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With no choice but to face my fate, I took a shaky step into the office.
And promptly lost every last gasp of air from my lungs at the sight of the man braced against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, arms crossed and fierce eyes locked on me.
If his surroundings screamed ultraexclusivity and supreme wealth, the man himself was so many leagues above that station, he required his own stratosphere. Even stationary, he vibrated with formidable power—the kind that commanded legions with just one look.
And his body...
The navy suit, clearly bespoke, enhanced the bristling power of his athletic build. Like his impressive six-foot-plus height, his wide tapered shoulders seemed to go on for ever, with the kind of biceps that promised to carry any load rippling beneath the layers of clothes. Above the collar of his pristine white shirt, his square jaw jutted out with unapologetic masculinity, and his pure alpha-ness was not in any way diluted by the dimple in his chin. If anything, that curiously arresting feature only drew deeper attention to the rest of his face. To the haughty cheekbones resting beneath narrowed eyes, his wide forehead and the sensual slash of his lips.
He was...indescribable. Because words like attractive or breathtaking or even magnificent didn’t do him nearly enough justice.
And as he continued to appraise me, every last ounce of my courage threatened to evaporate as surely as my breath. Because the way he stared at me, as if he found me as fascinating as I found him, sent a spiralling wave of pure, unadulterated awareness charging through me.
For some inexplicable reason my hair seemed to hold singular appeal for him, making me almost feel as if he was touching the tied back tresses, caressing the strands between his fingers.
The snick of the door shutting made me flinch—a reaction he spotted immediately as his arms dropped and he began to prowl slowly towards me.
Sweet heaven, even the way he moved was spectacular. I’d never truly comprehended the term ‘poetry in motion.’ Until now.
Focus, Sadie. You’re not here to ogle the first billionaire you’ve ever met.
I opened my mouth to speak. He beat me to it.
‘Whoever you are, you seem to have caught Wendell in a good mood. I don’t believe he’s allowed anyone to walk in off the street and demand to see me in...well, ever,’ he rasped in a gravel-rolling-in-honey voice, sending another cascade of pure sensation rushing over my skin.
Momentarily thrown by the effect of his voice, I couldn’t tell if his tone suggested he’d be having a word with Wendell later about that misstep or if the whole thing simply amused him. He was that enigmatic to read. The mystery stretched my already oversensitive nerves, triggering my babble-when-nervous flaw.
‘That was Wendell in a good mood? I shudder to think what he’s like in a bad mood,’ I blurted. Then I cringed harder when the meaning of my words sank in.
Oh, no...
His eyes narrowed even further as he stopped several feet away from me. ‘Perhaps you’d like to move whatever this is along?’
Impatience coated his tone even as his eyes raked a closer inspection over my body, pausing on the frayed thinness of my blouse, the slightly baggy cut of my skirt following my recent weight loss, before dropping to my legs. The return journey was just as sizzling. Hell, more so.
That stain of inadequacy, of not being worthy—which had dogged me from the moment my father’s abscondment-announcing postcard had landed on the front doormat, in shocking synchronicity with the bailiff’s arrival on our doorstep eight years ago—flared like a fever.
I didn’t need one of my mother’s magazines to tell me that this man didn’t meddle with the likes of me...ever.
It was in every delicious frame of his impeccable body, every measured exhalation and every flicker of those sooty, spiky eyelashes that most women would pay hundreds to replicate. He would date socialites with faultless pedigree. Heiresses with flawless bone structure who listed royalty as close friends.
Not the callously abandoned daughter of a disgraced middle-grade financier and an almost-addicted gambler, whose only nod to the arts was learning how to execute a half-decent jeté in year-five ballet.
‘Or do you feel inclined to use your five minutes in melodramatic silence?’ he drawled.
The realisation that I’d been gaping at him brought a spike of embarrassment. ‘I’m not being melodramatic.’
One brow hiked, and his gaze scanned me from top to toe again before his face slowly hardened.
‘You stated that you needed to see me as a matter of life or death, but between the time you set foot in my building and your arrival in my office I’ve ascertained that every member of my family is safe and accounted for. My employees’ well-being will take longer, and a lot of manpower to establish, so if I’m being pranked I’d caution you to turn around and leave right now—’
‘This isn’t about your present family. It’s about your future one.’
He turned to stone. A quite miraculous thing since he was such a big, towering force of a man whose aura threw off electric charges. His ability not to move a muscle would have been fascinating to watch if I hadn’t been terrified of the look in his eyes. The one that promised chaos and doom.
‘Repeat that, if you please.’
I couldn’t. Not if I valued my life.
