It was just a work
party, filled with kissing the well-dressed rear ends of clients and
fake smiles. Until my boss accused me of something I didn’t do. Until I
got pissed and then there was this guy who was hot and flirting with
me, and then there were his hands and the backseat of my car and a night
of everything but you know what.
I never expected to see him again. But suddenly Julian Dohring is everywhere. And I can’t get over the endless tattoos that cover his arms, how he’s apparently a recovering video game addict, and dresses like he’s ready to walk down the red carpet at any moment.
Ten years ago I made a pledge to stay away from alcohol and sex, and to never get too personal with anyone. It’s gotten me this far. I’m twenty-seven, I have a career I’ve worked my heart and soul into, and more money than I could ever blow on shoes and the finer things in life. My attitude and pride have always been enough to keep any man from getting too interested. Until Julian…who claims I can’t dance, and has the nerve to call me a “peach.”
I’m Sage McCain, and needless to say, Julian has my attention.
I never expected to see him again. But suddenly Julian Dohring is everywhere. And I can’t get over the endless tattoos that cover his arms, how he’s apparently a recovering video game addict, and dresses like he’s ready to walk down the red carpet at any moment.
Ten years ago I made a pledge to stay away from alcohol and sex, and to never get too personal with anyone. It’s gotten me this far. I’m twenty-seven, I have a career I’ve worked my heart and soul into, and more money than I could ever blow on shoes and the finer things in life. My attitude and pride have always been enough to keep any man from getting too interested. Until Julian…who claims I can’t dance, and has the nerve to call me a “peach.”
I’m Sage McCain, and needless to say, Julian has my attention.
“Excuse
me, Mr. Vincent?”
My
head whips around to see the stranger standing to the side of us. His eyes are stern and intense, and are
locked on Gareth.
“Please
don’t consider me rude, but you’ve absconded my date and this is our song. May I steal her back?”
Mr.
Vincent looks from the stranger to me and back again. It is easy to tell from his expression he
would very much like to keep me here and wring any secrets I might hold from
me, but he won’t make a scene in public.
“Of
course. I wouldn’t want to deny you the
company of this lovely woman.” He eyes
me once again and everything in them tells me he doesn’t believe what I’ve
said. But he turns, and walks away.
When
Gareth glances over his shoulder, the stranger wraps one hand around my waist,
and takes my hand in his.
“One
of the downfalls of working with clients; having to kiss dirty, disgusting
asses,” he says, still glaring in Mr. Vincent’s direction. “Right?”
I
am very well practiced at looking calm and confident; it comes second nature. But something about Mr. Vincent’s accusations
has shaken me. “Yeah,” is all I manage
to get out.
“You’re
welcome for the rescue.” Suddenly his
voice is low in my ear and I faintly feel his lips brush my ear.
“Know
I don’t say this often,” I say, my confidence quickly returning. “But thank you.”
“What
did the dick want, anyway?” His hand
slides around my back a bit more and his fingertips brush my bare back.
It
is just warm enough in here to keep the goosebumps from rising on my entire
body.
“Company
secrets,” I say, trying to sound dismissive.
“He obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I think it was just an excuse to get his
hands on me.”
He’s
quiet and contemplative for just a moment too long and I wonder what he’s
thinking about. “Hmm,” he finally
says. “Who can blame him?”
Feeling
completely normal again, a smile curls on my lips. He pulls me slightly tighter.
“Are
you flirting with me?” I ask, letting my voice drop low and quiet.
A
small laugh comes between his lips.
“Well, if you could dance, I’d already have you in my bed, but since
you’ve already stepped on my toes twice in the last two minutes, I’m having
second thoughts.”
I
pull away from him slightly so I have a clear view of his face. “Excuse me?” I say in half mock, half real
offense. “We are simply shuffling in a
circle. How could you possibly tell I am
a bad dancer? And I did no such thing as
stepping on your toes.”
His
smile curls once again and he drops the hand that was at my waist. Keeping my hand in his other, he takes one
step toward the front door. “I could use
some fresh air,” he says. “How about
you?”
I’m
half tempted to tell him to go find someone else to insult, but it is hot and
stuffy in here. Knowing I’m probably
setting myself up for a bantering blowout, I allow him to lead me through the
crowd.
The
noise and music instantly die away when we walk through the glass doors. It’s nearing ten o’clock and all the
streetlights around are on, adorned by lights twinkling from windows further in
the distance. There might be stars
overhead, but they’re covered by a thick layer of Washington late spring
clouds. They reflect back a soft
city-orange hue.
“I’m
sorry about that idiot,” he says as he lets my hand go. He walks to one wall and leans against it,
stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Any man should know that’s no way to treat a woman.”
“I
know I said thank you earlier,” I say as I wrap my fingers around the other
wrist behind my back. “But I could have
handled him myself.”
“I
don’t doubt it,” he says as those intense eyes stare at me. “I get the feeling you could be quite
terrifying if you want to be.”
“I’ve
been told that before,” I say as I take two lazy steps toward him. “It usually works pretty well in keeping most
men away.”
“Is
there a reason you like keeping men away?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m
not a lesbian,” I defend, though not in the least bit offended. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been
accused of it. “So don’t let your
imagination start running away from you.”
He
shrugs and gives a little cock of his head to the side. “Just checking to make sure I’m not wasting
my time.”
“Wasting
your time doing what?” I am now only two
feet away from him. Away from the packed
room filled with well-dressed but overheated bodies, I catch the scent of him:
clean and crisp and sophisticated.
“I
don’t know yet,” he says. “But I sense
it’s going to be something fairly epic.”
Keary Taylor grew up along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains where
she started creating imaginary worlds and daring characters who always
fell in love. She now resides on a tiny island in the Pacific Northwest
with her husband and their two young children. She continues to have an
overactive imagination that frequently keeps her up at night. She is the
author of THE EDEN TRILOGY, the FALL OF ANGELS trilogy, and WHAT I
DIDN'T SAY. To learn more about Keary and her writing process, please
visit www.KearyTaylor.com.
Connect
Brought to you by
No comments:
Post a Comment