He lifts a bottle from where it’s been cooling in an ice bucket on the bar counter. "It’s the end of a busy work week. Live a little, Isla."
It’s the first time he’s called me by my name, and it feels so intimate. I tremble. My pussy clenches. Ridiculous. This…attraction to him is messing with my head. Is it because it’s forbidden? Because he’s out of bounds? Or is it simply that something in me is attracted to hot, full-of-themselves toffs? He’s so different from me.
I came up the hard way. I’ve had to fight for everything. Had to fight when my own body turned against me. This man, on theother hand, gives off the air of being invincible. No doubt, with his background and money, everything was designed to cater to him. And he’s made a success of it, too. I’ve read enough of the business columns to know the man is a workaholic. He gives the impression of always being in control. Of not letting anything stand in his way. And that’s both attractive and annoying. In fact, each time I’ve met him, I’ve always felt this…animosity toward him. I couldn’t understand it, but now… I realize, it’s because I’m hopelessly attracted to him, and I hate myself for feeling that way. I’m angry for allowing myself to feel anything for him. I need to do my job and get out of here, before I do something I regret.
He pours two flutes and stalks over to me.
I reluctantly accept one from him. Our fingertips brush. An electric current zips out from the point of contact.Shit.I take a step back so quickly, some of the champagne spills from my flute onto my suit jacket.
"Damn." I look around for something to dab at it with.
"Allow me." The jerkface pulls out a handkerchief and presses it to the wet stain on my collar. It’s over my right breast, and I can feel his touch all the way through the layers of clothing. I feel like he’s branding me with it. My toes curl. My breath comes in pants. I’m unable to move as he continues to rub at the stain. I’m so aware of his big body towering over me, of that masculine scent and testosterone spiking the air. Of how much heat he gives off, of how solid he feels, how overpowering. My head spins. My body hums.
I find myself swaying toward him and, with a noise of protest, I take a step back. "I think I should leave."
This entire situation is getting out of hand. I can’t seriously be so attracted to this man that I’m unable to keep away from him?This is so wrong.I head over to the coffee table and placemy glass on it. I straighten and turn, to find him standing behind me. I gasp.
"Do I make you nervous?" he rumbles.
I almost whimper at how his rough voice feels when it scrapes over my already raw nerve-endings.
"Of course, not." I attempt to brush past him, only I stumble. He catches me with an arm around my waist, without spilling a drop from the flute he holds in his other hand.Oh god.The feel of that muscular forearm against my back liquifies my insides. My brain cells melt. And my heart beats so fast, I’m sure it’s going to break through my ribcage. I stare up into those silvery-grey eyes and realize, there are flecks of blue and green in them.Mesmerizing. Enthralling.He has me transfixed with the power of his charisma, which thrums around him like a shield. Or like a spider’s web in which he’s caught me.
I should go. I pull away, and he makes no attempt to stop me. On shaky legs, not daring to look back at him, I stumble toward the door. I try to open it, but my fingers are so sweaty, they slip on the handle. I swear aloud. And when a trembling grips me, I know… He’s, once again, standing right behind me.
"Don’t go," he murmurs.
"What?" I gasp.
"You know you don’t want to."
"But… I… " I shake my head. I can’t be seriously contemplating staying here, can I? This is the man my friend’s going to marry. And this is the most important event I will plan in my entire career. So, why am I ready to throw it all away for a few more moments with this man? "I should go," I whisper.
"I won’t stop you." I sense him step back. "I’m sorry if I offended you in any way, but I’m not going to apologize for my actions."
His words surprise me enough that I look at him over my shoulder. Then I wish I hadn’t. Seeing the flush on his highcheekbones, I realize, I affect him, too. And his eyes… Those gorgeous eyes are darker, appearing almost steely in color. And the flecks of blue and green are more pronounced. It’s like there are storm clouds captured in them. Another shiver grips me. I swallow. "This can’t happen, you realize that. I… I can’t do that to my friend."
"I’ll break it off."
"What?" I turn to him. "What do you mean? Break it off?" A part of me realizes he’s also placed his flute down on the coffee table behind him.
"I can’t marry someone else, knowing there’s this—" He pauses, seems to gather his thoughts. "There's something potent between us." He searches my features, his gaze a caress. "You feel it, too, don’t you?"
I should deny it and get out of here. Instead, I nod.
A look of satisfaction glints in his eyes. He pulls out his phone and dials a number. I can hear the phone on the other side ringing. Then a voice comes on. It’s Lila. "I’m not here right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Promise." She disconnects.
"What are you doin—" I begin to ask, but he’s already speaking into the phone.
"We need to speak, Lila. I can’t go through with the wedding. I know it seems callous of my leaving you a message like this, but it’s best for the both of us if I break it off. You deserve better than me. You deserve someone who loves you the way I can’t. Please call me." He disconnects the phone and slips it back into his pocket.
"Oh, my god! What have you done?" I look at him in horror. "You can’t do that to Lila, and by a phone message? How cruel can you be?"
"It would have been more unkind of me to pretend to have feelings for her, when all I can think about is you."
I shake my head. "This is crazy. We barely know each other."
I’m shocked he called her. But a small part of me is pleased. Which begs the question: is my subconscious trying to tell me I was secretly hoping this wedding would get cancelled?
