Page 2 of Marrying the Enemy

They all did, she noted with another brief glance at tailored cargo shorts and T-shirts with discreet designer logos. The mystery man was also casually dressed, but in sophisticated linen trousers that were barely creased. His short-sleeved button-down exposed beautiful biceps and a watch that she suspected was a Cartier Tank.

His cheeks wore a well-groomed stubble, his dark hair was combed back off his forehead and his straight brows suggested he was a man who never compromised. His mouth was unsmiling. Unamused.

He looked bored. So bored.

Which made her chuckle around the straw she had tucked between her teeth.

At that second, his gaze seemed to laser through the flashing lights and burn into her.

A fresh punch of intrigue tightened her abdomen, but she actually glanced behind herself, thinking Me? No.

The man said something to his companions and began winding his way toward her.

The tempo of her heartbeat increased, matching the music so closely, she felt as though she became music.

At the last second, he veered into the bar and waved a credit card, leaning in to place his order.

Well. Wasn’t she full of herself? Apparently, her friends had lied when they had said this hot-pink halter top and sequined silver miniskirt were sexy on her. She wasn’t the curviest figure in the room, though. She tended to run miles when she was stressed and, having just finished exams, was lean as a greyhound. Her mother was always trying to push her into padded bras, “for a more attractive silhouette,” but Eve preferred to go without a bra altogether. In that way, she was happy to be less Marilyn Monroe, more ironing board.

“Are you alone?”

Her nerves leapt then froze, as though a panther had snuck up on her and took a curious, abrasive lick of her arm.

Mr. Tall, Dark and Disinterested was suddenly right beside her, leaning close so he didn’t have to yell. His voice was like dark chocolate, too deep and earthy to be sweet, but enticing all the same.

She choked slightly at how close he was and covered her mouth, shaking her head.

“With friends.” Her voice was so strained he had to read her lips. The sting of his stare made them tingle. She pointed to the dance floor, but there was no way he could tell who she meant.

Was that his aftershave that closed around her like an embrace? It was a delicious mingle of nutmeg and carnation, cedar and citrus, bergamot and black pepper. His aura of power was even more overwhelming, enveloping her in an energy field that paralyzed her body, yet left her nerve endings humming.

She wanted to touch him. That’s all she could think as she skimmed her gaze across his chest and fixated on what looked like an ancient gold coin in the hollow of his throat.

“How old are you?” He sounded American, like her.

Affronted that he suspected she was underage, she said pithily, “Almost twenty-two.”

“So twenty-one.” His mouth quirked, equally pithy as he withdrew slightly.

“How old are you?” she challenged, instantly wanting him back into her space, even though it was like standing in the blast of a furnace.

“Almost too old for twenty-one.” He turned to gather up the full tray of shots he’d ordered and balanced it easily on one hand. He paused long enough to offer her one, taking one for himself. “I’m Dom.”

She bet he was a Dom. She’d read enough erotic romance to easily picture him as the sort who liked to control everything, especially sex. A sensual shiver worked its way from her nape to her navel.

“Eve.” She took a drink off the full tray.

They shot their shots, he nodded, then took the tray to his friends.

She breathed through the fiery burn in her chest, left her empty glass on the bar, then rejoined her friends to continue dancing.

She didn’t look to see where Dom had gone, but she knew exactly where he was. Through the next hours, as their two parties moved through the various tunnels and bars and clubs, down to the cellar and up to the terrace, she was always aware of him. Not because his group was big and rowdy, which they were, but because she could feel him. She knew when he was at the bar, or left the room, or was approached by a woman to dance. It was as though an invisible signal pulsed inside her, connecting her to him.

At one point, when she was in the ladies’ room, her friend said, “My sister used to date one of those guys in that bachelor party.”

“Which one?” Eve asked with a sharp pinch of jealousy.

“The sloppy one. That’s why they’re no longer dating. You go ahead,” she added to Eve as she slid a flirty look to the woman who came to the sink.

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