by J. Kenner
Except I did. We did.
It started, I remember, with the pandas.
I'd had a truly crap day. I'd just been fired. Or sort of fired. My boss, an Atlanta real estate investor named Reggie Gale, had decided to retire and had chosen to tell me that rather disturbing news while we were driving to a private reception hosted by the Brighton Consortium, a group comprised of various real estate professionals, and of which Gale was a member.
Considering I'd moved from Los Angeles to Atlanta straight after college to work for Gale, and considering I loved both real estate and my job, I wasn't having the most awesome of days. I was twenty-one years old, I'd been employed by Gale for not quite six weeks, I still hadn't bought curtains for my apartment. And I wasn't thrilled about diving back into the job market.
The consortium was hosting the reception in the panda area of Zoo Atlanta, and the whole idea was to be festive and fun and woo additional investors.
Needless to say, I was not in a festive mood.
"Let me guess. You've seen one panda, you've seen them all."
The low voice, soft and smooth and just a little amused, seemed to wrap around me, forcing me to shift my attention from the pandas in their habitat to the man standing next to me.
"I--what?" Not the most coherent of responses, but he'd caught me off guard. I was standing on the veranda that overlooked the panda habitat. I'd come here to escape the mixing and mingling and to lose myself in both thought and worry. The pandas, though undeniably adorable, hadn't actually been on my mind.
Now, looking at him, all of my work-related frustrations fizzled away as well. Only one thing filled my head. Him. His broad shoulders. His chiseled jaw. The strong lines of his face, softened by just the slightest indentation in his chin.
He looked to be in his late twenties, and he held himself with a self-confidence that could seem arrogant on some men, but on him just struck me as sexy.
His face was angles and shadows, a warrior's face, and so exquisite it could make the gods weep. As for his eyes, they shone like cut sapphire, blue and hard. But they gleamed when he smiled, and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled humanized the brilliant sheen of those oh-so-perfect features. Like everyone at this outdoor reception, he was dressed casually. On him, however, casual was compelling, and the simple outfit of jeans and a starched white button-down--the top button left open--didn't seem simple at all.
Looking at him, I felt the earth tilt a little beneath me. I'd never reacted that way to a guy before, and I reached out a hand to grasp the railing, not sure if I entirely liked the feeling.
"Or maybe you've been overwhelmed by the cuteness," he continued, glancing down to where the two roly-poly pandas sat on their rears eating bamboo. "I'm hoping that's the case, because otherwise you're going to shoot my ego all to hell."
"How could anyone hurt your ego?" I blurted, then felt my cheeks go pink. "Sorry. That sounds--"
But I never finished my apology, because my words were drowned out by his quick laugh and the brush of his fingers against my bare arm. "Thanks," he said. "Ego saved." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I really hate it when I'm upstaged by pandas."
I matched his smile. "Yeah, but they're such cute pandas." I glanced back at the bears as if in confirmation. Of course, they've got nothing on you.
He was silent for a moment, and I suddenly feared that he'd read my mind. I filled the quiet by clearing my throat. "You're here for the reception?" A foolish question, since the zoo was currently closed to the public, and the only people on the premises were staff and Brighton Consortium guests.
"I am," he said. "You're not, though."
I stood straighter. "I most certainly am."
"I mean you're not really here. Your mind's elsewhere."
"Oh." Considering I couldn't argue with that, I didn't. Instead I turned back toward the pandas, my hands resting on the railing. "Yeah, well. It's been a rather horrible day."
"Sorry to hear it." He moved next to me and took hold of the railing as well. As he did, his finger brushed mine, and I felt that shock of connection. A sizzling kind of awareness that I'd never experienced before and had believed lived only in the pages of books.
Out of reflex, I glanced toward him, then felt my chest constrict when I caught him looking right back at me, the heat in his eyes so intense I thought it would burn right through me.
I looked away.
