Page 8 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

And then I see him.

He's sitting alone at a table near the back, and unlike the other men who are engaged in conversation or watching the room with predatory interest, he's completely still.

His attention is focused entirely on me, and the intensity of his gaze makes my breath catch.

He's older than Russ, maybe mid-forties, with brown hair that's graying at the temples.

Even sitting down, I can tell he's tall, his body lean but powerful beneath his perfectly tailored suit.

There's something about the way he holds himself, a quiet authority that doesn't need to be announced.

Where Russ was playful and charming, this man seems controlled and commanding.

He doesn't smile or wave me over. He simply watches, and somehow that's more compelling than any overt invitation.

I pick up my drink and walk toward him, my heart pounding.

As I get closer, I can see his eyes are a deep brown, assessing and intelligent.

There's a scar along his jawline, barely visible, and I wonder what kind of life leaves marks like that.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask when I reach his table.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't." His voice is deep with an edge of command that sends chills of awareness along my nerves. He gestures to the seat across from him. "Sit."

It's not a request, and I find myself obeying without question. There's something about him that demands compliance, not through force but through sheer presence.

"I'm Marla," I say, settling into the chair.

"Alex." He doesn't offer a last name, and I don't ask. His gaze travels over me slowly and deliberately, taking in every detail. "You were here last week."

It's not a question, but I nod anyway. "I was."

I'd noticed him last week, too. He was one of the three guys I'd been attracted to and considered. Had he approached me before Russ, I would have taken him home with me. A slight unease skittered through me. Did he see me leave with Russ? Did he know that I'd taken another man home last week?

I mentally shook my head, determined not to think about that. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. And, come to think of it, I don't remember seeing him or the other guy in the club when I'd left with Russ.

He studies me for a long moment. "What are you looking for tonight, Marla?"

The directness of the question catches me off guard, but I appreciate it. No games, no pretense. Just honest communication.

A slow smile curves my mouth. I feel powerful, sensual, and sexual in a way I never have before. I feel almost giddy with it.

"A good time," I say, letting my smile spread across my face. I don't know where this boldness comes from, but I slowly run the tip of my tongue across my upper lip, watching how his eyes darken with heat and desire as he watches the movement.

"I can give you that." He stands, and I realize he's even taller than I thought. He offers me his hand. "My place is downtown. You'll follow me there."

Again, it's not a question. It's a statement of fact with an expectation that I'll comply. And God help me, I want to.

I take his hand, and his fingers close around mine with firm possession. We walk out of the Ivory Wolf together, and I'm acutely aware of the eyes that follow us. Sharon catches my gaze and gives me a thumbs-up, and I have to suppress a smile.

The drive to his place takes twenty minutes, my car following his sleek black Mercedes through the city streets.

When we pull up to a high-rise building in the heart of downtown, a valet takes both our keys. The lobby is all marble and glass, dripping with wealth and sophistication.

We don't speak in the elevator, but the tension between us is palpable.

His hand rests on the small of my back, a possessive touch that makes my skin tingle. When we reach his floor and he leads me into his condo, I have to stop and stare.