Page 21 of To Tango, with Desire

My groin tightened.

I’d vowed to forget that night. And the morning after. Vowed that I was better off without this woman. But dear god, the rich red lipstick she wore made me reconsider. I wanted that mouth wrapped around me. I wanted her on her knees.

I wanted Amira.

After what had happened two weeks ago at the club, I knew it was only a matter of time before I had her. I wasn’t a very patient man. Life on the streets had made me impulsive, a trait that I’d learned over time to control. But beneath this expensive suit lurked the rough manners of a teenager who viewed the world as a threat. Even after all these years, that feeling was there, catching me off guard.

Amira was guided by the hostess to a small group by the bar, and the slit at her thigh shifted as she walked. I gripped my glass, unable to hear anything the man on my left was saying.

The rush of my blood could have been a tidal wave, drowning my ability to reason. I tampered down the urge to claim that mouth, to run my hands along the length of her until she shuddered against me.

Not only did her presence shock me, but the significance of her attendance tonight did as well.

Amira was looking for a husband.

What had happened in the last six months to have led her here of all places? I’d expected her to be out at some bar, enjoying the fruits of youth and the good fortune that her beauty surely afforded her. A woman like Amira should be fighting off men eager for one night of pleasure.

I would know.

The image of her sprawled naked on my bed, her body soft and inviting called to me.

I’d been her first.

As old-fashioned as it was, I still indulged in a sliver of satisfaction that no other man had touched her. I recalled her taunting admission. The men she’d dated since then. It didn’t bear thinking about.

I swallowed my dissatisfaction along with the liquid gold in my glass, relishing the smoky burn.

I scanned the room of men and women in attendance tonight. Many were my age, some younger, one or two even older. But from the earnest looks on their faces, I could tell that the strangers here were all eager to find a potential spouse.

And yet, when I looked at Amira, all I saw was . . . disdain.

When one of the younger men began chatting to her, I had to fight the ridiculous urge to lift her over my shoulder and take her home.

Was this some kind of sign?

I wasn’t a man who believed in fate, preferring to think it was through hard work and luck rather than divine intervention that led to success. But a part of my conscience pricked at the scene before me.

I shook it off. It didn’t matter.

I wasn’t looking for romance. I sure as hell didn’t want to fall in love. All I wanted—no—all I needed was a companion. A woman to share the rest of my life with in comfort.

Good sex. Good conversation. An easy, uncomplicated existence.

I reminded myself of this as a group of women approached.

I would do well to never forget it.

AMIRA

My body was on high alert. I tried to focus on the what the man in front of me was saying, but all I could see was Zane’s handsome face staring back at me.

What the hell was he doing here?

Why was Zane looking for a wife if he was having a love affair with Kiki?

Surely, if Zane wanted marriage, he would have no problems finding a willing woman to share all that wealth with. His Russian doll would have been first in line. Unless they had an open relationship? Or maybe she couldn’t bear him children?

Whatever it was, it was none of my business.