"No." His hand gently cupped my chin and he turned my face back to him. "No," he repeated, and this time I heard a plea beneath the hard sheen of command.
I started to protest, but he shifted his hand so that a finger brushed my lip, firm and sensual, and I wanted to draw him in and taste him. I felt giddy and lightheaded, drunk on the proximity of this enigmatic man who had so easily captured me in his spell.
I didn't like it. And yet, god help me, I did.
"No argument," he said. "No protest, no excuses." He held out his hand to me. "You're coming with me."
"The hell I am." I stood a little straighter as the earth leveled out beneath me. I was not the kind of woman who jumped simply because a man told her to. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was used to being the one in charge. To using a man before he could swoop in and use me.
One brow rose slightly, and I could tell that he was not the kind of man who was used to being challenged. Then the corner of his mouth curved up in a sexy grin. "I'd be honored if you'd take a walk with me."
The world that had leveled out started to tilt again, this time knocked off kilter because he'd completely destroyed my expectations.
I caught myself taking a step toward him, and forced myself to stop as little bubbles of panic started to rise inside me, tempered by an unfamiliar current of excitement. "No," I said slowly. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"No? Why not?"
Because I shouldn't make decisions when I'm intoxicated, I wanted to say. But I'd had nothing to drink that night, and if it weren't for his nearness, I would be stone-cold sober. "Because I don't even know you," I said instead.
"Don't you?" His smile seemed to hold a thousand secrets, and I wanted to know each of them. "I'm Jackson. Jackson Steele. And I know you."
"You do?" I couldn't imagine how. I'd certainly never seen him before, because I would have remembered. And he wasn't one of Reggie's clients or contacts, because I didn't recognize his name. He must have come as someone's guest, but since I was only a lowly assistant, there was no reason for him--or for anyone at the reception--to know who I was. As if to illustrate that point, when Reggie and I had arrived, one of the Brighton group big shots had told the waitress to bring over a glass of sparkling water for "Reggie's girl."
I'd managed a tight smile and refrained from rolling my eyes. Always nice to be appreciated.
"Of course I do. You're Sylvia Brooks," Jackson said, my name sounding like ambrosia on his lips. "And though you're not the reason I came here tonight, you are the reason I've stayed."
I stood there, a little shell-shocked. Then I said, "Oh."
It wasn't my most brilliant conversational moment.
My idiocy didn't seem to bother Jackson, though. Instead he just held out his hand again and flashed that killer smile. "Walk with me, Sylvia," he said. "I promise I don't bite hard."
The flippant comment, said so seriously, made me laugh, and swept away the last of my hesitations. After all, what could be the harm in walking? I could always turn around and walk right back.
"All right, Jackson Steele," I said, putting my hand in his. "Lead the way."
I'd expected him to lead us off the veranda and into the covered pavilion where the dessert tables and complimentary bars were set up. Instead, he skirted the panda habitat, moving us away from the pavilion structure and down a path toward the interior of the zoo. We strolled beneath another covered structure where a few zoo employees were directing late arrivals up to the party.
I frowned. "I can't just leave," I said. "My boss is back there." I didn't bother mentioning tha
t he was a lame-duck boss, and I was operating more on politeness than practicality.
"We're not leaving," Jackson said, as he guided me down the wide path to where it forked, one direction heading toward the exit, the other leading deeper into the zoo.
The latter was blocked by a red velvet rope suspended between two waist-high golden posts that acted like anchors. Jackson slipped between one post and a flowering hedge, then gave my hand a tug, indicating that I was supposed to do the same. I hesitated, brows raised.
He shrugged, his expression so disarming I had to laugh.
"I have a little problem with authority," he said, as I joined him on the forbidden side.
"Oh?"
"Only in certain circumstances."
"Like what?" Our voices were low as we moved down the asphalt path toward the gorilla habitat.
"If I'm not the one in charge, I have a problem."
