by Zoe Forward
You will not puke. “I don’t often attend this type of event. I admit this wine is excellent.” She tilted the glass to her lips. One whiff of the liquid’s floral bouquet and she knew she shouldn’t swallow. A childhood of ingrained social etiquette instructed she not spit the liquid back into the glass as her stomach demanded. Her Southern belle mother’s horrified face swam in her brain. With determination she forced the liquid down. Her stomach clamped tight, warning her it would cope, but wasn’t happy.
She chanced meeting his gaze—another colossal bad choice. Her nerves buzzed like a virgin facing her first kiss. She went for the wine again, not even realizing until it coated her taste buds.
The back of his fingers whisked across her exposed chest, briefly touching the chain. The delicate intimacy of the touch electrified all exposed skin. Wine caught in her throat, stimulating an immediate cough.
“Bit of glitter or something,” he mumbled. The blue of his eyes smoldered when they lifted from her chest. He grinned as if he knew exactly the havoc his touch wreaked.
Kat wished she could come off as apathetic but her cheeks heated and she couldn’t hold his gaze. Oddly, her head no longer throbbed. The nausea had also vanished. Usually it took hours when a crowd’s thoughts overwhelmed her for the head pain to subside. There must be something to be said for distraction. Or, maybe Matt really did have magical capabilities.
She chanced meeting his gaze. The sexual invite in his deep blues shot her mind right into a scatterbrained fluster. A giggle almost escaped.
Was he trying to push them into the foreplay zone? Maybe this was his normal interaction with every woman he encountered. God knew his body was killer and his eyes promised satisfaction, something she knew he could deliver.
She’d never let him touch her again.
Close it down and objectify, she ordered herself. She focused to shut down her emotional grid as best possible, and on being professional, something she’d perfected after years as a veterinarian subjected to the gamut of wacky. Despite his self-assurance, a cold stillness rested at the surface. Gone was the enthusiasm of youth she remembered from their college one-nighter. Beneath his veneer, she sensed he masked a crouching deadly power. His was the gaze of a high-end predator, throwing its prey a seductive look, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
And she was the prey. The thought doused any hint of lust like an ice-water splash.
“Not married?” His gaze skipped to her ringless left hand.
She lifted an eyebrow but refused to answer. Instead she asked, “You?” Her gaze fell to his left hand, also bare.
He flashed her a drop dead gorgeous smile. “It’s been a while, wildcat.”
“Not long enough,” she gritted out. An unwanted vision from their long-ago night slow-moed in her brain. Washboard abs…hips pumping rhythmically just one beat too slow to meet the desperate need he created. Her body temperature escalated to critical overheat. Stop it, she ordered her mind. The Sonora Desert will ice over before we’re going there again.
“We could do better a second time.” His self-assured, yet stunning grin irritated her.
“In your dreams.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, and frowned. Was he taking her hint they weren’t going there? And was that disappointment swirling in her gut?
A fiftyish man, with a handsomely tanned face and in-shape body, stepped in front of Matt. “I was just over there at the bar. I haven’t seen you in a while, Matt. Nice party.” He held out his hand.
Matt returned the handshake. “I hope you’re enjoying the evening. Kat and I were just on our way to the dance floor.”
Kat pasted on a pleasant smile. Like hell I’ll dance with you.
The interloper’s gaze dropped to her chest. His thoughts echoed loudly in her mind: Fantastic boobs. Wonder who she is and where his girlfriend is. No surprise he’s got a hard-on.
Her eyes skirted southward on Matt, confirming the comment. Her face flamed hot. No hint of teasing remained on his face. No knowing eyebrow quirk. Just a mask of harsh control—unreadable and remote.
“Are you doing a speech tonight?” the guy asked Matt.
“Of course.”
