Half of her was surprised he hadn’t asked her if that kiss was off the record. Despite her best efforts, her lips twisted into a slight sneer. As if she’d treat him to an ice-cream cone just to butter him up for a scoop—no pun intended. Screw it. That pun was totally intended.
Smothering a sigh, she lifted her fluted glass to her lips and sipped. At least this gala provided one purpose. Distract her from thoughts of—
Joshua.
Her gaze locked with a beautiful and all too familiar pair of hazel eyes. Lust gut-punched her like a prizefighter with a penchant for ear biting. If not for her locked knees and sheer grit not to humiliate herself in the four-inch stilettos, the blow would’ve knocked her on her ass. Beneath the bandage-style bodice of her dress, her nipples drew into taut, pebbled points begging for just a whisper of a caress from those long, blunt-tipped fingers. Pinpricks of electricity rippled up and down her exposed spine, sizzling in the base of her spine. And her feminine flesh... She stifled a needy and shameful moan. Her flesh swelled, damp and sensitive from just a hooded glance from those green-and-gold and way too perceptive eyes.
Good God, had she conjured him with her own wayward thoughts?
“Ms. Armstrong?” a low, cultured voice called her name, and Sophie yanked her scrutiny away from Joshua. A tall, powerfully built and handsome man stood next to her. Black hair waved back from a high forehead, emphasizing a face with strong facial features, a full, sensual mouth and intense blue eyes. He smiled, flashing perfect white teeth. “You are Sophie Armstrong, correct?” he asked, extending a large hand toward her.
“Yes,” she replied, accepting the hand. He squeezed it lightly before releasing it. “I’m sorry, do we know one another?”
“No, we haven’t officially met. But I’ve followed your career these past few years from Chicago to the Falling Brook Chronicle. I’m a fan of your journalistic style. Most recently, I enjoyed the pieces you wrote on the Tender Shoots Arts Council as well as the one on the Black Crescent scandal. Considering the topic and the many times it’s been reported on, I thought you wrote an objective, well-researched article. Especially about Joshua Lowell and his former art career. I don’t think many people remember the accomplished artist he was and the potential career he once had.”
Accomplished artist he is.
The words burned on her tongue. No one with the kind of talent she’d seen in his work or whose voice contained the passion his had while describing what art had meant to him could turn off the God-given gift he’d been blessed with. Joshua might be the CEO of his father’s company, but now more than ever after this morning’s conversation with him, she was convinced the artist who’d created such awe-inspiring, magnificent pieces of art still existed beneath those expensive, perfectly tailored suits.
“Thank you. I appreciate the compliment, Mr....” She trailed off. The man still hadn’t given her his name.
A half smile quirked one corner of his mouth. “Christopher Harrison. I’m one of the organizers of the gala and on the board of trustees for the Tender Shoots Arts Council.”
“Mr. Harrison.” She nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Christopher, please. The pleasure is mine.” He crooked an arm and held it out to her. “Can I escort you into dinner? I believe we’re sitting at the same table.”
A little bemused, she settled her hand in the bend of his elbow. “I’m sitting at your table?” she repeated, unable to keep out the edge of incredulity.
He chuckled. “I confess to using my position with the organization to finagle a favor and moving your seat.” He shrugged, but nothing about him said repentant. “It’s one of the perks of the job.”
“Do I need to be worried about why you want my company at your table?” she mused, part of her amused, but the other part wary. Years ago, another sophisticated, handsome man had approached her at a function. And his motives had been anything but pure. Too bad that by the time she’d figured that out, he’d nearly devastated her heart and her integrity. Old suspicions died hard.
Speaking of suspicions...
The charged tingle dancing across the nape of her neck informed her where Joshua stood. And she directed her glance in that direction. Immediately, his hazel gaze snared hers. Burning into hers. For a second, it released her to flicker to the man guiding her through the throng of people. Even across the distance, she caught the firming of his full lips, the darkening of his eyes. And when he returned his narrowed scrutiny to her, the fire in them seared over her exposed skin.
She sucked in a breath, jerking her head forward. Because she needed to pay attention to where her feet and the man next to her were taking her.
Not because she could no longer stand meeting that slightly ominous stare that had heat spiking in her body like she’d transformed into a thermometer.
At least that was what she told herself. As she settled at one of the tables closest to the dais erected at the far end of the rotunda, she continued to remind herself of that. And even as the electrified crackle hummed under her skin, she refused to allow her attention to slip toward the table to her right. Joshua Lowell was just a man. Yes, a beautiful, imposing man who wore a tuxedo as if it’d been created with the sole purpose of adorning that tall, powerful body. A complicated man who was like a puzzle missing several pieces. Pieces she wanted to hunt down and fit into the empty spaces so she could determine who he really was. The arrogant, commanding