I swallowed, because I knew we were no longer talking about velvet ropes. I expected a wave of panic followed by the urge to bolt, and when it didn't come, I wasn't sure what to think. And then when he drew me to a stop, I stopped thinking altogether.
"Sylvia," he said as he reached out to stroke my forehead, smoothing a few strands of hair to the side. I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, my breath ragged. The easy laughter that had been between us only a moment before had faded, replaced by something heavy and palpable. Something dangerous.
Dangerous, yes. But compelling, too.
We'd paused beneath the rustic log gate that marked the way into the wilds of darkest Africa. Appropriate, I thought, considering how wild I felt.
He cupped my face in his hands, then bent low and brushed his lips gently over mine.
The kiss was soft and sweet and altogether too fast, and when he pulled back, I saw both heat and a question in his eyes.
I didn't think. I didn't hesitate. I simply eased forward, rising on my toes to bring myself closer. To claim. And, yes, to surrender.
He didn't wait for my lips to reach his. I saw the change in his eyes--the moment when gentleness was pushed aside in favor of lust and need and the hard, demanding ache that throbbed between us. His hands shifted, one sliding into my hair and cupping the back of my head. The other snaking around my waist.
He pulled me close, his mouth open to mine, his hips hard against me. I felt his erection straining against his jeans, and my body thrummed in response, my skin prickling and my sex hot and heavy and desperate for his touch. I felt his palm cup my ass and pull me in tighter even as his mouth warred with mine, his tongue finding and tasting me, thrusting and demanding. Taking everything I had to give and more.
I'd been kissed, but never like this. Never so hard and deep and thoroughly that it felt like sex. That it swept me out of myself, making me forget my past and not care about my future. Making me want only this moment and this man.
Making me wish that I could cry, because when he finally pulled away from me, I wanted nothing more in that moment than to weep with regret.
I was completely out of my element, my mind in a sensual whirl. Instead of closing off, I'd opened up. Instead of walking away, I'd slid right into his arms.
Those weren't my normal reactions, not by a long shot, but I couldn't deny that I wanted more. That I wanted him.
All of that should terrify me, but instead it enticed me. And that simple reality had thrown me completely off center.
"Tell me," he said, as his fingers slid through my short hair. "Tell me why you look like a rabbit about to bolt."
I hesitated, but answered honestly. "You scare me."
He shook his head. "I don't think so. No, I think it's because I don't scare you." His eyes narrowed. "You're an enigma, Sylvia Brooks. I think that's why I want you. I saw you the moment you walked away from the crowd and headed out to the veranda. I asked your name and I've watched you all night. Polite, yet distant. You're never rude, but it's as if you've got a line drawn around you that you don't let anyone cross."
I gaped at him, because he was absolutely right. What frightened me was that he saw so quickly what I prided myself on hiding so well.
"I'm in that circle now," he continued. "And it's not because I scare you."
I licked my lips. "No? Then why?" I felt hope mixing with desire inside me, because I truly wanted to know what he was going to say. I didn't understand this thing I felt for him. This fierce, fast punch that had knocked me sideways and left me dizzy and giddy and, miraculously, wanting more.
"It's because you don't understand it, either."
I fought the urge to hug myself in defense against the goose bumps that were rising on my arms. "Don't understand what?" I asked, though I knew exactly what he was talking about.
"This," he said, gesturing between the two of us. "You don't understand it, but you feel it as palpably as I do. And so you let me in." He moved closer, and I caught the scent of him, smoke and wood, like a forest after a storm. "You may not understand it. But, sweetheart, you need to trust it."
I wanted to. So help me, in that moment, I'm not sure I'd ever wanted anything more. But ...
I tilted my head back so I was looking right into his eyes. "What if I can't?"
"Then I'll just have to convince you." He drew me close and kissed me again, this time slow and sweet, but it still set my head to spinning. And so help me I craved more. So much more.
When he broke the kiss, he stepped back, and I felt my body move with him, unwilling to let the distance between us increase.
"I'm going to take you home now."
