of silky skin on her neck, the sight making my blood heat.
I’m playing a dangerous game here.
“Why not now?” she puffs out in a small whisper.
Her pupils dilate as she absentmindedly strokes my shirt with featherlight fingertips, right over my thundering heart.
“Sterling?” Her soft, full lips shine as her tongue darts out to wet them.
“Hallie?” I counter, relishing the way a tiny shiver runs through her as I say it.
The urge to keep her close, to pull her to me and not let go is overwhelming.
I flex my fingers against her back to prevent me from taking ahold of her chin and tilting it back so I can lower my mouth to hers.
I bet kissing her would be like kissing a ray of sun.
Warm. Inviting. Enlivening.
Her fingers trace figures of eight over my heart. I doubt she knows she’s doing it.
She blinks up at me. “I’d like to donate tonight. Do I make out a cheque? Or transfer it to an account?”
“Any way you want to. The suggested donation is a minimum of two hundred thousand. It doesn’t matter how it comes.”
“Oh, okay.”
She drops her hand from my chest and fiddles with her hair, tucking an invisible strand behind her ear.
She looks at her drink, lips pressed tightly together.
I study the lines creasing her forehead.
She’s a wealthy woman. Wealthy enough to invest in the same project as me a few months ago. A bio-fuel rocket engine headed up by Logan Rich, a British engineer. It’s one of the things that came up when Denver ran a security check on her. If I’d gone to the launch party in London, then I might have met her there. But I missed it because I was looking at potential premises to add to the Seasons portfolio.
“Hallie,” I murmur. “Are you okay?”
“Huge turnout!” Sinclair gushes, appearing beside us, her head swiveling around the room as she waves to people she knows.
Hallie steps away from me, looking flustered. “It’s incredible. The amount of people here, I can’t quite believe it.”
“I’m not surprised,” Sullivan adds, sliding in beside Sinclair, his eyes calculating as he looks from Hallie and then to me.
I shake my head subtly, and he grunts into his champagne flute, taking a sip as he scans the room. His attention zeroes in on a woman in a skintight red dress who’s looking over at him with hungry eyes.
“Who’s that?” Sinclair sneers.
“No idea,” he replies coolly, his eyes dropping to the woman’s feet and back up, drinking her in.
“Bet you’ll know later, though, right? When she’s getting acquainted with your penthouse in The Lanceford.” Sinclair knocks her champagne back and then switches it for another from a passing tray, knocking that one back too.
Sullivan’s jaw clenches. “I don’t know what you mean, Sis.”
She snorts. “Like hell you don’t.”
