had no problem being blunt and, truth was, she had no use for him.
Kyle Prescott, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.
As head of TCM’s international rights division and stepson to Stephen Turner, he was no doubt privy to key corporate information and accounting.
Perfect. Just the foot in the door Sara needed.
Kyle Prescott kept his distance from where Sara stood, chatting and shaking hands with those gathered, but she felt his focus on her. Felt his gaze on her.
She’d always had a sixth sense about being watched, and that sixth sense was working overtime right now.
She glanced down at her dress. A dress she would have never voluntarily chosen, but one that was obviously having the intended effect now that she’d set her sights on Kyle.
While the other women present dripped diamonds and sequins, Sara had chosen a classic, yet seductive, red, silk dress. The sleeveless style showed off her lean shoulders, while the surplice front revealed just enough skin to hint at the curves that hid beneath.
She’d pulled her one piece of real jewelry out of its storage spot in the bottom of her jewelry box. The diamond choker encircled her neck, small star-shaped pendants dangling toward her cleavage.
The skirt of the dress stopped precisely at her knees, revealing nothing but the long expanse of her bare legs, supported by her sexiest pair of three-inch heels.
Kyle began to make his move, and Sara adjusted her stance, working to send the signal she waited for his approach. He shifted his course through the crowd, casually moving straight for her.
His black hair shone in the room’s subtle lighting, his blue eyes so light they glowed like beacons from the handsome lines of his suntanned face. A day’s worth of stubble lined his jaw and Sara wondered how hard he had to work at maintaining the slightly unkempt look.
His manner of dress, however, had nothing unkempt about it.
The man’s black tux fit as though it had been tailored just for his broad-shouldered build, and she had no doubt it had been. The expensive material hung flawlessly on him as he moved toward her, the white collar in sharp contrast to both his suntanned face and the tux itself.
He moved confidently, securely, proudly owning every inch of his well-built six-foot frame. It was there that she saw the resemblance to his late father. Robert Prescott had moved with the same self-assuredness.
She knew from her preparation for this assignment that Kyle was only a few years younger than she, but as far as Sara was concerned, they were a lifetime of differences apart from one another.
His had been a life of luxury and pampering. Hers had not. A choice she’d made. A choice her family had never forgiven her for.
But Kyle Prescott?
Kyle Prescott was a man used to getting his way, even at the tender age of twenty-eight.
He strode toward her now, his gaze riveted to hers. She stood her ground, not faltering in the least. She didn’t rattle easily—never had.
She stiffened, resenting the man before he so much as made his first move, before he delivered his first line. And that first line was on its way. No doubt about it.
Sara was about to experience the legendary Kyle Prescott charm firsthand.
She could hardly wait.
KYLE HAD SPOTTED the petite but leggy brunette the instant she walked from the valet area toward the party. He’d been dreading his stepfather’s birthday party, having never felt much more than obligation toward the man, but perhaps things were looking up.
He’d hoped to speak to his second in command at International, Dwayne Johnson, but the man had been a no-show. Big surprise there.
Kyle had left a none-too-kind voice mail about the call he’d received from a TCM investor in reference to a disturbing memo bearing Kyle’s signature. A signature he had no recollection of writing.
Kyle might be fairly apathetic when it came to the day-to-day business of TCM, but he’d be damned if he’d let someone get away with transacting any sort of business under his name, at least not without him having final approval.
He laughed to himself.
Johnson had probably been so surprised by not only the voice mail, but also the fact Kyle had checked his messages, that he’d dropped on the spot.
No matter.
He’d catch up to him later.
For now, Kyle had a fresh target in mind.
He watched as the woman shook hands with another guest then engaged in what appeared to be comfortable small talk.
Her red dress hugged all the right curves and left a little more to the imagination than he’d like, but perhaps that was what turned his head. She had plenty of sex appeal, but didn’t flaunt her attributes like most of the other women at the party.
Kyle continued his casual conversation, all the while keeping one eye on the brunette, doing his best not to stare at the way her brown hair shone under the light from the chandeliers. Several loose tendrils had found their way out of her hairdo and brushed softly against her neck whenever she laughed or tipped her head.
Breathtaking. The woman was absolutely breathtaking. The expanse of bare leg between the hem of her skirt and her barely there sandals didn’t hurt, either.
He smiled.
Since he couldn’t seem to shake the playboy reputation that preceded him wherever he went, he might as well live up to it.
No time like the present to start.
He closed the space between them and extended his hand, enjoying the feel of her soft yet sure touch as she slid her hand inside his.
“Come here often?” he asked, a smile teasing the corners of his lips as he gave her hand one quick pump then held on tight.
The woman tipped her head sideways, exposing the length of her slender neck. “Does that line actually ever work for you?” Her eyebrows lifted coyly.
Kyle did nothing to contain his laughter. He had no idea who the beauty before him was, but he had every intention of finding out.
Her light green eyes sparked like those of a filly begging to be tamed, and her dark, wavy hair dared him to undo her twist and run his fingers through the thick strands.
“Why, yes, ma’am. It typically works like a charm.”
He glared at the TCM employee by the woman’s side and the man slinked away, effectively dismissed with just one glance.
Kyle continued to hold the woman’s hand, taking careful note of the way the front of the wrapped dress gaped under the strain of her outstretched arm.
“Kyle Prescott.” He gave her hand another gentle pump, then released his grip.
“Sara Montgomery.”
