he didn’t even know her name. “Wait.”
She turned around.
“What’s your name?”
“Eve,” she tossed over her shoulder. She didn’t ask for his name in return. Actually, she didn’t hang around long enough for him to tell her.
Eve?
She’d disappeared into the building and Jack pulled her bar tab into the light, checking the signature line where she’d signed for her drink.
Blue ink and plain, bold script.
Room 325.
Eve Carmichael.
ANDREA WOULD’VE FOUND something more exciting to wear, Eve acknowledged, checking her reflection in the elevator on her way down. But then again, Andrea wouldn’t have had to worry about the Monday meeting. Still, Eve should’ve listened to her friend and tossed in a couple of sexy outfits. Instead, she’d made the best of business casual, ditching the jacket that went with her dress.
At least the sleeveless, short black dress covered her Godiva thighs and showed off her taut arms and legs. Then again, Mr. Gorgeous had already seen her in a swimsuit, and a swim cap no less, and he’d still asked her to dinner. Stranger things could happen.
Eve stepped off the elevator. Her pumps clicked against the polished tile as she crossed the lobby to the restaurant. At least her shoes had a decent heel on them.
The man stood outside the restaurant, one shoulder casually propped against the wall, his legs crossed, his attention focused on a handheld piece of electronic equipment. Polished. Sophisticated. Remote.
He looked almost as good dressed in charcoal-gray slacks and a black silk polo as he had in swim trunks and a towel. Eve’s heart stalled a beat and then raced to catch up. Pull yourself together, girl. He put on his pants the same way any other man did—he just looked better doing it. Andrea’s latest hottie simile came to mind—yumm-o.
“Hello,” she said as she approached him.
He glanced up and a slow smile curled his lips. He pocketed his Blackberry. Another workaholic. She had, of course, checked her e-mails before she left her room.
“Eve.”
Her name rolled off his tongue and trailed warmth through her like a sip of smooth Scotch. His eyes held hers and the same attraction she’d felt earlier at the pool surged between them again. Was that a hint of relief in his eyes? Had he thought she’d stand him up? Amazing. Women didn’t stand up a man like him.
“Have you been waiting long?” she asked.
“Not at all.” He paused, his gaze sweeping her. “You’re lovely.”
His words trailed across her skin and shivered through her.
“Thank you. So are you,” she said, tossing the compliment, which was actually an understatement when she considered how gorgeous he was, back at him, determined not to be thrown off balance.
“Thanks.” She almost laughed at the surprise that flickered across his face.
“The high-maintenance women you date never tell you that?”
“No. Not in so many words.” He slanted his head to one side and looked at her, casual male elegance personified. The light gleamed in his dark hair. “Why do you think I date high-maintenance women?”
In a moment of perfect timing, a couple exited the restaurant and walked past. The woman, a willowy blonde with exquisite makeup, hair and clothes glanced back over her shoulder at him. She obviously hadn’t slapped herself together in half an hour.
Neither Eve nor her dinner date missed the fact that the school-of-high-maintenance graduate had checked him out.
Eve arched an amused brow. “Lucky guess.”
He shrugged off the woman’s interest, a gesture that only confirmed for Eve that it was the norm. “Are you high maintenance?”
He had to ask? Please. Eve had a penchant for nice jewelry and lingerie, but aside from that, she bought her clothes and shoes on sale at discount stores. Her lack of interest in Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahnik appalled Andrea. Eve splurged on the occasional spa visit, but didn’t have the time or budget to make it a regular part of her life. “What do you think?”
“Not overtly.”
That begged an explanation. She raised a questioning brow.
“You don’t impress me as needing a constant stream of adoration to feel good about yourself. But I think you don’t suffer fools gladly. I’d say you’re a woman who speaks her mind and does exactly as she pleases. And the result is very, very sexy.” His voice dropped an octave on the last observation and took her breath with it.
Eve’s heart repeated that stop-and-race trick. If he kept this up, she’d begin to believe she was closer to Angelina Jolie than she realized. He had the speaking-her-mind and doing-as-she-pleased parts down pat, but she was, quite frankly, surprised he found it sexy. It intimidated most men. But then again, from what she’d seen thus far, he wasn’t most men.
“And you strike me as a man who does what he wants and is used to getting what he wants. And that, too, is very, very sexy.”
And it was. Eve wasn’t so sure that she particularly liked this man. He was arrogant, far too handsome, and he set her on edge. But she was incredibly attracted to him.
“Perhaps we have more in common than you think, Eve.”
Caught up in the intimate way her name rolled off his tongue, it took a moment for his comment to register. There was an implied intimacy, almost a hint that he knew something she didn’t. Did she know him? Had she met him before? One of her brothers’ college buddies? Someone from last year’s national conference? Definitely not. A woman would never forget meeting this man. But something about him struck a chord of recognition.
“Do I know you? Have we met before?”
He shook his head. “We’ve never met before.”
Then why did she have this weird, nagging sense of the familiar? Aha. Jack LaRoux.
He reminded her of Jack. Not that she’d ever met Jack, but this man was everything she’d imagined her nemesis to be, possibly because she’d had some antagonistic, sexual fantasy thing going in her head around Jack LaRoux for the past several months. Sex and power were inextricably intertwined, and there was definitely a power struggle going on between her and Jack the Ripper. And she was definitely attracted to this man.
She’d come to Chicago early. Had Jack come early as well? He could have, except Eve had read an e-mail ten minutes ago from LaTonya. Jack had been in a late-afternoon meeting when LaTonya had contacted the San Francisco office earlier. Not even the West Coast Wonder Boy could manage to be in two places at one time.
“Hello. I think you’ve gone somewhere else,” he said
“Sorry. You remind me of someone I know.”
Annoyance tightened his face and flashed in his eyes. He quickly masked it with the detached air of urbane amusement he wore so well.
“Ready?” Obviously he didn’t like being compared to someone else.
“Yes.”
They stepped into the restaurant. A bird-of-paradise display in a large vase dominated the entry. A late-dinner crowd filled two-thirds of the white-linen-draped tables. Nice. Very nice. Minimalist, sophisticated decor. A jazz quartet, tucked into a corner, offered a dinner concert. A handful of couples swayed to the music on the small dance floor.
The maître d’ appeared. “Two for dinner?”
“Yes. Do you have something with a view?”
“A table with quite a nice view just opened. This way please.”
Eve’s companion