closed her eyes and paused midsong, water sluicing over her bare skin, as hot as the fire that tightened her stomach into a knot of arousal. She thought she’d seen everything attractive on the man…but she’d never seen such beautiful feet.
Long and narrow, strong boned with the faintest dusting of black hairs on his toes and a high arch where his khaki pants broke.
Oh, Anna Cross, girl, you have it bad. Swooning over feet.
But she’d nearly dumped her china coffee cup when he’d emerged from his room that morning, the shoulders of his red shirt spotted from droplets of just-showered hair, the natural scent of his soap still clinging to him. Averting her gaze from his freshly shaven face, she’d looked down.
Big mistake.
When she’d returned to the suite only an hour ago, he’d still been in the damn library, with the door closed. So she’d decided to start getting ready for the gala, planning to take a lot of time and care with her hair and makeup. After all, he’d said this was a PR move. It would be a PR disaster to arrive with a sad-looking date.
Getting ready might take some time because it had been many years since she’d arrived at a formal affair on the arm of a rich and powerful man. With a hard jerk, she twisted the knobs of the shower, wishing she could shut off the flow of her thoughts as easily. She didn’t want to think about the man who’d changed everything. Not her boss, in that case, but her boss’s rival.
But ever since she’d taken the job for Parker, thoughts of Michael Montgomery, another powerful, influential man, were close to the surface. The fact that once before she’d given in to a weakness for a handsome power broker with class, humor and style was nothing to be ashamed of, she reminded herself as she applied some makeup and twirled her hair into a French twist.
But her weakness had made her a pawn caught in the cross fire, forced to run and give up her home…all because she’d given in to an attraction to a man who was, ironically, very much like Parker Garrison.
Her father, a very wise man, had once told her that the definition of fool was someone who didn’t learn from a mistake. She wasn’t a fool. Was she?
When she’d been with Michael Montgomery, she’d been twenty-four, young and naive. Now she was nearly twenty-nine, and had successfully escaped her past. Sure, she had a crush on Parker the size of the Garrison Grand, but she was human and female. And she’d managed her attraction for three months.
But now, she was in London, sharing a suite with him, no less. And about to slip into a slinky gown she hadn’t worn for four years. And no doubt she’d have to dance with him.
Oh, how much could a girl take before she did something… foolish?
Makeup and hair done, she covered her skin with a lightly scented cream, stepped into tiny bikini panties and opened the closet door to inch the drab navy suit to the side.
He hadn’t given her time to shop for something new, she thought as she touched the red silk. And she’d only worn this dress once, so it didn’t make any sense to spend money on something else. Plus…oh, forget rationalizing. She loved the dress.
Fingering the plunging neckline, she remembered how beautiful she’d felt the last time she’d worn it—right before her boyfriend had betrayed her, and she’d been run out of Indiana by bad press and false accusations.
She buried the thought. Tonight, she’d just revel in the dress, in the thigh-revealing cut and the backless dip that nearly touched her tailbone and the flared skirt that shimmered like liquid fire when she walked.
Anna reached for the hanger, a little sad she’d cover the revealing bodice and back with a simple black pashmina wrap and take small steps so as not to show too much leg. Because, all rationalization aside, she didn’t need to attract any attention.
And she had to remember that powerful, sexy, controlling men with smoldering smiles and mouthwatering bodies were dangerous. Especially, oh, God, especially if one of the things they controlled was your paycheck.
She slipped on the dress, fastened the halter top and added some simple silver earrings and strappy black sandals. She dropped a tube of lipstick and a compact into her evening bag. Now where had she put the wrap?
“Anna?” From the sound of Parker’s voice, he was outside her door. “The limo’s here.”
“I’ll be right out,” she promised, flipping through the closet for the pashmina. Then two drawers. Then her empty suitcase.
Was it possible the woman who never forgot anything had left the cover-up at home? She closed her eyes and pictured it hanging over the chair in her bedroom where she’d placed it with a mental note to pack it last.
“Damn.” She’d forgotten to pack it at all.
“Anna? Do you need help with a zipper or something?”
Or something. She fingered the plunging neckline and swiped her hand over the curve of her hip. Evidently she wasn’t going to be able to hide a thing from anyone tonight.
She put her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. “I seem to have forgotten my wrap,” she said. “I hope that’s not a problem.”
When she opened the door, she inhaled sharply at the sight of Parker in a tuxedo. Really, there ought to be a law against looking like that.
He merely stepped back, and made absolutely no effort to hide the slow sweep of his gaze over her face and body. “Uh, no.” His voice was tight, the way it had been in the bathroom the other morning, and his eyes turned just as dark and hungry. “That is definitely not a problem.”
But the way he reached for her hand, and the way that designer tux rested on his broad shoulders, and the way he smelled like cinnamon and spice…oh, that was a problem.
He leaned a little too close and took a deep breath, a soft moan in his chest. “You certainly are good at hiding… things.”
She managed a tight smile. “Not really.”
Oh, yes. The problems were just starting to mount.
Three
“I thought I should wear a wrap.”
Parker gave in to the urge to check her out top to bottom one more time. Anna was stunning. Extraordinary. Perfect.
“Why would you cover that up?” he asked.
“I just… I’m cold.” She rubbed her bare arms self-consciously, the gesture drawing her breasts together in the most provocative way.
He’d reached to touch her shoulder, but his hand continued over her back, drawing her closer, warming her. “You don’t need a wrap. You’ve got a date.”
Goose bumps rose on her skin, and beneath the thin red material that hugged her breasts, her nipples hardened, sending a few gallons of his blood below the belt.
What was that stupid decision he’d made on the plane? Something about kindred spirits and messing things up with sex and…
Never mind. Some decisions just screamed to be second-guessed.
“You
