by Diana Palmer
It was like discovering fine wine where she had expected to taste water. She’d never noticed just how broad Nicholas’s chest and shoulders really were, or how the scent of tobacco and expensive cologne clung to him. She’d never noticed how chiseled his mouth was, or how exciting it could be to look into his dark eyes at close range. It had been safer not to notice. But her hands touched him through the smooth fabric of his evening jacket and lingered there when she felt the hard muscles under it.
“Well?” he asked, a strange huskiness in his deep voice as he looked down at her.
“You... I never realized how strong you were,” she stammered. She looked up into his eyes and time seemed to stand still for a space of seconds while they looked at each other, discovering facial features, textures, expressions, in an unfamiliar intimacy, in the quiet confines of the elevator.
It took several seconds for them to realize that the elevator had stopped and the door had opened. Self-conscious and a little clumsy, Keena managed to get out a little ahead of him and lead the way to the front of the building where his white Rolls-Royce waited with Jimson at the wheel, staring straight ahead stoically.
“Doesn’t Jimson ever get a day off?” she asked Nicholas when they were inside the car with the glass partition up, giving them total privacy.
“Not lately. I’ve been working twenty-five-hour days,” he replied.
“I’ll never get used to this car,” she sighed, leaning her dark head contentedly back against the leather as he was doing.
“What’s wrong with it?” he asked curtly.
“Nothing! It’s just that few people ever get to ride around in a Rolls—white, no less.” She laughed.
He half turned in the seat, one big arm over the back of it, his eyes gleaming, though his smile had not completely disappeared. “And what’s wrong with that?” he asked with deliberate slowness.
She braved his glittering eyes. Why did he look so suddenly predatory to her? So dark and menacing? “Nothing—except that I feel as if I were on display every time I ride in it. That’s all.”
“You should be on display, Keena.” Something in the way he fairly growled her name sent a warm, unfamiliar tingle up her spine.
“Because I’m rich and famous now, you mean, and everyone back in Ashton would hardly recognize this Keena Whitman?” She laughed shortly, her words underscored with a note of self-derision.
Her answer hadn’t pleased him. It was in the hard lines of his face, the narrowing of his eyes. “No, not at all, though you needn’t take that little-Miss-Nobody-from-Ashton tone with me. You know what you are and what you’ve accomplished. And that you’re a very beautiful woman,” he said in that hard, matter-of-fact way of his.
If he had been looking at her, then he would have seen the shock register on every feature. Keena was suddenly thankful for the darkness between them and the sudden blare of a horn that had broken Nicholas’s steady gaze for just that instant.
“Damn city traffic,” he muttered half to himself. When he turned back to her, it was with a faintly puzzled expression. “Surely, you’ve had men tell you that before, that you’re beautiful? Scores of them, I’m afraid.” His words broke off abruptly, his gaze dropping to her slender body, outlining it with a masculine approval that was new and frightening.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked in a faint whisper.
His dark, quiet eyes eased back up to meet hers. “I was wondering what it would feel like to make love to you.”
Don’t miss Any Man of Mine by Diana Palmer, available in February 2019 wherever Harlequin® books and ebooks are sold.
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Copyright © 1982 by Diana Palmer
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ISBN-13: 9781488098970
Wyoming Legend
Copyright © 2018 by Diana Palmer
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