way out of Jason’s office, dropping the key beneath a little potted flower on Stephanie’s desk, as she’d requested.
Katy let out a long breath and started walking back down the empty corridor, back to the party.
Back toward Jason Treffen.
Talking to that scumbag had just about made her lose her mind. It had taken everything in her not to grab his glass from his hand and pour it over his head. Then break the glass on his face.
She considered the man as good as her sister’s murderer, so she was short on charitable feelings where he was concerned.
The door to the ballroom opened and she froze, trying to affect an “I’m just coming back from the bathroom” demeanor. Whatever the hell that was.
Oh. Her breath left her in a rush, a current of electricity washing over her skin.
It was him.
The man who’d been drinking scotch. The man whose eyes were like an endless black hole, drawing her in, a force she couldn’t deny or control.
The man who had looked at her for a moment.
Someone looking at her wasn’t really that significant. It happened every day. Except when this man had looked at her, she’d felt as if she were grounded to the spot. She’d felt like he had looked and seen her.
Seen everything. More than that, she’d looked back and she’d seen him.
Had seen a grief in him. An anger.
It had been, in some ways, like looking into a mirror.
And in just a second, it had been over. She’d gone to find Jason, to put herself in his vicinity. Just because she’d promised herself she would. Because she’d promised herself she would look him dead in the eye one day, knowing she was going to destroy him, while he didn’t have a clue.
And so she had.
But it had been a sacrifice, because she’d had to look away from the man. It was a moment that summed up her entire life, really. Deny, deny, repress. Push on through. Don’t let the pain touch you. Don’t let the pleasure touch you, either.
“It’s you,” he said, his voice deep, smooth. Like really good chocolate.
“Yes, it’s me. I was...in the bathroom.” Oh, nice, Katy. That was very good.
He arched a brow. “Fascinating.”
“Not so much, I know.”
“I’ll let it slide because I was hoping to run into you.”
“Were you?”
“Yes,” he said, walking closer to her, his eyes burning into hers.
She’d never seen anything like his eyes. They were so intense she couldn’t look away.
And his body...perfectly showcased by his custom-made suit. Broad shoulders, trim waist and slim hips. Very expensive shoes.
Then there was his face. He was arresting. Dark brows, chiseled jaw, Roman nose. His lips were perfection. She couldn’t remember ever being fascinated by a man’s lips before. Even the men’s mouths she’d come into direct physical contact with hadn’t fascinated her.
His mouth was shaped perfectly. She found herself utterly obsessed by the thought of tracing his top lip with her tongue. Of letting the tip of it slide into the little V just beneath his nose.
Jeez. She needed help. A good night’s sleep. Something. This wasn’t normal. Not for her.
“Wh-why were you hoping to run into me?” she asked.
“Because you’re the most beautiful woman here. Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”
“I call B.S.,” she said. “There are models here.”
“So? You were the one who caught my attention.”
“You’re a flirt.”
“That’s the thing—I’m not really. So if I’m doing a poor job of it, it’s only because I lack practice.” He put his hands in his pockets, a wicked half smile curling that sinful mouth.
“Again, I call bull.”
“Again, you’re wrong.”
“You’re drunk.”
“A little.”
“Honest,” she said. “But I have to get back.”
She started to walk past him and he took her arm, stopped her progress. Her breath left her lungs in a rush, his grip shockingly tight. She looked up and met cold, dark eyes. “To who?” he asked, his voice gentle, an opposing force to the hold he had on her.
Her heart was thundering hard. But it wasn’t with fear. There was something about his grip, so tight, so certain, that made her feel...
She blinked. Oh, no, she was not getting turned on by a strange man in the corridor of a party she was technically coordinating.
But there was something about that grip. Commanding. Hard. It spoke to every secret fantasy that lived in the dark shadows inside of her. The parts of her that didn’t want a sweet kiss at midnight from Prince Charming. The parts that had always craved things she’d never quite understood.
The parts of herself that had looked at every man she’d even tried to date and found them lacking.
But not him. He wouldn’t be lacking. Something shivered inside of her, a whisper.
He would know what you wanted.
“None of your business,” she growled.
“Jason Treffen?” he asked, a tinge of bitterness to his tone.
“Why?”
“I saw you speaking with him earlier.”
“Guilty,” she said. “Now will you let go of me?”
“Will you stay for a moment?”
“What if I say no?”
His gaze flickered over her. “I’m not sure.”
Part of her wanted to dare him. Wanted to say no. Wanted to see if the grip would tighten. If he would take the control. “I’ll stay for a moment.”
He released his hold on her. “Good. Then I’ll work on being more interesting than whatever’s in that party.”
“Oooh,” she said, affecting a regretful smile, “they have cocktail shrimp.”
“I’m losing out to shellfish?”
“It’s prime. I hear they brought all the seafood from Maine.”
“Well,