She phased out of their stilted, polite conversation. Years of pent-up resentment exploded in her brain. The unfaithful bastard probably seduced women on a nightly basis whenever his girlfriend left town. Her eyes narrowed his way, but his gaze didn’t meet hers. She wanted to scream, You have a girlfriend! Planning to cheat, again? Anger revved, close to boilover. She threw a mental slap at him, but gasped when pain rocked her brain with the sensation of smashing against a brick wall. He blocked her?
What just happened? The two previous mental slaps she’d thrown landed her intended victim on the floor. Perhaps he really had used magic to clear her headache today and all those years ago. What was this guy?
His rebuke-filled gaze zeroed in on her. In a bored tone at odds with the warning in his eyes, he said, “I hope you’re planning to donate.”
“Of course.” The other guy leered at her chest again. Bet Matt wouldn’t mind me borrowing her tonight.
She stepped sideways, closer to Matt, creeped out by the guy’s wolfish grin and the montage of X-rated images flashing through his brain.
Matt clasped her hand and said, “If you’ll excuse us.” He placed her glass on a passing waiter’s tray and led her toward the floor.
She hesitated. Matt gripped her arm and propelled her through the crowd. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “If you don’t dance with me right now, that guy will read it as a yes to you spending the night at his penthouse.”
She whispered back, “All he did was look.”
“He’s richer than God and fucks a different girl every night. I’m sure he’d be glad to add you to his dossier.”
“Are you any different?”
His lips thinned. “Yes.” Based on his closed look, that was as much as she’d get from him on this subject.
“Fine.” Despite the resentment simmering in her blood, excitement thrummed through her as they neared the dance floor. Last year she’d won the national amateur Latin Dance championship. She loved moving on a dance floor.
On their way through the crowd, she glanced up at Matt again.
His stylishly disheveled black hair was just a tad too long, but not long enough to cover the small bad-boy silver hoop in his right ear. The earring didn’t mesh with the expensive tuxedo tailored to his body. Over the years he’d retained the panties-dropper sexy. That in combo with the power he now radiated ramped him up to devastating.
And she wasn’t the only one to notice. She gritted her molars in annoyance as most of the women in the vicinity stopped to stare. The only one who didn’t seem to notice was Matt.
A random thought from a woman sneaked into her brain, He never dances. A man thought, She looks like his first wife.
He’d been married? She didn’t like that thought. At all.
Once they reached the dance floor, he glanced down. “That guy wasn’t your type, anyway.”
Heart racing, she tilted her head back to look up at the man towering over her. “And just who do you think is my type?”
His gaze darted down to her mouth. Heat sparked in her belly, igniting the need to succumb to the white-hot connection between them. She didn’t know what she wanted more. To slap his face publicly and extinguish this connection forever, or his arms around her to keep this connection burning hotly.
…
Your type? Me. Matt could barely believe the gorgeous redhead he’d tried to locate for a decade was here. And almost in his arms again. Kat Ramsey in reality eclipsed every latent memory of their one night, and every fantasy his brain had conjured since. They needed to resolve the problem of that zinger of a curse, which had rendered every encounter with other women to be a disappointment. But at the moment he barely cared. He was so hard that it might push him past the breaking point. He might just drag her to a dark c
orner and kiss her until the firecracker smoldering beneath the surface broke free. He wanted to hear her cry out his name in pleasure again.
“Smile. People are staring,” he whispered.
A classic Sinatra song started, although the singer didn’t do the vocal part justice. He slid his hand around her waist and stepped them into the slow dance. Her body was stiff, but she didn’t trip or step on his toes. In fact, she moved so gracefully in sync with his lead that he suspected she’d had training.
A tense smile touched her lips. “I heard someone back there say you don’t dance.”
“It’s been a while since I braved stepping onto parquet.”
“I guess I should be honored then.” She didn’t meet his gaze.
“Perhaps I was inspired by the memory of a dance at an undergrad party long ago…” He trailed off.
Her cheeks flushed a darker red. “Don’t get your hopes up for a repeat. Not happening.”
