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I can't look away, and neither can he.
I feel panic rising in the pit of my stomach and grasping my lungs; my response to his intoxicating presence is so strong I’m physically terrified by it.
I have to get away.
Now.
There’s not another minute to waste.
This guy is as gorgeous as he is dangerous to me, to my sanity, and to my balance.
I have to get away from him right now.
I nod to myself, but I don’t move. I don’t know how to. I don’t think I can. My feet are glued to the floor, my eyes still entwined with his.
I try to breathe more slowly and grasp at something —anything!— that could pull me away from this, from him.
And then, unexpectedly and painfully, he himself gives me the means to escape his hold on me.
I see not one buttwobreathtaking women —a glamorous brunette with perfect wavy hair and a spunky-looking blonde with a cropped bob — appear on either side of him, each one of them now hanging from one of his strong arms.
He looks unfazed by their presence and keeps his focus on me, smiling flirtatiously now and practically undressing me with his seductive eyes.
I feel my shoulders sag a little, even if this was exactly what I was looking for: a flaw in the perfect picture. Something that would wise me up about his nature — or rather, something that would remind me of the nature of men in general, I should say. The proverbial cold shower I needed even if it has undeniably left me disappointed.
I should be happy, though, not saddened.
I don’t need the trouble clearly stamped all over this man’s hot body.
If he could get to me this fast and this much, even from a distance, it's better if I don't find out what he could do to me from up close and given just a bit of time.
He might be undeniably the most attractive man I’ve ever met sinceever, but he is clearly a player and the last thing I need in my life.
Not now.
Not ever.
I spin on my heel, abruptly interrupting our silent communication, and I walk away, ignoring the cravings of my body and my soul.
I need two things right now.
Item number one, I need a stronger drink than the fizzy Champagne currently in my glass. Item number two, I need to get the hell out of here. Fast.
Standing here, making eyes at some manwhore who wants under my skirt is nowhere on my program.
CHAPTER4
Derek
Until ten minutes ago, the halls of this museum were the last place I wanted to be stuck in, and now I could not see myself ever moving from this spot.
Fuck me.
The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen is standing across from me and looking straight into my soul.
I was feeling totally numb until my eyes rested on her face, and now I feel like a live wire is running through me.
If there’s something I hate more than being in contact with someone from Boston money-flaunting high society, that's being in contact with a helluvalot of its members all at once. This gathering is the perfect definition of hell on earth for me. No matter how noble and innocent the professed purpose for throwing this party has been. Yet one single glance in her direction completely changed my disposition, and I don’t have a fucking clue why.
