He looked at me like he could consume me, pick me apart, clean to the bone. Like he could see straight into my broken soul. It scared me to think of what secrets he might unearth if I gave him the chance.
So I didn't. Instead, I put on my best smile.
"Of course I'm enjoying it. It's a lovely party. My father truly spared no expense."
The corner of his lip tipped into a smirk before he held a glass of what smelled like brandy to his lips. "You're good. I'm sure you know that. But if anyone here pulled their head out of their asses long enough to pay attention to you for more than a minute, they'd know you were lying."
I almost choked on my champagne.
Mischief danced in the man's rich, brown eyes, and for a moment, I was shocked, until that feeling quickly turned to fear. I glanced around the room, scared that someone—or worse, my father—had caught my mistake.
"Don't worry, no one's looking at you."
He was right. No one had seen my blunder with the champagne nor my shock.
I hated that he'd immediately known what I was afraid of. He was too close, too… accurate, and it knocked me off balance.
His eyes held mine as he stroked his glass with one finger. A slow, continuous caress, as though he had all the time in the world. A sensual touch, something that made my pulse soar.
I took a slow breath, collecting myself. "Why were you?"
"Watching you?"
I nodded.
"Because you're the most gorgeous woman in this room."
His frankness made my cheeks heat, as his finger still stroked his glass. His touch was focused, intimate, as if he were caressingme.
I was used to the games, to people trying to manipulate me. I had to be posh, mannered,cultured—all things this stranger didn't seem to be at that moment.
I had no doubt he could put on that façade and perform it to utter perfection. He carried an air of mirth and cold calculation, yet was charming and confident, like the beauty of a glacier before it broke apart, causing a tsunami that killed anyone in its path.
He struck me as someone whose every word was purposeful. Someone who had come into their power and could wield it completely. It left me in both awe and envy of him, and it was sexy as hell.
How incredible it must be to have that sort of freedom.
His gaze darkened the longer he stared at me, like he was appreciating me, savoring my presence.
A strange warmth built in my core, and for a moment, I wished I could freeze time. He looked at me as though hesawme for who I was, who I had the potential to be.
It left me vulnerable to the cravings of my inner child, to the desire to bewanted, to be acknowledged. To be loved as I was, not who I pretended to be.
But I wasn't a child nor a princess. And he wasn't a prince. This wasn't a fairy tale, and I knew better than to be so naïve.
I rolled my shoulders back, ready to play and win whatever game he had up his sleeve. It didn't matter how attractive he was; this man was like everyone else. He was here, after all, which meant he knew my father. And one did not navigate the waters of Simon Herrera without an equally deceptive compass.
But before I could say anything, his phone vibrated. He withdrew his eyes from me, and the loss of his attention made me feel like the air was being sucked from the room.
He sighed. "Unfortunately, I have to take this." The weight of his gaze settled on me for one more moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was a low whisper. "Happy birthday, Catalina. May all your dreams come true."
He turned away, and it wasn't until he slipped out the back door, I realized I'd never gotten his name.
2
Catalina
Iadjusted the hem on my knee-length, baby-blue chiffon dress and pushed my hair behind my shoulder. It made me seem younger, innocent,gullible—the exact image I needed for my meeting with my father. But my eyes were defiant.