“That might be a bit awkward, given our audience.” She’d had most of his clothes off by the song’s second refrain that night.
She shot him a squinty-eye warning that communicated if she could slap him, she would.
Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. He’d finally found her and now he was blowing it. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since that night. I tried to find you, but you just disappeared.”
She tensed and snapped, “You had a girlfriend. And, if memory serves, she wasn’t pleased to find me in your bed.”
Yeah, he’d handled the after part of that night miserably. That nightmare was probably right now replaying in her mind. He caught the gaze of a reporter whose too-keen interest in Kat had him saying, “We’re just dancing. Lots of people are watching.”
She glanced around and then smiled. “So…you don’t want a scene?” she asked in a soft, threatening tone.
Fuck.
“Kat…there are people here that will shred you. Please be careful. As long as you’re dancing with me you can avoid the sharks here tonight.”
She muttered, “Then you must be a great white.”
He managed to smile for their audience and twirled her around a few couples. There were too many eavesdroppers out here. Christ, he wished he could drag her away from all the scrutiny. To apologize for past pain and make new memories. Pleasurable ones. The hurt in her eyes made him feel as though someone punched him square in the chest. She’d probably hate that he’d glimpsed that vulnerability.
In silence they glided through a verse of the song. She was so damned beautiful. A strand of dark auburn hair mutinously curled out of the elegant twist, bouncing against her pale, slender neck. That rebellious strand was the only hint of disarray other than her residual blush. It begged him to release all her hair from the hairdo, as if that small act would liberate the hellcat he remembered from years ago.
The conservative, ankle-length, black dress she wore hid what he remembered had been a body designed to be touched. Her athletic figure filled out the dress in a way that pushed him to rip the thing off. And those long, tapered legs. He imagined pressing her against the nearest wall and driving into her. Those legs would be around his waist.
Cool off. This insanity over her had to be the damned curse. It guaranteed that he’d find her irresistible. After a decade he was desperate for what he’d experienced with her last time, and for what her curse denied he find with other women—repletion.
She cleared her throat and asked stiffly, “So, you own a corporation now?” Her body remained tight and she carefully maintained a few inches of air between them.
“Yes.” He struggled to banish the Kat memory highlight reel currently playing in his brain.
“What type of corporation? What does it do?”
“We build parts for military operations around the world. We also build for drilling operations, especially underwater drilling.”
“So you fuel the world’s desire for destruction.”
“We don’t actually make weapons. Just the parts. It’s a technology corporation,” he answered on autopilot. Many hurled that accusation at him on a daily basis.
With a twist, he prevented them from colliding into a couple that had moved too close in an obvious attempt to overhear.
“Did you start this business on your own? It’s not exactly what I’d imagined you doing.”
“I inherited it from my father when he died.”
She leaned back to look upward and gazed deeply into his eyes. Her deep green eyes widened. Softly she said, “I’m sorry about your father. But you don’t like this work, do you?”
She’d pegged that one dead right. How could this woman whom he’d bumped into less than ten minutes ago discern what people who’d known him for decades hadn’t guessed? Maybe her magical abilities extended to mind reading. He swallowed and smiled tightly. With a glance around he said, “I’ve turned Ryan Corp around since I started.”
“Evasion. Okay.” She glanced around. “What about ROTC?”
“I started my years in the army but then my father died and that changed. What have you been doing since…?” He cleared his throat. “For the past few years?” He forced a mental beat-back of the memory of kissing his way up the smooth skin of her inner thigh.
“I’m a veterinarian.” Her body finally relaxed a bit.
“I can imagine you doing that. Do you like it?” He liked the feel of her small hand in his. And the flexing of her slim waist in his right hand. Would she taste the same? Her taste had tortured him. It had ruined him. His gaze zeroed in on her lips.
“Yes. I’m good at it. And it is rewarding.”
The song ended. A small tap hit his shoulder. He held onto Kat’s hand as he turned toward the source of the tap.
