Page 6 of The Verdict

“The pastry chef here—Ms. Jolly—is phenomenal. World-class. She also did the gingerbread house in the lobby.”

“I can see that,” I said softly, admiring the intricacy of the dessert as I finished my glass of champagne.

“Wait until you taste it.” He faced me, his expression warming. “I’m so glad you came, Merritt.” The way he spoke was so smooth, so confident. I could understand why it was easy to be attracted to the silver fox, even aside from his millions. And that was probably why I had such a hard time.

He was too smooth. Too… unblemished. Just like the faces he created. There were no wrinkles on him—no flaws. And even he would have to agree that usually meant something was fake.

“Me, too,” I said, forcing my fears—the shadows of my past—to stay put. This wasn’t Barcelona. He wasn’t Jupiter or Mercury. He was a wealthy plastic surgeon. And I was safe with him.

“You look beautiful.” His eyes slid over me like the compliment had given him permission.

“Thank you.”

“Let me get you another drink. Champagne?” He angled toward the bar, scanned for a waitress, and then looked back at me.

A sizzle of heat warmed my spine.Okay, maybe there was a little attraction here. Something I could nurture.

“Something a little stronger?”

“Of course.”He slid an arm around my back, his hand resting a little low.

As soon as I looked ahead, my mouth parted, and my bodystruck not with a sizzle of heat but with a blast. An inferno ignited low in my stomach when my gaze collided with the deep blue eyes of the man at the end of the bar—a man who clearly didn’t give a shit about fitting in with his tousled blonde hair, dark jeans, and the black motorcycle jacket stretched over his broad shoulders.

All night, I’d been looked at. But in that moment, I felt seen.

He was a constellation of rugged confidence amid a universe of uniform luxury. A motorcycle god in a room of Made Men. And he didn’t belong here.Just like me.

My lips parted, but my breath wouldn’t unhitch from inside my chest.Who are you? What are you doing to me?His very full lips slowly tipped into a slow smile, and his sapphire stare smoldered, daring me to come over and find out.

Something uncalled for bloomed inside me. Something unfamiliar and long-forgotten.Something real.Like the flip of a switch, my body went from off—from dormant—to on.

And for a second, there was only him and me. Tied together. Entangled. And he felt it too, completely ignoringthe woman in the low-cut silver dress trying to squeeze herself next to him, her Wheaton-crafted fake breasts about to spill free.

And then Les stepped in front of me, blocking my view with his warm smile that felt more like a bucket of ice water over my head.

My breath released in a whoosh.Dios mío, Merritt.What are you thinking?I wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. That was the danger. Five years, and never a single moment without thinking. Until just now.

“Please, sit.” Les pulled out a stool in the center of the bar. His hand on my back guided me to sit while he signaled with the other to one of the bartenders. The young man almostsprinted over to us, clearly recognizing who was responsible for this party and who footed the bill.

“How can I help you?” The bartender tried to keep from staring too long at me.

“Whatever the lady wants,” Les instructed, but when he went to smile at me, his attention caught on something over my shoulder as I ordered tequila on the rocks. “Shoot.” He grimaced. “One of my… older clients that I haven’t seen in a while just arrived. I have to go say hello.” He clasped my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “Forgive me?”

“Of course.” I laughed softly.

“I’ll be right back.” He disappeared through the crowd, purpose driving his pace.

“Which tequila would you like?” The bartender rattled off at least a dozen options.

I shouldn’t.

“Don Julio for the lady,” a raspy voice said.

I turned to the older man who’d taken Les’s spot next to me at the bar. Black tuxedo just like every other man—almost every other man—and a well-aged face like many of the women in the room framed by silver hair.Another of Les’s clients, I would bet.

“Thank you.”An expensive choice.

His smile didn’t reach very high. Maybe too much Botox to soften his wrinkles. “Only the best for Dr. Wheaton’s goddess.” The strange choice of words didn’t bother me as much as the slightest edge in them as his eyes slid over me.

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