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She didn’t know whether to run or rejoice.
In the end, she just stared—stupefied—up into his too-gorgeous face and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make her sound like a total moron. Her usually quick mind was a blank, filled with nothing but images of high cheekbones. Shaggy black hair that fell over his forehead. Wickedly gleaming eyes. The sensuous mouth turned up in a wide, charming smile. Broad shoulders. And height. He was so tall she was forced to look up, despite the fact that she stood close to six feet in her four-inch heels.
“You look thirsty,” he said, and—of course—his voice matched the rest of him. All deep and dark and husky and wickedly amused. “I’m Nic, by the way.”
“I’m Desi.” She held out her hand. He took it, but instead of shaking it as she’d expected, he held it as he gently stroked his thumb across the back.
It was so soft, so intimate, so not what she’d been expecting, that for long seconds she didn’t know what to do. A tiny voice inside her was whispering for her to escape from the attraction holding them in thrall. But it was drowned out by the heat, the sizzle, that arced between them like lightning.
“Would you like to dance, Desi?” he asked.
She should say no. But even as the thought occurred to her, even knowing that she might very well get burned before the night was over, she nodded.
