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The warm champagne-colored eyes of a man who is not Ryan.
The sight of him sends a shockwave through me, paralyzing my body with a multitude of emotions—fear, terror, panic, humiliation.
My brain stalls and I become numb, frozen in place like a statue, then the air around us tightens with a million ropes.
In my panic I observe his Grim Reaper-ish appearance, courtesy of the black Kiton suit molded to his muscles.
His long lashes, chiseled features, and angular face have a rough-meets-smooth look that shouldn’t work but does on him. The striking contrast could redefine the word handsome.
That thought in my mind deepens my shock. Because what in the hell am I thinking?
The sudden awareness enables me to hear my heart shouting at me to run away, but I’m held captive by the malice in his touch and the way his eyes rivet to mine.
“Sorry, Bellissima, Ryan isn't here at the moment,” he says in a deep voice, and a ruthless smile spreads across his face. “But I like what I see."
His gaze flicks down to my exposed breasts, and it’s only then that I remember with absolute and utter horror that I’m naked.
Shit! Shit! Shit! I’m naked, wearing nothing but my six-inch heels and an embarrassing shade of crimson cascading down my body.
With a sudden gasp I jump out of his touch.
The stranger’s hand falls to his side and the light reflects off the face of the Rolex wrapped around his thick wrist.
I grab my coat and try to cover myself but my hands are shaking so much I hardly manage it.
I get the coat on, but it’s not right. I’ve twisted the middle so the left arm of the coat is inside out.
“Who the hell are you?” The words tumble out of my mouth in a staccato rumble and I back away, thankful that my brain is working again.
“Let's just say I'm your father's guest,” the stranger replies, looking amused by my misfortune.
The acknowledgement that he knows Dad intensifies my embarrassment a hundredfold.
“Ryan was supposed to be here.” I know I must sound senseless because clearly, Ryan isn’t here, and the car I saw on the driveway was obviously not his either.
“His loss.” The stranger’s smile widens to a cocky grin that could melt a chastity belt. “I wish I could apologize for interrupting whatever you had planned for dear Ryan, but I can't.”
I want to argue and tell him that he should never have seen me naked, but I realize all too quickly that the sensible thing to do here is to get the hell out.
This is a black-hole-swallow-me-now moment you pray you never live to experience.
Fleeing is what you do when you’ve just stripped naked and thrown yourself at one of your father’s business associates. Add in the fact that he also knows I’m a virgin and I’m a walking advert for humiliation central.
“I need to go now,” I stammer, taking another step backward.
He looks me up and down, making no attempt to disguise the fact that he’s still checking me out. “See you in the morning. I'm sure we'll talk more then."
I don't reply. What can I say?
Nothing that will save my pride.
So I turn on my heels and leave, wanting to kick myself all six ways to Sunday for my crazy plan that went all the way to fucking hell.
My legs can’t carry me out of the house fast enough. When I step outside into the pouring rain all the would-haves and should-haves come rushing to my mind like a plague of locusts.
Damn me, I should have turned on the light when I walked in. If I had, I would have known that guy wasn’t Ryan.
With the exception of the height and muscle, the two men look nothing alike.
