away. Suddenly the hardest thing to do was turn around and walk back into that room. Brant would be there with his arrogance and his hostility, and if he said so much as one word out of place, she would pour his drink over his head.
She smiled to herself. As a matter of fact, she hoped he did, she mused as she pushed open the doors and immediately felt those hard eyes eating her up from across the room. They scorched her with a look that bordered on physical intensity.
Unable to stop herself, she glanced at Brant. Through the sea of people and smoke-filled air, her knees weakened as sexual heat enveloped her, even as he pretended to be listening to something Simon said to him.
And it was a pretence. Every feminine instinct told her that he’d like nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and lose himself in her body. Her body. She had to remember that’s all he wanted.
“Hey, babe. Wanna dance?”
Startled, she turned and looked into the face of Danny Tripp, the teenage son of one of the executives who worked a few days a week in the accounts department, and who turned beetroot-red whenever she came into the room. She’d never been able to get him to say more than two words at a time.
But not tonight, it seemed. Tonight tall, young, clean-cut Danny Tripp, fortified by alcohol, had a silly grin on his face and was game for anything, especially with a group of his mates egging him on.
Great. Now she had two men lusting after her. Well, one was really only a boy in a man’s body. And the other? Yes, Brant Matthews was all man. And more. Much more.
She glanced across the room and saw the alert look in his eyes that told her he sensed another male moving in on his territory. His territory. How ridiculous to think that way. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling.
Dragging her gaze away, she gave Danny a friendly smile so that he wouldn’t feel embarrassed in front of his friends. “I’d love to dance with you, Danny.”
“You would?” For a moment he appeared stunned. Then he grabbed her hand and dragged her out onto the dance floor.
She stumbled into his arms when he spun around to face her, and before she knew it, he’d slid his hands onto her hips, pulled her close to his lanky body and buried his face in her hair. There was none of the finesse Brant had exhibited earlier when he’d taken her in his arms. This was pure adolescent male, hungry for sex, and all the better with a woman he fancied.
Slightly alarmed—and hearing his pals’ whistles over the slow music—she put her hands against his chest and forced some distance between them. “Danny, I—”
“Don’t talk, babe.” He went to pull her back into position.
She held firm against him. “Dan-ny…” The tone of her voice must have gotten through to him, because the hold on her hips slackened. She breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at him, pleased to see some of the alcoholic glaze disappear from his eyes.
He gave her a self-conscious grin. “Sorry, Kia. I guess you went to my head.”
She relaxed with a smile, finding his boyishness easier to handle. “I think the drink had more to do with it than me.”
He shrugged wryly. “Yeah, well, I’m not used to drinking rum.”
Kia suspected he wasn’t used to drinking at all. “I once got drunk on brandy and was sick for a full week.”
“You got drunk? No foolin’?”
“I was young once, too, you know,” she joked, even while her heart cramped with pain at the reason she’d been drinking. It had been the day her father had married his second wife. He hadn’t wanted his “plain-looking” daughter at the wedding—or that’s what he’d been telling her mother when Kia had accidentally picked up the telephone to make a call.
She’d been crushed by his rejection, though at fifteen she should have been used to his insensitivity. Afterward she’d feigned ignorance when her mother had gently explained about her father’s remarriage. She had then gone out and gotten rotten drunk at a friend’s party, learning the hard way that drinking didn’t solve a thing.
“I hope you won’t spread that around?” she said now, pushing aside her painful memories to smile up at Danny.
“Er…” His eyes darted to his friends at the table behind them, then back to her. “Sorry. What did you say?”
Someone yelled out, “Yea, Danny,” but she pretended not to notice. They were only having fun. “I said I hope you won’t tell anyone that I once got drunk. I have a reputation to uphold,” she teased.
His gaze went beyond her again, seemed to hesitate. Then, taking a deep breath, he pulled her up close once more. “I won’t say anything,” he said as if whispering sweet nothings in her ear. “I promise, babe.”
He was obviously more concerned with his own reputation than hers, so it was silly to feel a flutter of apprehension just because he wanted to show off for his friends. He was really just a kid who’d had too much to drink.
Should she wait until the music stopped, then go back to her table? Or go now? The room was full of people. Surely nothing would happen to her in the middle of the dance floor….
She jumped when he began to nuzzle her neck. Okay, no way could she let this go any further. “Danny, I—”
“Let the lady go,” a deep male voice said beside them, startling them both, the warning in Brant’s voice clearly evident.
Danny shoved himself away from Kia, a slightly belligerent look on his face until he caught sight of who’d spoken. His cheeks began to turn red as he looked at Brant’s thunderous expression. “I’m sorry, Mr. Matthews,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“I know exactly what you were doing, Daniel.” Brant jerked his head at the table behind them. “I suggest you go back to your table before I decide to tell Mr. Reid what you were trying to do with his PA.”
Danny looked horrified. “I was just fooling around, Mr. Matthews—promise,” he said, then scurried away, obviously terrified he would lose his job.
Kia couldn’t help but feel sorry for the young man. Brant could be a formidable figure when he chose to be, though why he chose to throw his weight around now was anybody’s guess.
She winced inwardly. That wasn’t quite true. She knew exactly why he wanted Danny away from her. But before she could think further, Brant swept her into his arms and began to lead her around the dance floor. His touch was impersonal enough, so why did she feel acutely aware of him and his sexual power over her?
Angry with herself for her reaction, she shot him a look that would make a lesser man stumble. “You didn’t need to frighten him like that.”
“Yes, I did.”
And she saw that deep down he did. It fit his dangerous persona. The predator who never gave up his prey without a fight. All very subliminal, yet it was there, hidden beneath his civilized exterior. God, was she the only one who saw it? Who felt it? She must be.
She swallowed a lump of apprehension. “You had no right to interfere.”
His
