put her already tall frame nearly half a head over most women in the room, including Mella, who could only claim five feet. “You need to smell the roses. Or in this case, the testosterone. Maybe the guy Mella bid on is some hot and hung lumberjack type wearing jeans tight enough for me to tell his religion.”
Mella snorted with laughter. “You’re thinking about a gardener, not a landscape architect.”
“Same thing,” Liz muttered.
Mella heard Corinne take in a quick breath and whisper under her breath, “No, it’s not.” Corinne took off her dark glasses and stared.
Mella turned to see what her friend was gawking at. Only through an act of will did she keep the paddle in her hand moving, fluttering the air around her face that suddenly felt several degrees too hot. Two men were walking purposefully toward them. She bit the inside of her lip to keep her mouth from dropping open just like Corinne’s. Of the two men stalking their way, she only really noticed one.
He was dressed all in black, an utter contrast to everyone else at the fund-raiser who’d put on their spring colors and lightweight jackets. Black upon black upon black. Leather ankle boots with an understated sheen, Italian-cut slacks that fit a lean shape and a dress shirt rolled up to show muscled and lightly veined forearms dusted with hair. His watch, a gleaming stainless steel, was the only touch of light on him.
“Damn, he’s fine!” Corrine breathed somewhere near Mella.
“Yes, girl...” Mella could only agree while she lost her breath to the man in black.
There was nothing pretty or soft about him. Watching him walk through the crowd and make his way toward where she and her friends stood was like watching a jaguar stalk through a room of gazelles, the silken glide of his every step a promise of power and strength. Mella’s back straightened, but she felt her legs quiver from the impending confrontation. She kept the smile on her face.
“They both are,” Liz said with an amazed laugh. “After seeing absolutely nobody halfway decent in here for the past two hours, and now these two fine gods walk in from nowhere...somebody up there was listening to my prayers.”
From the corner of her eye, Mella noticed Corinne preen even more, smoothing a hand down her taut thighs and shifting toward the men in profile so they could admire the high curve of her butt in the clinging white jumpsuit. “Maybe we can get one for you at the next spot, Mella.” She said the last nearly under her breath since the men had come steadily closer and were only a few feet from them.
Mella continued to fan her face, wishing desperately for the heat in her cheeks to subside. She never reacted like this to men. Never.
“My name is Victor Raphael.” The one in black held out his hand for Mella to shake. “I believe you’ve won me for the next few months.” Just as his look promised, his voice was a lulling purr, calm and steady. A man used to giving orders and having them obeyed. “I’m with Raphael Design Group,” he said after a short pause.
Damn, he’s tall. She stared up and up at him. Then looked down at his hand, not quite ready to touch him yet. It felt like a big step for her to take his hand and feel his skin against hers, to know some of the strength in him. She looked down at the large hand, at least larger than her own, and opened her mouth to speak. But Corinne slid close and grasped Victor Raphael’s hand instead.
“I’m Corinne,” she said. “I haven’t won you, but you can win me.”
Her friend’s foolishness snapped Mella out of her daze. “Michaela Davis.” She introduced herself with a nod and smile, then turned to his friend who she’d barely noticed. “And you are?”
“Kingsley Diallo.” His friend shook her hand with a wide smile. “I wasn’t won and didn’t win anything. I’m just here for the food.” Laugh lines bracketed his expressive mouth.
Mella liked him immediately. “Wasn’t the lobster mac and cheese phenomenal?”
Kingsley laughed, an infectious sound that had her instantly laughing with him. “It was,” he said. “Although I have had much better from a friend’s kitchen.”
“Let’s get back to the business of this auction before we discuss the menu.” Victor said the last word like a curse. Didn’t he like food?
Well, two could play at that all-business game. Mella held out her hand. “Your card?”
For a moment, he stared hard at her, at her hand. Then reached for his wallet and took out a business card. She was surprised that it wasn’t black, too. Instead it was a crisp green with black writing, everything she needed to contact him, including a QR code printed on the back.
“Call me when you’re ready,” he said.
“I’m ready now,” Liz muttered behind Mella.
Mella ignored her friend and gave Victor a card of her own, taking care that their fingers didn’t touch. Would their hands spark with static electricity, or would it be like touching any other man? She wasn’t quite ready to find out.
Normally, she would have grasped him in one of her typically friendly handshakes, a handshake that would morph into a hug at their next meeting, but she had a feeling he wasn’t like every other man she’d dealt with before. She tucked his card away into her purse and clenched her teeth into a determined smile.
“Perfect.” She gripped her purse and tapped it against the front of her thighs, almost succeeding in ignoring Victor and the weakening effect he had on her. Her heart was practically fighting to leap out of her chest. “It was good to meet you both, but now we have to head out. Have a great afternoon.”
“But wait...they just got here.” Corinne sounded as if she was working up to a pout. She and Liz had been chatting up Kingsley while Mella and Victor “got down to business.”
Liz put a hand on Kingsley’s forearm. “We were heading to Fever on South Beach. They’re having a huge day party. You should come with.” Did she just bat her eyes?
Corinne, who could read most men as easily as her daily horoscope, turned her attention to Kingsley instead of trying to worm her way beneath Victor’s aloof and prickly exterior. He was obviously not into playing anyone’s game. Mella couldn’t help but chuckle at the Cheshire Cat grin that took over Kingsley’s face as the two women latched on to him on either side.
“You ladies could tempt a monk to sin,” he said, although he was obviously not a monk.
Why couldn’t Mella have been attracted to him? He looked fun, as if he was open to wherever the night might take him and would simply leave it all behind the next morning, no strings attached. Instead she was aware of every breath that left Victor Raphael’s body, of the firm heat of him only a few feet away, aware of just how much she wanted to twine her arms around his waist and lead him into breathless sin. But she didn’t need to know his sun sign to realize he wasn’t that kind of man. She kept her smile easy and noncommittal.
“You can go ahead, Kingsley.” Victor tipped his head toward the open door through which most of the party’s attendees had already gone. “You’ve had a long week at the office and need some time to unwind. You’re not going to get that from me today. I can get a cab back home.”
The two men exchanged a private look. Then Kingsley glanced down at the women, obviously tempted to stay with them. But he shook his head, about to speak.
Mella jumped in. “There’s no need to ruin anybody’s night, Kingsley. I can take Victor home, and you go with Corinne and Liz. He and I can talk business while you three have fun. I need to head home early, anyway.” For what exactly, she didn’t know. But if playing chauffeur meant she could spend a few minutes longer in Victor’s company, then it would be a pleasure.
Kingsley turned to his friend with a raised brow. “Only if Victor is okay with that plan,” he said.
Mella couldn’t look at Victor. With one stroke of his commanding gaze, she felt all her good sense begin to desert her.