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Instead of sitting, Lark stayed right where she was. She stood with her knees pressed together, her arms crossed over her chest, and her chin high. Even though he sat, Omar was still eye level with her.
Omar was a tall man; tall, dark, and handsome. He was truly the most beautifully put together man she'd ever seen in her life. And she'd been a dancer amongst some of the prettiest men in the world. If that weren't enough, he was also rich and titled. Omar oozed with the power of an ancient sheik with the aristocratic manners of a Victorian gentleman.
The Marquis of Navarre looked as though he'd just walked out of the desert and into civilization. His sun-kissed skin was somewhere between bronze and golden even in the dim backstage fluorescents. His dark gaze fairly gleamed as he regarded her, chuckling at Lark's set down of the woman who was storming, rather loudly, off the stage.
Those eyes of his, sometimes hazel brown, other times honey golden, challenged Lark as he patted the empty seat. Tiger's eyes; that was the stone they reminded her of. It was also the predator the marquis made her think of.
The man was dangerous with his sleek beauty and his toothsome grin. But Lark knew better than to get too close. And so she stayed off the couch and away from the man.
"Sorry about that," Omar said.
Lark had to take a deep breath. Even his voice reached out to her, trying to curl its talons around her and urge her closer to him. She took a step but only to plant her feet in a wide stance to hold her ground.
"Former client," Omar continued.
"She thought she could still have company benefits?"
Instead of wincing in anger, Omar's bright gaze sparked with surprise. He threw his head back and let out another laugh. A hearty and full one this time. Lark caught sight of a few dark bristles just beneath his chin. The tiny hairs were trying to climb up that strong jaw.
She didn't blame them their path. Just beyond his jaw rested the lushest set of lips Lark had yet to encounter. Those were claiming lips; a full bottom lip that would take a woman's entire mouth if she wasn't careful.
Lark shook herself, reminding herself to be careful around this man. But she was growing weary from the internal struggle. She took a few tentative steps forward and sat at the farthest edge of the couch. It didn't matter. Omar's presence was so big that even though there was a cushion between them, the sheer heat of him crept over her, like the rays of the sun on a hot summer's day.
He stretched his arm along the backside of the couch. His fingertips could've brushed her shoulder, making it so far as to touch the loose tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck. But he didn't. He kept his hands to himself.
Lark couldn't discern if she was pleased with his deference or disappointed by his restraint. Omar al Shariff had her in a precarious situation. He had agreed to back her show. The terms of the agreement were very fair. And, so far, he'd given her the leeway to run the show as she'd envisioned.
She had to be missing something. He had to be up to something. At any moment, the other shoe was going to drop.
"I can't believe that's the opening you came up with," he said.
And so it began ...
"I was out of my seat, even though you told me what was going to happen," he continued. His predator's eyes shone with wonder and awe as he gazed down at her. "This is going to be a hit."
That was it? He liked it? He wasn't going to make any changes? Lark was at a loss.
She was used to being shoved into boxes by men. She was used to them throwing darts and just barely missing some vital organ on her person. And now she sat, on a couch in the back of a theater, with no one else around, and the producer sang her praises and kept his hands to himself. In fact, he had never made a pass at her since the first day they'd met.
Lark had been trying to peg him since she'd seen him lounging bar side on a luxury yacht. Even while relaxing, he'd brought to mind a panther, always at the ready to strike. But Lark had struck first.
She'd known who he was; one of Europe's most influential and successful entertainment producers. He had made many a career. He was also notorious for dating his female starlets.
While staying at the home of the Duke of Mondego with her best friend, Lark had put on an impromptu show. T
he marquis had quirked a regal brow at her performance and handed her his card. She'd taken that card and ran with it. This was her shot, her chance to do magic on her own terms. She was not going to blow it because her new boss was hotter than the sun.
"Do you think the full show will be ready by the end of the month?" he asked.
"Absolutely. Just a few more days of rehearsal and we'll be good to go."
"I'm glad to hear it."
He turned to her. When he did so, his hand brushed her shoulder cap. Lark jerked out of his reach, but not before a sizzling shudder went down her spine and curled her toes.
Here it was. The come on. She was ready for it.
Omar lifted his hand up in a stop-motion. He grinned at her. Lark made sure to note the sharpness of his white teeth. Those canines would lure a lesser woman in and tear her apart. Luckily, Lark was made of stronger stuff.
