Page 15 of Seducing Hope (The Hope Legacy)

Natia

Taurus: Masters of the poker face because, under the chill surface, there’s an anxious person ready to snap.

Stepping out of the limo Reinheart and Hunter sent, I crane my neck to look at the skyscraper; glittering glass panels reflect the rare sunlight we’ve been blessed with during this winter season, but the building appears to repel the warmth and light. I pull up the collar of my white wool coat against an icy breeze as goosebumps spread across my neck and arms.

Chanel, the human version of Barbie, greets us. I shake her well-manicured hand, then she speaks down to me in a condescending tone, fulfilling her stereotype.

“Good morning, Miss Waterford. Mr. Reinheart is waiting for you on the rooftop for breakfast.” I school my features as she continues. “Your associates can get settled in the boardroom.” I take a deep breath. Shit, this is the kind of opportunity we needed.

Chanel ushers me to a small glass elevator on the left of the lobby, while the guys are shown to the main elevator. Zee changes course and steps toward me. I give a subtle shake of my head. He meets my eyes, looking torn. He knows I’m more likely to get information from Reinheart alone. Clenching his fists, he shakes his head and returns to Aaden, who points at his temple, reminding me to shield my aura.

A tall man in a black suit waits for me in the elevator. I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Are all bodyguards issued with a special introductory bag containing the essential items of a black suit, white shirt, black tie, and a little communication device behind the ear? I bet he has sunglasses also, maybe even a little tool that zaps your memories; wait, that’sMen in Black.

The doors close as he pushes the button for the roof, and the one below it reads seventy-four, making me swallow hard. My stomach drops as the lobby shrinks, and we begin to rise above the surrounding buildings, opening up to a spectacular view of Seattle.

“Come here often?” I quip. I instantly scold myself—really, Natia, that’s your opening words to someone who may be in Reinheart’s inner circle? He raises an eyebrow but otherwise ignores me. Seems I’m not the only one who hates pleasantries. We ride in silence, and I channel my inner diva with Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.”

The elevator comes to a smooth stop. Stepping out onto the roof, I gasp. The sides are lined with a tall, curved glass barrier, sheltering the lush green plants, bright exotic flowers, and trees that line the path leading to an oak gazebo. Oversized ivory drapes wrap around the legs, revealing a small table and two chairs. I look over my shoulder to the elevator, expecting the bodyguard to be behind me, but both have disappeared. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and I begin to regret the decision to not bring weapons. Forcing myself to relax my shoulders, I explore the roof. Roaming the path to the left, I find a glittering infinity pool. Yep, this guy has the serious millionaire ego thing going on.

A deep, smooth voice drifts over the skin at my nape, causing a small shiver to expand from my spine across my body. “What do think of my small paradise, Miss Waterford?” I hadn’t felt the small changes of the air currents alerting me that someone was at my back.

I keep my body relaxed and resist the urge to turn around, continuing to touch the various plants. “It’s extraordinary… a colorful oasis in the middle of harsh, gray, manmade, steel structures. A small haven to chase away the suffocating, stale air and oppressive, draconian darkness of the city. You’ve given life to a normally devoid part of the universe.” I caress a vivid purple bloom hanging from a tree and run my thumb over its velvety texture.

Slowly, I turn to face Archan Reinheart, who’s standing less than a foot from me. Leaning back, I suck in a small breath, inadvertently inhaling his scent. It’s an intoxicating mix of rich dark chocolate and sandalwood, with a hint of vanilla. He watches me with curiosity. His eyes are a mesmerizing, rich gold with small, lighter flecks sprinkled around the pupil. He drops his gaze to slowly scan my body. Perusal complete, he refocuses on my face.

In the interest of equality, I grace him with the same blatant inspection. His blond hair is clipped back like in his photo. My eyes trace his sensuous, full lips then fall to the corded muscles on his neck, giving an indication of his toned body. I imagine his smooth skin beneath the crisp, white shirt and finish by running my gaze down his narrow waist and long legs. Power surrounds him like a cloak, seductive and dangerous. Retracing my path, I’m hoping I’ve made him as uncomfortable as he’s made me. His mouth curves into a wicked grin. Guess not.

I extend my hand and hold his eyes in challenge. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Reinheart.” He takes my hand, but instead of shaking it, he holds it inside both of his. Calloused fingers encircle my wrist, and power thrums across his skin. Heat caresses my hand, trails up my arm, surrounds my neck, then drips like honey down my back. I fight to keep my breathing steady and calm. What the hell is that?

Smiling, he lets go of my hand just as the heat reaches the base of my spine. “Please, call me Archan.”

Switching songs to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell,” I think I see his lips twitch. His aura flickers like a flame, reds, blues, and oranges licking up his skin. I’ve never seen anything like it. Conclusion: definitely not human.

He moves with a lazy, feral grace toward the gazebo. “I thought we could share breakfast before the meeting,” he rumbles over his shoulder.

Walking behind him, I keep a small distance, studying the movement of his muscles beneath his expensive tailored suit. And yes, I ogled his ass just a little. “Why?”

Reaching the table, he pulls out a chair. I guess gallantry isn’t dead after all. I sit down on the plush rattan chair as pleasant warmth surrounds me from the overhead heaters.

“Your grandfather requested I look after you during the merger. I have looked into your background, and you do not have the education needed to represent your grandfather’s company. Despite my objections, he insisted you take part. Dancing does not give you the skills to understand how a merger works. Dance is a…” he pauses, appearing to choose his words with care, “specificskill that does not involve the traditional core skills for business. Having not worked in the real world long, I need to prepare and advise you on what to say.”

He rounds the table and sits opposite me. I straighten my spine. What an asshole. He tried to remove me from the team, insinuated my studies were useless, and indicated my IQ is questionable. A growl creeps up my throat. I swallow it and focus on the addictive sound of AC/DC’s vocalist in my head.

Crossing my legs, I start tapping my foot to the tune. “I see… so you would have me work from a script, saying what you want me to say when you want me to say it?”

His gaze flicks to my foot.

“Yes,” he responds as he starts to pour tea into my cup. I put my hand on top of his to stop him, and warmth drifts over my palm. He raises an eyebrow.

“I drink coffee.”

He continues to fill my cup. “Tea is better for you.”

Presumptuous jerk. I sense people do as he commands without question. Unfortunately for him, I’ve dealt with arrogant, egotistic men all my life. I stand, intending to return to the elevator to find some coffee. He narrows his eyes.

“Sit,” he demands, an undertone of annoyance in his authoritative voice.

I arch an eyebrow. “I’m here for breakfast, and I drink coffee, not tea.”

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