His PR director smiled apologetically. “I’m thrilled to see you dancing, Mr. Ryan, but we’ve got ten minutes. We need you to head over there to get the microphone adjusted and whatnot.”
“If you two will excuse me,” Kat said in an even tone. She slipped her hand out of his.
I can’t lose her now. But, he had responsibilities. “It’s been a pleasure, Kat. I’ll see you later,” Matt intoned. The heat in his tone promised her there would be that later.
She narrowed her eyes at him in answer and hurried away.
Matt blew out a frustrated sigh as he followed his PR director toward the podium. He watched Kat glide away, her movements graceful and sensuous. He wanted to warn off every male in the vicinity that looked to be fantasy fucking her. His control swirled at the edge of crazy.
He needed a drink. A good Scotch might help dull his need to stalk Kat and drag her into the nearest empty room. For an instant he considered tossing aside responsibility, ditching this event, and abducting Kat. He could think of several very persuasive ways to convince her to rescind the curse and guarantee both of them pleasure. A drink…focus on a drink. Stop thinking about her and that spectacular ass. The line at the bar looked to now be of a dissuading length. He tried to flag down a waiter. No luck.
Damn it, he was the CEO of Ryan Corp. They sponsored this event. He should get some perks, at least the drink of his choice whenever he desired.
As he maneuvered through the crowd, he avoided the many gazes vying for his attention. Those who hadn’t found the opportunity to talk business with him at the office always tried at these events. They expected him to be easier to manipulate here.
He longed for a quiet night alone at his house in the Hamptons, with his dog. No press. No speeches. A nice Scotch and the most recent Formula 1 race on his widescreen TV. He hadn’t come close to that fantasy in over two years. This was his third benefit in the past two weeks. He believed the causes were good and deserved whatever money could be raised, but he wished he could just give his own money and be done with it. Tonight was about putting on a good face for the corporation.
Kat now stood in a corner near the band with a new glass of wine. The arc of her sleek neck as she sipped distracted him. Little had changed when it came to the jolting p
hysical reaction he had to Kat. Their chemistry was real. No other woman came close to what he’d shared with Kat, either before or since their one-nighter.
He grabbed a glass of wine off a passing waiter’s tray, and sucked it down in one slurp. What a waste not to enjoy it, but he needed to dull his insane drive to be inside her, and only her, in every way possible. This was most likely a product of that damn curse. Staring at her now, he didn’t know if he should beg her to rescind the curse or seduce her first. His southern hemisphere voted for the latter.
Speech. Think speech, he ordered himself. Get your head on straight. Control was the foundation of his life. Loss of it resulted in either idiocy or social death. His last idiocy spearheaded by his desperation to have a normal life, even if the bedroom lacked spark, ended in matrimony. What a colossal mistake that turned out to be. Lesson learned: a beautiful woman gifted in bed would do anything for the big diamond. Love, compassion, and even orgasms could be faked. What couldn’t was being caught with a company intern’s dick halfway down your throat.
Ever since his wife’s infidelity and death three years ago, he refused to be ensnared again. Since none captured his attention for very long, and most belonged to the future billionaire-housewife club, the danger was low.
Kat, on the other hand, confused him. Her body wanted him, regardless of whatever resentment still simmered from the past. Her behavior indicated she had no interest in joining the billionaire-housewife club. And what was she? When he touched her to alleviate her headache tonight, he’d detected an energy buzz suggestive of recent use of supernatural power. The wind slap confirmed she had gifts, even if it had been a childish move. Exposing herself like that was dangerous. Years ago he’d searched for her on campus and at neighboring universities. He’d concluded she lied about her name and wondered if she was one of the seven dimension-hopping Pleiades witches. As the years rolled by, he’d discounted it. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Within yards of the podium a familiar, gladiator-tall Scotsman blocked his path. Wasn’t this turning out to be one hell of a night? He forced a polite smile while fisting his hands. “Who invited you?”
