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Amelia lifted the flute to her lips and stilled as a tall, handsome blond man entered the studio. He removed his thick coat and handed it to the coat check, politely but barely acknowledging them, and something inside her fluttered.
Goodness, who is he?
From where she stood, she took in his big blue eyes as they scanned the room, then he ran a hand over his thick, wavy hair and slowed when he saw her looking.
Amelia slowly swallowed, her flutters turning to fire.
With a confidence that could rival any of the Dufort men in her family, his eyes ran down the length of her body, then back up again, heating her to the very core.
Jesus H. Christ, who is this gorgeous man?
Tall and dressed in an expensive navy suit that draped his wide frame beautifully, Amelia found herself imagining being tucked under his muscular arms.
She might not be able to see them, but she knew they were there. Shoulders like that didn’t come without the rest of the package. Not in her experience.
When her eyes met his again, she found a sparkle within them that screamed trouble and promised the kind of pleasure no woman could say no to.
Holly hell.
“Excuse me, Stella,” someone said, snapping Amelia out of her delicious daydream.
“Yes,” her friend replied, then shot her an apologetic look. “Sorry,” she mouthed.
“Go, I’ll find you later,” Amelia said as Stella was hauled away.
A server appeared next, offering her a top-up—which she accepted—although by the time he’d moved away, and she went in search of her hot stranger, he was nowhere to be seen.
Damn.
She rubbed her arm as a shiver caressed her body. She’d never had such a visceral reaction to a man’s interest like that before. And there had been many. Just like her brothers, Amelia had inherited good genes. Her body was toned, her skin kissed with a natural tan thanks to some Italian ancestors, and her hair was long, dark, thick, and glossy.
She had full lips and crystal blue eyes.
Did she always feel sexy? Hell no. Most of the time, her hair was twisted up in a messy bun, along with her standard uniform of no make-up, torn jeans, and an old university sweater rolled up her sleeves, which was covered in plaster and paint.
In contrast, she had a designer wardrobe any woman would envy for events such as these.
The man had to be here somewhere, so Amelia wandered further around the studio and stepped slowly from painting to painting, hoping to spot him again.
Who was he?
There had been a vibe about him, a confidence that had pulled her in. The kind of man who would fuck her senseless and take control. A man who wouldn’t envy her success or make promises he couldn’t keep.
A man who might only want one night and, for the first time in her life, she was starting to think that might be nice.
No strings attached.
Just hot, sticky sex.
When she felt a presence behind her, she realized she’d been staring at the same piece for way too long.
“Stunning,” a husky, masculine voice said.
Turning, Amelia came face-to-face with those mysterious blue eyes. On her.
Not the art.
Oh, boy.
