She laughed again.
"The reception's starting. John's looking for you—something about introducing you to potential investors."
"I'll be there shortly."
Eleanor studied me, something like concern flickering across her features.
"Just remember who you are. Your name means something in this room."
As she walked away, I sipped my scotch.
She was right, of course.
My name was currency in business circles.
My father had built the company from nothing; I'd tripled its worth.
Our real estate developments spanned three states.
Everything I did reflected on that legacy.
Including who I pursued.
Not that I was pursuing anyone. I was simply offering a drink and conversation to an intriguing woman at a wedding.
A woman who looked at me like she saw the man beneath the exterior, who challenged rather than deferred.
A woman whose smile held secrets I suddenly wanted to uncover.
A woman who was now walking toward me through the garden, light folding over her like a slow pour of honey.
Her dress—a gleaming gold that hugged every curve—moved like liquid heat against her skin, clinging in all the places a man’s hands might linger.
All long waves of dark hair and a body that made that dress look like it was designed just to worship her.
I felt it hit me low, sharp, uninvited, undeniable.
Want, like a reflex.
I straightened, an unfamiliar tension tightening my chest. At forty-seven, I was long past the age of nervousness around beautiful women.
Yet something about her—the directness of her gaze, perhaps, or the deliberate way she'd made me wait—had thrown me off balance.
"I almost didn't come," she said, stopping a careful distance away.
"Yet here you are." I gestured to a stone bench partially concealed by flowering vines.
"Join me?"
She considered for a moment, then nodded.
As she sat, the silk of her dress whispered against her skin.
I remained standing, unwilling to crowd her.
"Your friend won't miss you?" I asked.
"Zoe's in her element working the room."
