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Cheekbones carved by the gods.
Stubble that was built to tempt a woman’s fingers.
Dark, curling hair, a bit overly long, draped along the perfect white color of his dark suit.
And that suit. It screamed custom, foreign, and perfectly made. It also screamed that it could barely contain the man who wore it, his body looking more like a professional athlete than the corporate types who usually haunted these ballrooms.
And those eyes. Molten silver.
As they met mine, I felt my knees give.
Ridiculous as it might seem, this perfect specimen stepped up eagerly, his hands catching my elbows as he came to stand against me. Worry in every line of his perfect face.
“Miss, are you alright?”
And he was polite. I gripped his forearm, my cheeks flushing hot. This time it was not the Chardonnay. His touch was twice as delicious and ten times more intoxicating.
Like I said. Swoon-worthy.
I tucked a strand of my chin-length blonde hair behind my ear, trying to reground my feet. The moment I glanced back up, I was unsuccessful. My traitorous knees quivered once more. “I’m fine, thank you. It must’ve just slipped.”
Casting a wary glance over one broad shoulder, my bag holder offered me a quick, white-toothed grin. Then carefully, he stepped between Mr. Mediocre Blond and me, effectively blocking me from view.
“For as quickly as you were running from our friend here”—he jerked his curl covered head at my former dinner guest, who was still milling about, a confused look on his face—“I’m not surprised you missed it.”
God help me. He was charming too. This guy was a one-man dating application. I would’ve called him iDo. I giggled then slapped a hand over my mouth, horrified.
I didn’t giggle.
Especially at perfectly beautiful strangers holding my worn black clutch from the local outlet mall.
He didn’t seem to notice, those glinting eyes carefully holding mine. My knees threatened to give once more, everything below the waist throbbing in a way that made my mouth go dry.
Danger, danger.
“I should get back to my aunt. Thank you very much, Mr. uh…” I trailed off. My body bowed away from him as I fought the pull of those silvery eyes.
“It’s Liam.”
“Liam,” I repeated like some kind of parrot. “Thank you, Liam. For rescuing my purse.” I gestured at the Mr. Mediocre Blond, his head on a swivel, still looking for me. “And for rescuing me.”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that what I really did was rescue Garret from you.”
So freaking charming. I laughed. Because how could you not? “You know him?”
“Everybody knows somebody at these things.” Dark brows lowered. “Who do you know?”
I started backing away, ignoring my body’s ardent demands to step closer. To see if he was as physically hot as he was metaphorically. Even now I could picture those perfect huge hands spanning across my back, sliding down my hips.
With a gasping breath, I stepped away.
“Just a friend of my family. I have to go now. I have to get my aunt. She’s waiting for me.”
Liam. That was his name. He offered me a stomach-clenching smile, his plush lips curling up to show a dimple on just one cheek. “What’s your name?”
I turned. I should leave.
I needed to walk away. I didn’t have time for a man. Any man. Let alone one who looked like that. He was the type who took home models, who married old, ancient money and lived happily ever after with a picturesque family of four on his private yacht.
