Page 9 of Ivory Obsession

But I needed a minute. I excused myself from the noise and the false smiles, seeking refuge by the balcony. I pushed through a set of double doors leading to a secluded balcony.

Leaning against the cool railing, I inhaled deeply, the night air a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. My eyes traced the city skyline, the twinkling lights like beacons of hope in the darkness. This was why I fought so hard, why I withstood the dismissive glances and veiled condescension. Each illuminated window represented a chance for change, advancement, a better future—all hinging on the success of my research.

As I turned back toward the ballroom, he was there—Dante Moretti. He moved with an assertive stride that parted the throngs of party-goers like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. His presence was a force field; people either drew near to bask in his confidence or steered clear to avoid his scrutiny.

God, people had always seemed to ignore me. This man had a gravitational pull that was almost too much to even witness.

He was known in our circles for being something of a hobbyist. He attended conferences, spoke to Dr. White and his boss, frequently attended our talks. But beyond that…I didn’t know anything about Dante Moretti. I had never even spoken to him one-on-one.

Our eyes met across the crowded room, and a jolt of electricity surged through me. It defied logic. His lips curved into a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken attraction that crackled between us. It was wrong, so incredibly wrong, to let myself even entertain the thought of him. But the heart rarely listened to reason, and mine was a traitor, thudding wildly against my ribs as he approached.

“Dr. Bentley,” he greeted, his voice smooth and velvety, not matching the hardness of his eyes, which seemed to pierce through my defenses with ease. “You look lovely.”

I stammered a reply, momentarily thrown by his presence. My voice, usually steady and controlled during events like this, came out as a breathless whisper. “Mr. Moretti,” I replied. “Enjoying the evening?”

What I really wanted to ask was where the woman he was with was, but I did no such thing.

“Immensely, now that it’s gotten more interesting. But in general, not to be a bore, I do prefer the conferences,” There was a hint of mischief in his tone, a playful edge that contrasted sharply with the calculated coldness I’d expected.

I raised my eyebrows. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Well, I can only hear about people’s boats for so long before I get bored,” he said. “Please tell me you don’t have a boat.”

“I don’t have a boat.”

“Great,” he replied. “You just became more interesting than at least half of the attendees.”

“Is that right?” I couldn’t help the skeptical arch of my brow. “And here I thought these events were all the same to you.”

“Normally, yes. But tonight is different.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a half-smile, and I could swear there was genuine warmth there. Or maybe it was just another trick of the light. With men like Dante, you could never be too sure.

“Because of...?” I trailed off, inviting him to fill in the blanks.

“Let’s just say, I’ve developed a sudden interest in biotechnology.” His eyes held mine, dark and unreadable.

“Doesn’t seem that sudden.”

“No,” he replied. “But it’s time to finally make a move.”

“I’m not surprised you’re here,” I said. “BioHQ is on the cutting edge of a lot of things.”

“Perhaps it’s a bit about the company,” he said, edging closer. The heat from his body was a tantalizing contrast to the chill of the evening air. He took a subtle step forward, narrowing the space between us. My breath hitched in my throat, and I instinctively took a step back, suddenly acutely aware of the press of his body and the way his cologne filled the air around me. “But I’m particularly intrigued by the brilliant mind behind BioHQ lab’s latest breakthroughs.”

Jesus, was this man flirting with me?

“Flattery will get you everywhere...or nowhere at all, depending on your intentions,” I shot back, my pulse racing.

“Then I’ll have to make sure my intentions are crystal clear,” he murmured, closing the distance until there was barely a breath between us.

I should have stepped back, put a safe space between temptation and sensibility. Every fiber of my being, honed by years of prioritizing research over relationships, screamed at me to retreat. But something held me rooted to the spot, a strange mix of apprehension and a thrilling anticipation I couldn’t explain.

Dante Moretti was a riddle wrapped in a mystery, and I was suddenly desperate to unravel him.

“Look, I—“ My words were cut off by the unexpected chaos that erupted from my hand. The wine glass I’d been gesturing with tipped precariously, a fatal tilt that sent red wine cascading onto Dante’s pristine white shirt.

“Shit!” I gasped as the dark liquid bloomed across the fabric like a stain on our already complex interaction. Time seemed to stretch, every droplet a tiny betrayal of my usual poise.

“Dr, Bentley, it’s fine,” he said, his voice still smooth but with an edge that was as sharp as broken glass.

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