Page 6 of Downforce

An eerie familiarity passes over me when I look into those eyes. But Mr. Taylor and I have never met before. Of this, I’m certain.

However, knowing I’m on limited time, I decide to get serious about my reasons for nearly falling into his arms.

“I’m aware that you’re a busy man and won’t be here for much longer tonight. Which is why I found it imperative to discuss with you the deal between Travis and your company. He has been a fan of your company for many y⁠—”

“Deal?” His almost silky voice interrupts my spiel. There’s a South British accent in his tone, unsurprising since he’s from London.

“Yes. Travis and his agent, Norm, couldn’t be here tonight, but please do not take their absence to mean that he’s not interested. As I was just saying, Travis has been a huge supporter of your company for years. Even before⁠—”

“Fancy a dance?”

The question throws me off, sending my mind spinning. All of the accolades of MaxWaters Suits, which I had at the ready to cite and impress Mr. Taylor with, flee my immediate thinking as my eyes drop to his extended hand.

A lump forms in my throat.

“A dance?” I say, as if I didn’t understand the question the first time.

He dips his head elegantly.

“Sure.” I infuse as much cheer as I can muster into that one word. Though, at the precise moment I go to place my hand inside of Luca Taylor’s, I hesitate.

I break through my hesitation and place my hand firmly in Luca Taylor’s. There’s an awkward, out of place feeling that courses through me when he slips his other hand around my waist, lightly pulling my body closer to his. Not close enough to be inappropriate or uncomfortable, but it is close enough that I sense the heat emanating off of his body.

In my three-inch heels, I come to five-ten, but Mr. Taylor still has a couple of inches on me. He uses his height advantage to peer down at me, directly into my eyes.

His are a curious hazel that almost borders on golden. Briefly, I wonder if they do turn gold while in the sunshine.

An inappropriate question that I must force my attention away from. Instead of his eyes, I focus on the gold trimming in the shape of a leaf on the far wall. My mind floats back to the phone call with Travis earlier tonight. The image of Lucky falling asleep on his father’s chest brings a slight curl to my lips.

Until a few months ago, I’d never really pictured either one of my brothers as fathers.

Not that I didn’t believe they’d be great fathers. I know both Travis and Tristan—despite his somewhat prickly temperament—would be great at fatherhood because we have the best example in our own dad.

Not to mention our uncles and grandfather.

Somehow in my musings I end up leaning my body into my dance partner’s, unaware of how seamlessly he adjusts to my bodyweight and spins us around the dance floor. It’s almost as if he floats, instead of walks.

I surmise that Mr. Taylor must have been an athlete at some point in his life. His slender yet strong build suggests he continues to work at his physique.

Before I can get too far down that road, I pull back a little to look up into his masked face, while still avoiding his eyes.

“Returning to what I was saying earlier, Mr. Taylor …” I pause to clear my throat. “Travis is looking forward to working with your company.”

“Is he now?”

I have to lean in to hear his question above the music and murmur of the masked, twirling bodies around us.

“Yes, of course. Please don’t think because he’s not here tonight that means he’s not committed to representing MaxWaters Suits in the most professional manner. As you may know … oh,” I blurt out in surprise when he suddenly presses a hand to my hip while holding on to my hand, spinning me out before catching me again in his arms.

My breath seizes, at first from surprise, but then we stand there, chest to chest, his gaze searching mine. The moment lasts an indeterminate amount of time before we’re back to dancing in time with the music.

“You’re a great dancer,” I compliment.

Something in his eyes lights up, or maybe it’s just the way the lighting in the room hits his gaze on the dance floor. The portion of his lips that I can see pull back and upward just enough to start a smile but not fully commit to it.

“Thanks,” he says before spinning me again.

I have to work to get my bearings as well as brush off the uncomfortable sensation that threatens to invade my chest. I’m quickly reminded of the article I read that mentions Mr. Taylor’s wife and three children.