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Meanwhile, all the pencil-thin French and Swedish girls in the international orchestra, in which she’d earned the prestigious first-chair position, had been swept off their tiny feet by suave men bearing extravagant gifts and eloquent professions of unwavering devotion.
No matter where she went, Shana always stood out. And no matter the compliments she received or how critically acclaimed her talent, she always felt like the fat girl at ballerina camp because of the delicate waifs she’d been surrounded by most of her life.
A sentiment that prickled the backs of her eyes even years later and forced her to concentrate on fighting back unexpected tears. Luckily, she was able to hold herself in check, especially when Toliver interrupted her painful thoughts.
“Ah, there’s Mr. Halston,” he said as he inclined his head toward a man dressed all in black. Black shirt opened at the neck. Black suit perfectly tailored. Black leather boots that made his designer ensemble sexy and trendy. And black-as-night hair to top it all off.
Good Lord. Bruce Wayne and Batman didn’t hold a candle to this man! He made the term “tall, dark and handsome” pack as much punch as “short, portly and homely”, for it simply didn’t do him justice. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat as she stared at the very unexpected vision before her.
Yes, Drake Halston was tall. But not like any other ordinary, tall man. His six-foot-three- or four-inch stature gave him a commanding presence, made all the more intimidating by his broad shoulders and muscular frame.
Yes, he was dark. His obsidian-colored hair was recklessly stylish and his deep-blue eyes could be mistaken as black in dim lighting. But he also exuded power and wealth and confidence. There was a dark edge to him that instantly excited her and created a tickle of desire along her clit.
Yes, the man was handsome. He had chiseled cheeks and a strong, clean-shaven jawline. His lips were perfectly shaped and not too thin, not too thick. They looked soft and inviting. She couldn’t help but imagine how they’d feel grazing her bare skin, brushing over her nipples, sweeping along her pussy lips. But, beyond those enticing features, it was the devilish air about him that made him breathtakingly gorgeous.
She’d never seen anything quite like him—not even when she’d toured Italy on numerous occasions. The Italian men had been handsome and aggressive. They’d fawned over her, but again, their words had never rung true in her ears or in her heart.
Drake had the same air of assertion and arrogance, yet there was something else about him—something completely indefinable—that made her anxious to meet him, not eager to shy away from him, as was usually the case when she met powerful men.
As he walked toward her, his stride long and graceful, she felt as though a sleek panther were preying upon her. Dangerous, yes. Disarming to be sure. Yet Shana was less alarmed and more aroused than was good for her. In fact, she was damn glad Toliver still had her by the elbow or she just might sway on the low heels of her strappy silver sandals and topple over as she went weak in the knees.
She still wasn’t breathing properly when Drake reached her.
Extending a large hand covered in smooth-looking skin and complemented by long, blunt-tipped fingers, he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss White.”
Oh sweet Jesus. He wasn’t Italian. He was British. Just as her fantasy man had been most of her life.
“Um, okay,” she mumbled in a faint voice as she tentatively placed her hand in his.
The flesh against hers was cool, a refreshing contrast to the heat that suddenly flooded her body at the mere sight of Drake Halston. His grip was firm, but in a reassuring way rather than an overbearing one. It was territorial, as if his intent was to pull her toward him and out of Toliver’s grasp. An odd thought, but it lodged in her brain anyway. And thrilled her so much, the tickle along her clit turned into a dull throb deep in her pussy, distracting her until she realized she was standing there like a complete fool, her mouth slightly gaping.
Say something!
Clearing her throat, she told him, “It’s nice to meet you too. And Shana’s fine.” She’d meant for her tone to be businesslike, yet it came out sounding ridiculously breathy. Dreamy, even.
Son of a gun! Why’d I agree to this?
Oh, yes. Because no one had told her Drake Halston was hotter than the freakin’ sun!
She made a mental note to kick Yvette in the shin the next time she saw her. Likely, her friend was sipping a glass of champagne right now, snickering over the shock Drake Halston would be to Shana’s overly sheltered system.
But she’d deal with Yv
ette later.
The too-sexy-for-words man said, “Please, call me Drake.” His voice was so low and sensual, it seemed to seep through her veins, making her tremble with excitement.
“Tha-thank you for, um, inviting me to the club. And backstage.” She pulled her hand from his, though she was reluctant to do so because his touch felt so arousing and intimate. But that social ineptitude of hers had instantly revved into high gear and she’d turn into a full-on stammering idiot any minute now if she didn’t get a grip on her riotous emotions.
Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to focus on what her yoga and meditation instructors taught her to do when she felt her anxiety mount. Finding her center was key to staying in control and not drowning in her self-consciousness. She held the breath for three seconds, and then slowly—hopefully discreetly—let it out.
Interestingly, Drake didn’t seem to notice her distress. Or if he did, he intended to put her at ease by ignoring it. In fact, he gave her a friendly smile—simple, yet still so sexy it could melt a glacial epoch. Maybe he was used to liquefying women into feminine mush that pooled at his feet, and she was just one more adult female he’d turned into a tongue-tied schoolgirl.
If he were amused or annoyed by the way she so easily fell to pieces in his presence, he didn’t let on. His eyes were warm and hypnotic as he said, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. As has my assistant, Jane Van Kamp.” He gestured to the waif at his side, who Shana had barely noticed. In truth, it was damn difficult to tear her gaze from Drake to smile politely at the petite blonde by his side.
Too bad she instantly reminded Shana of the itty-bitty French and Swedish girls in the orchestra who had made her feel like the Jolly Green Giant all those years she’d toured with them.
“I’m thrilled to meet you,” Jane said.
