barely known a thing about him before she’d heard the news. After she had, she’d gone through the stages of shock, denial and fury, and through everything she could find on him on the net.
To her surprise, she found three parallels with him from the first thing she read. Like her, he was a doctor, and he’d been born to an Italian father and was an only child. But that was where their similarities ended.
He was an American now, naturalized three years ago, while she was an American through her mother. Both his parents were long dead, while her own mother had died only a year ago, and her father who had never existed in her life, had recently—and to her continuing surprise, very enthusiastically—reentered it.
Pulling her thoughts away from that development, she turned them to the man at hand.
Not much was known about Antonio Balducci’s early life. He was raised in Austria, his mother’s homeland, where he became fluent in six languages and where he lived until he graduated from medical school. It was only about eight years ago that information about him, staggering in quantity and quality, had started pouring in.
That was when he’d shot onto the world scene, an awe-inspiring figure whose success in every field he entered was phenomenal. Being a founding member of the global juggernaut Black Castle Enterprises was meticulously documented, as well as his founding of the conglomerate’s medical R & D business—the arm of his empire that had taken over her beloved lab.
Adding to his lure for the media was his effect on the females of the species. Women went nuts over him like they did over music and soccer legends like Presley and Beckham. If she’d thought his effect a media exaggeration, she was seeing empirical evidence of his irresistibility to women right before her eyes. And that was before he actually arrived.
But all that wasn’t what he was best known for. Most of his fame stemmed from being sought after by the world’s elite to perform or even consult on their rejuvenations. But his biggest achievement was being hailed as a trauma and reconstructive surgical god whose work bordered on magic.
She ground her teeth together. The only magic she thought Balducci practiced was the black kind. To her, he was the capricious force who was pulverizing everything she’d worked for, just because he could.
And the damned man dared be late for her destruction!
Suddenly conversation was cut off as if someone had hit Stop. She looked up and saw all eyes glued to the doorway behind her. That meant...
She swung around to catch the moment when the man who’d quashed her ambitions bulldozed into her territory. And it was her turn to feel she’d been caught in a stasis field.
As everything decelerated to a standstill, a mental protest went off inside her mind.
No one should be all that, and look like that, too. Is there no fairness in this world?
Gaping and unable to do anything about it, she stared at the figure in the doorway. In a slate-gray suit that molded to a body that belonged to a world-class athlete, not a surgeon and entrepreneur, Antonio Balducci dwarfed the room with his physical and personal presence.
While viewing his photos online, she’d dismissed the possibility that he looked that good in real life, believing he’d had his photos touched up or he’d achieved his perfection surgically.
But even across a packed room, she knew neither of that was true. If anything, the photos had downplayed his looks. And she could discern surgical interventions from a mile away and she had no doubt whatsoever that every one of Antonio Balducci’s jaw-dropping assets was authentic.
At forty, the man had skin that looked like an alloy of polished copper and bronze. The tensile medium was pulled tight over a masterpiece of bone structure. Her fingers itched to indulge in a much-neglected pastime and sketch its every detail: the leonine forehead, the patrician nose, the slashing cheekbones, the powerful jaw and cleft chin.
After transferring the framework of his unique face to paper, she’d linger over every hair framing his majestic head, the most robust mass of raven silk she’d ever seen. But among all those wonders, two things transfixed her. The wide, sculpted lips bowed in a mysterious quirk. And his eyes.
Apart from their amazing shape and startling blueness, it was what they conveyed that sent her heartbeat into disarray. Contrary to the opacity of his smile, his gaze radiated an amalgam of expressions. Amusement and austerity. Curiosity and superiority. Astuteness and calculation. And a dozen other things she couldn’t decide on.
Those were the eyes of a scientist. But equally they were the eyes of a conqueror.
Which probably summed him up just right.
As he walked into room, déjà vu struck her.
Among his photos, one in particular had arrested her. A rare shot of him and his partners in Black Castle Enterprises.
They’d been captured as they’d exited their opulent New York headquarters en masse. It was an unrehearsed shot that was far more hard-hitting than any posed shot could have been, and it had earned its photographer instant fame.
The photo had captured their essence in such starkness that when it was published, Black Castle stock prices spiked to unheard-of levels. The men looked like a pantheon of warrior gods who’d descended to earth in the guise of ultramodern businessmen. The array of sheer male power and beauty in that photo was breathtaking. It had clearly robbed the whole world of breath.
Yet even among those gods among men, Antonio had stood out.
Not only had his brand of gorgeousness thrummed the chords of her specific taste, something else had fascinated her on a fundamental level. Though they were all extraordinary, she’d felt he had an edge over the other men. Even in the remoteness of a photo she felt he had the coolest head, the most deliberate mind. Even in her fury, that had appealed to her so fiercely she’d found herself saving the photo for leisurely inspection at a later date, maybe even as material for a future illustration.
And here he was in the impossibly perfect flesh, the epitome of splendor and sangfroid.
She wouldn’t be surprised if he belonged to some next-step-in-evolution elite who’d eliminated all human frailties and imperfections and who operated on pure, merciless intellect.
He now stopped at the table and leaned his six-foot-plus frame to flatten his palms on its shining surface.
Seething with renewed resentment at his effect on her, she followed his serene gaze as it swept the room. From the chain reaction she felt going off around her, he seemed to be making eye contact with everyone. Everyone but her. His gaze skipped over her as if she were a blank space.
After the momentary consternation of being passed over, she was relieved. If his mere presence provoked those reactions in her, she didn’t want to find out what she’d feel if that all-seeing gaze bored into her.
Once he’d had them holding their breath, he inclined his head. “Thanks for accommodating me at such short notice. I’m glad you could all make it.”
Man, that voice. If everything about him weren’t too much already, that darkest vocal spell would have been bad enough on its own. Making it even worse was an ephemeral accent that intertwined through its meticulous articulation, deepening its impact.
As murmured responses rustled around the room,