His words were a command, underscored by the kind of certainty that would normally make me run or rebel. I did neither. Instead I clung to the one small fact of which I was certain--that if I said no, he would let me go. He might not want to, but if I asked, he would let me turn around and go back to the party.
I didn't want to, but I held tight to the knowledge that at the core of it, the decision was mine. And right then, that was enough. I nodded. "Yes," I said. "Take me home."
He drove fast, which didn't surprise me. Neither did the car, a sleek black Porsche that maneuvered the tangle of Atlanta traffic as smoothly as butter on a griddle.
"Nice ride."
"It is," he agreed. "She's a classic. I bought her from a collector as a present to myself when I got my license a few years back."
"Your real estate license?" I asked, assuming he either worked with one of the Brighton big shots or was being courted as an investor.
"Architecture."
I sat up a little straighter. "Oh."
He took his attention off the road long enough to glance at me. "You sound surprised."
"I'm not," I said. "It suits you."
"Does it? How so?"
I hesitated, then told him the truth. "Because you're a little bit arrogant."
"Oh, really? And here I expected to be flattered."
"You should be. It's like the way you're handling this car. All confidence and zip, in and out of traffic." I shrugged. "That's how I think of architects, I guess. It goes back to the pyramids, right? I mean, some Egyptian architect had the audacity to say that his design would rise up to the sky, and that they would figure out a way to make that happen. It's like building a skyscraper to the heavens or a bridge that spans a canyon."
I looked out the window at the Atlanta skyline, shining over the city. "It takes my breath away, you know. There's such control and precision to creating something like that. It's--I don't know."
"I think you do," he said softly.
I glanced over at him, saw him looking back at me with both interest and understanding on his face.
I shrugged. "Maybe. It's just--okay, I used to skip school sometimes and take the bus downtown. I lived in Los Angeles," I added. "My parents had no idea, but there were days when I just couldn't deal with all the crap that was going on in my life. And so I'd stand there, my head tilted back, and I'd look at the city rising up around me. And it would fill me. I didn't understand it then--all I kne
w was that it gave me hope."
"Do you understand it now?"
"Yes," I said softly. "I do."
"So do I."
"Really?"
"You were right about the hope," he said. "But you were only a kid, so you didn't get the core. That understanding came later when you realized that the clean, soaring lines of an office building are a testament. A reminder that circumstances and the world can be controlled, no matter how futile and lost some moments might feel."
My throat tightened, because he knew. He truly got it. And in that moment I was grateful I never cried, because I didn't want to shed tears in front of him. "Yes. Exactly."
"Why didn't you pursue it? As a job, I mean?"
"I would have," I admitted. "But I don't have the skill set or the vision. I can see a building and understand its greatness, but my mind isn't set up to conceive of it in the first place. So I guess it's more of a hobby with me, and why I've got a job in real estate. And I like to walk cities and look at the buildings. Read books. Take photographs. I take a lot of photographs," I added.
I didn't ask why he became an architect. I didn't need to. I could tell simply by watching him that he was doing exactly what he'd been born to do. Even something as simple as his confident precision when he handled the Porsche proved that he embodied everything I admired. He was a man who didn't shrink from the world, but walked proudly within it, both capable and eager to reshape it in accordance with his own unique vision.
Had I seen that quality in him from the first moment? I must have, because why else would nothing more than a look from him have brought me to my knees?
I was still wondering as we climbed the steps to my second floor apartment in Buckhead.
I broke the silence as we arrived at my door. "I don't do this. Not usually."
"Go home?"
He was teasing, of course, but I remained serious, and with my hand I gestured between the two of us. "This," I said. "I don't date. Not very much. It's not--it's not really on my radar."
"Good. I don't want you to date. But, Sylvia, you're on my radar now. And I think that's a very good thing."
My cheeks flushed as I fumbled in my purse for my keys. "So, I've only got wine inside. Do you like red?"
"I do. But I'm not coming in."
