turned her head and met the gaze of the man in question. She’d noticed him before and rejected him as being way out of her league. Hot didn’t even begin to describe him. He wore confidence as easily as he wore his dark suit and crisp, pale business shirt, top button undone. Sally felt every cell in her body jump to visceral attention as his eyes met hers. He nodded toward her, raised his glass in a silent toast, then smiled. The kind of smile that sizzled to the ends of her toes.
Be bold, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind. She turned her attention to the waitress and gave the girl a smile.
“Ma’am?”
“Leave it. Thank you. And please pass on my thanks.”
“Oh, you can do that yourself. He’s coming over.”
Coming over? Sally’s fight-or-flight reflexes asserted themselves in full screaming glory, shrieking, take flight! like a Klaxon blaring in the background.
“May I join you?” the man said smoothly, his hand hovering over the back of the chair Gilda had recently vacated.
“Certainly.” Her pulse fluttered at her throat, but she managed to sound reasonably calm. She lifted her glass and tipped it toward him in a brief toast. “Thank you for the drink.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t see many people drinking a Gibson these days. An old-fashioned drink for an old-fashioned girl?”
His voice was rich and deep and stroked her nerves like plush velvet on bare skin. And he certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes, either. He filled his suit with broad shoulders, and the fine cotton of his shirt stretched across a chest that looked as though it had the kinds of peaks and valleys of toned muscle that a woman like her appreciated but oh so rarely got to indulge in. His face was slightly angular, his nose a straight blade, and his eyes—whatever color they were, something light, but it was hard to tell in here—looked directly at her. No shrinking violet, then. Not like her. His lips were gently curved. He didn’t have the look of a man who smiled easily, and yet his smile didn’t look fake. In fact, he actually looked genuinely amused but not in a superior way.
Not quite sure how to react, she looked down at her drink and forced a smile. “Something like that.”
Sally looked up again in time to see him grin outright in response. Seeing his smile was like receiving an electric shock straight to her girlie parts. Wow. Shouldn’t a man need a license to wield that much sex appeal?
“I’m Kirk, and you are?” He offered her his hand and quirked an eyebrow at her.
Sally’s insides turned to molten liquid. Normally, she wouldn’t give in to a drink and a slick delivery like the one he’d just pitched, but what the hell. She was fed up with being the good girl. The one who always did what was expected. The one who always deferred to others and never put herself forward or chased after what she wanted. If she wanted to make a stand in anything in her life, she was going to have to do things head-on rather than work quietly and happily in the background. Hadn’t she just decided tonight to take charge of her life and her decisions? For once, she was going to do exactly what she wanted and damn the consequences.
She put out her hand to accept his. “I’m Sally. Next round is on me.”
“Good to meet you, although I have to warn you, I don’t usually let women buy me drinks.”
Sally felt that old familiar clench in her gut when faced with conflict. The kind of thing that made her clam up, afraid to speak up for herself. It was one of her major failings—another thing she hid behind. But she’d told herself she wouldn’t hide tonight. She pasted a stiff smile on her lips. Pushed herself to respond.
“Oh, really? Why is that?”
“I’m kind of old-fashioned, too.”
She couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped her. Despite being head of a leading IT corporation, her dad was also the epitome of old-fashioned. The very last thing Sally needed in her life was another man like that.
“But,” he continued, still smiling, “in your case I might be prepared to make an exception.”
Taken aback, she blurted, “In my case? Why?”
“Because I don’t think you’re just buying me a drink just so you can take advantage of my body.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud. Not a pretty, dainty little titter—a full-blown belly laugh.
“Does that happen often?” she asked.
“Now and again,” he admitted.
“Trust me, you’re quite safe with me,” she reassured him.
“Really?”
Was it her imagination, or did he sound a little disappointed?
“Well, perhaps we should wait and see,” she answered with a smile of her own and reached for her martini.
How had it gone from a few drinks and dancing to this? Sally asked herself as they entered his apartment. Kirk threw his jacket over the back of a bland beige sofa. She got only the vaguest impression of his place—a generic replica of so many serviced apartments used by traveling business people with stock-standard wall decorations and furnishings. The only visible sign of human occupation was the dining table piled high with archive boxes and files.
That was all she noticed before his hands were lifting her hair from her nape and his lips pressed just there. She shivered at the contact. Kirk let her hair drop again and took her hand to lead her through to his bedroom. He turned to face her, and she trembled at the naked hunger reflected in his eyes.
Be bold, Sally reminded herself. You wanted this. Take charge. Take what you want.
She reached for his tie, pulling it loose, sliding it out from under his collar and letting it drop to the floor. Then she attacked his buttons, amazed that her fingers still had any dexterity at all given how her body all but vibrated with the fierceness of her longing for this man. A piece of her urged her to slow down, to take care, to reconsider, but she relegated that unwelcome advice to the very back of her mind. This was what she wanted, and she would darn well take it, and him, and revel in the process.
Kirk didn’t remain passive. His large, warm hands stroked her through the fabric of her tunic, which, beneath his touch, felt like the sexiest thing she’d ever worn. She sighed out loud when she pushed his shirt free of his body and skimmed her hands over the breadth of his muscled shoulders, following the contours of his chest. While they’d danced, she’d been able to tell he was in shape, but, wow, this guy was really in shape. For a second she felt uncomfortable, ashamed of her own inadequacies—her small breasts, her wide hips, her heavy bottom. But then Kirk bent his head and nuzzled at the curve of her neck, and the sensation of his hot breath and his lips against her skin consigned all rational thought to obscurity.
For now everything was about his touch. She was vaguely aware of Kirk reaching for the zipper at the back of her tunic and sliding it down, then deftly removing her trousers, and felt again that prickle of insecurity as he eased the garment off her body, exposing her pretty lace bra and her all
