only his penetrating eyes gave away the fact that he wasn’t as relaxed as he appeared.
Most people wouldn’t have noticed Roark Black was on edge. Most people didn’t have super-sensitive radar for the dangerous types.
Elizabeth Minerva did.
“The shrimp is running out!”
Jolted out of her ruminating by Brenda Stuart, her quick-to-panic “assistant” on this event, Elizabeth ripped her gaze away from the handsome adventurer and skimmed damp palms from her waist to her hips.
“I just checked and there’s plenty of shrimp left,” Elizabeth told Brenda. Annoyance with herself fed her impatient tone. There was also plenty of champagne and canapés and a dozen other things Brenda had fussed about in the last hour. “Why don’t you make yourself a plate and go relax in the back?”
Anything to get rid of the former wedding planner to the middle class. Josie Summers, Elizabeth’s boss, had saddled her with Brenda because as always Josie had underestimated what Elizabeth could handle. It was the woman’s second event as Elizabeth’s second in command, and rubbing elbows with Manhattan’s rich and famous was spotlighting exactly why Brenda wasn’t ready to be here. Instead of projecting a confident, capable vibe as she moved invisibly through the party, Elizabeth’s assistant had badgered a server in front of Bunny Cromwell, one of the city’s most prolific hostesses, and scolded a bartender for not making a city councilman’s drink properly.
“I can’t relax,” Brenda exclaimed, her sharp tone catching the attention of two nearby guests. The women exchanged disgusted expressions. “And you shouldn’t either.”
Plastering on a serene smile, Elizabeth seized Brenda’s arm above the elbow, fingers pinching ever so delicately. “I’ve got everything under control here. The auction will be starting in a half an hour. Why don’t you head home?”
“I can’t.” Brenda resisted Elizabeth’s grip as she was hauled toward the screens set up at one end of the enormous loft space to conceal the food prep area from the party-goers.
“Sure, you can.” Elizabeth used her soothing voice as she marched the older woman away from the party. “You’ve put in so many hours this week. You deserve to get out of here. I can handle the rest.”
“If you’re sure.”
As if Elizabeth hadn’t handled larger parties in the three years since she’d graduated from college and taken a job with Josie Summers’s Event Planning. Granted, this was Elizabeth’s first A-list crowd. The first event that had given her butterflies before the guests arrived and began to murmur their approval over the way she’d transformed a dull, empty loft space into a sophisticated, elegant venue.
“I’m positive,” Elizabeth said. “Go home and tuck your beautiful daughter into bed.”
It was well past ten and Brenda’s six-year-old daughter was probably already fast asleep, but Elizabeth had figured out the first day she’d worked with the woman that everything Brenda did was for her little girl. It was the only thing about the woman Elizabeth liked. And envied.
“Okay. Thanks.”
Elizabeth waited until Brenda had gathered her purse and disappeared down the long hallway toward the elevator before she headed back to the party.
“Well, hello.”
She’d almost managed to forget about Roark Black in the ten minutes she’d been dealing with Brenda, but here he was, less than five feet away, leaning his broad shoulder against one of the two-foot-wide columns that supported the ceiling.
Damn. Up close the energy of the man was astonishing. He practically oozed lusty masculinity and danger. He’d forgone the traditional bow tie with his tux and left the top buttons undone on his white shirt. Rakish and sexy, he set her pulse to purring.
You swore off bad boys forever, remember?
And Roark Black was as bad a bad boy as they got. Even his name gave her the shivers.
Yet earlier, there she’d stood, daydreaming about what it would be like to slide her fingers through his thick wavy hair. Brown in color, the shade reminded her of her great aunt’s sheared beaver coat. She’d loved the sensual drag of the soft fur against her bare skin.
“Can I get you something?” she asked.
One side of his mouth lifted. “I thought you’d never ask.”
His tone invited her to smile at his flirting. His eyes dared her to strip off her black dress and give him a glimpse of what lay beneath.
She swallowed hard. “Is there something you need?” The second the question passed her lips, she wished it back. Was she trying to play into his hands?
“Sweetheart—”
“Elizabeth.” She shoved out her hand all professional like. “Elizabeth Minerva. I’m your event planner.”
She expected him to take her hand in a bone-crushing grip. Instead, he cupped it, turned her palm upward and dragged his left forefinger down the middle of it. Her body went on full alert like a state penitentiary with a missing prisoner.
“Roark.” He peered at her palm, the skin glazed blue by the indirect lighting that illuminated the space. “Roark Black. You have a very curvy…” His attention shifted and the next thing Elizabeth knew, she was drowning in his penetrating gaze. “Head line.”
“A what?” Her dry mouth prevented anything more from emerging.
“Head line.” His fingertip retraced its invigorating journey across her palm. “See here. A curvy head line means you like to play with new ideas. Do you, Elizabeth?”
“Do I what?” The air in the loft had grown thin in the last sixty seconds. Light-headed, she was having trouble getting enough oxygen.
“Do you like playing with new ideas?”
Bad boy. Bad boy.
Elizabeth cleared her throat and retrieved her hand in a short jerk that made Roark’s crooked smile widen and heat rush to her face.
“I like creating unique party spaces, if that’s what you mean.”
It wasn’t. His smirk told her so.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.”
More comfortable talking about her job than herself, Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and surveyed all she’d accomplished in the past twenty-four hours.
“There wasn’t much to it when I got started. Just a concrete floor and white walls. And those incredible arched windows with that spectacular view.” She pointed out the latter, hoping to steer his unnerving stare away from her.
“I heard you came up with the idea of a slide show to honor Tyler.”
Tyler Banks had died the year before. A thoroughly disliked human being, no one had any idea that he’d been behind twenty percent of all major New York City charitable donations in the past decade.
“While
