giggled, fighting the urge to cover her mouth like a good Japanese girl. “No, that’s not how you say it. It’s Mee-chee-ko.”
He tried again, getting closer. “Better?” He smiled down at her and her stomach flipped.
She nodded, realizing she was in over her head. She tended to attract either short guys who wanted to tower over her, or pale, weedy types who had seen Memoirs of a Geisha twenty-seven times and were fascinated by a Japanese girl with light eyes.
Tall, tanned, gorgeous men did not smile at her like this and ask her a question, which she had totally missed. “Excuse me?”
“I was asking if you’re here for a wedding?”
She glanced at her attire and was tempted to reply that no, she always wore green satin dresses around hotel lobbies, like some kinky bridesmaid hooker, but no good Japanese girl would even think that, let alone say it. “Yes, my friend got married this evening.”
“Mine, too.”
They both glanced at the ballroom and turned to each other. He took a closer look at her, his blue gaze traveling from her face to glide over her bare neck and shoulders. Her nipples tightened and swelled against the snug satin bodice. His blue eyes brightened to an almost cobalt shade, lingering on her breasts. She tottered on her dyed-to-match sandals, a flood of lust washing over her.
Then he grinned. “I thought I recognized that dress. You’re one of Rey’s bridesmaids.”
He’d been checking out the damned dress, not her. Well, she could at least still be the exotic Michiko. “Yes, I was the maid of honor and Rey’s cousins were the bridesmaids. Are you a friend of Marco’s?”
“Oh, yeah, we met right after college and have been friends ever since. I’m sorry I missed seeing you at the ceremony, but my flight from Hong Kong was delayed. I just had time to toss my things in my room upstairs and rush down to the reception.”
“Hong Kong? You are so lucky—I love Hong Kong.” She smiled up at him, remembering days and days spent in the art museum archives examining scraps of calligraphy.
“Have a drink with me and we’ll talk about Hong Kong.”
“A drink?” She froze midstep and turned. Standing on the fourth or fifth step, she was eye-level with him and the view was even better.
Rick shrugged, his wide shoulders moving elegantly under the well-tailored navy blazer. “To apologize for bumping into you.”
How long had it been since she’d had a drink with a hot-looking guy? Too depressing to calculate. “Yes, I’d like to have a drink with you.”
“Great.” He took her hand and helped her up the stairs as if she were a princess. On the second step from the top, her shoe caught in her hem and she pitched forward.
He caught her against his chest, her feet dangling. Her breath came hard, making her breasts rise and fall against the hard musculature of his chest.
“Are you okay?” At least that’s what she thought he said, mesmerized by the movement of his lips.
Her face was inches from his. If she leaned in, she could press her mouth against his to learn how he tasted.
“Michiko?” Real concern deepened his voice.
“I’m fine.” She’d be even better if he kept holding her, but that wasn’t an option. She loosened her grip on him and slid down his body. It was a long, pleasurable journey. Her breasts scraped against the fine pale blue cotton of his oxford shirt, her nipples peaking. The warmth of his body radiated through her heavy skirt.
“There you go.” He steadied her on her feet.
“Thank you.” She was so shaken by a rush of desire that she allowed him to fold her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“Marco said the bar would be open during the whole reception.” He slowed his long steps to keep pace with her down the corridor into the ballroom. Her tumble into his arms had sharpened her senses to everything, not just him. The gold leaf cherubs on the wall were brighter, the carpet was softer and the chicken dance music had mercifully ended.
Rick guided her to a small table in a corner alcove. “Here we are, Michiko.” She shivered, unused to hearing her Japanese name caressed by such a deep, sexy voice. “What would you like me to get you from the bar?”
It had been a long day. “Bushmills Irish whiskey on the rocks.”
“You like whiskey?” He was surprised.
She grinned. He probably expected her to order sake or maybe even a mai tai. She couldn’t stomach warm rice wine or a fruity umbrella drink tonight. “I drink whiskey sometimes when I’m in America. It’s hard to find in Japan.” That part was true. Her father had her airmail him two bottles every month. Although Dad wouldn’t be caught dead polluting his Bushmills with ice.
“Bushmills it is. I’ll be right back.” He smiled at her and made his way to the crowded bar through the maze of tables, his movements graceful for such a large man in a small space.
Rick seemed like a nice guy. A sexy guy, too. But appearances were deceiving. Her last relationship the previous fall had seemed promising until Ethan began criticizing every single thing she did. She was too mouthy and not demure enough. Her clothes were too bright and tight. She didn’t accept his helpful suggestions.
He should have suggested she call first before coming over. Meg had showed up unexpectedly at his place and found him screwing some Malaysian chick who could barely speak English. Not a problem for Meg, who’d screamed at her in the appropriate Chinese dialect. She’d saved her extensive vocabulary of Anglo-Saxon swearwords for Ethan.
She sighed. Ever since, she’d built up a prickly exterior that was hard to shed, and fighting her way through the Asian art department’s tenure committee to get her associate professorship hadn’t helped her find her softer side.
“Two Bushmills on the rocks.” Rick smiled down at her.
Meg accepted the tumbler as he sat. “You didn’t have to get the same drink as me.”
“I like whiskey and it’s been a while since I drank Bushmills. What should we drink to?” He slipped his arm across her chair, not quite resting it on her shoulders.
“Whatever you’d like.” This time she wasn’t coy. Every rational thought had fled from her mind at the press of his body against hers. The heat from his body raised goose bumps on her arms.
Rick raised his glass. “To new friends and new experiences.” He casually dropped his arm and brushed his fingers over her bare shoulders. She shuddered. His fingertips were only inches from the tops of her breasts. She clamped her thighs together in a futile attempt to relieve the sudden ache.
“You haven’t tried your drink.” He leaned in, the scent of whiskey mixing with his spicy cologne. His eyes had turned that amazing shade of cobalt again. A lock of wavy hair fell across his forehead as he nodded at her tumbler. “If you don’t want it, I’ll get something else.”
“No, no, this is fine.” She sipped, the whiskey warming a path down to her stomach.
