by Petrova, Em
After circulating around the ballroom, she scooted behind a fern for cover to discreetly tuck and lift her breasts back to their rightful place. The dress was obviously designed to show off an ample amount of décolletage.
As she was about to rejoin the party, an older gentleman from a nearby group exclaimed, “It’s just like Dickens wrote, ‘One should always play fair when one has the winning cards.’”
She froze and poked her head out, noticing everyone in the small group nodded in ignorant agreement.
Apparently, no one knew he was mistaken.
Although an inner voice told her not to, she stepped forward from the protection of the fern. Hands cupped behind her, she stated, “Um, sorry to intrude, but…I don’t think that’s accurate.”
The group of six set their gazes on her. The older gentleman who’d misquoted—a serious resemblance to Colonel Mustard of the board game Clue, even had a pocket watch to boot—raised a brow. He frowned and gave her an intimidating sneer with a softly British accent. “I’ll wager I know a little more about Charles Dickens than you do.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do! It’s only that I remember that quote because I’ve seen the play several times, and it wasn’t a Dickens story. It’s from Oscar Wilde’s An Ideal Husband.”
The older man’s rounded cheeks flushed crimson. His regal wife slipped her hand into his arm and smiled. “I think she might be right, dear. She sounds quite confident.”
“How confident are you?” a deep, masculine voice asked.
A cascade of tingles raced down her spine. She turned, and her pulse tripped at the sharply attractive man in the middle of the group. He gave her a half smile, brows raised, waiting.
“Oh. I’m…confident enough. In this case,” she faltered.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone. A few moments later, he announced, “The young lady is right. According to Google, the quote is from An Ideal Husband.”
He was gorgeous in that ridiculously cliché way: tall, run-through black hair, straight nose, and sharp chin. Not a fleck on his tuxedo and he possessed a stance that spoke of an urbane countenance, money, and unapologetic sex appeal. He held up the phone, locking his dangerously hypnotic blue eyes with hers.
Colonel Mustard huffed and puffed. “Put that blasted thing away, Savant! I stand corrected, no need to rub it in my face. Well, very good, miss,” he said, arching a wiry, dark gray brow at Jordana. “Who might you be?”
“No one. Just a model.”
“I was asking for your name. It’s not every day I’m bested by a girl my granddaughter’s age.”
Her face flamed. “Oh. My name is Jordana Shaw. I’m modeling this custom-made Charles Sigvy.”
“It’s very pretty,” said Colonel Mustard’s wife.
“Custom-made, you said?” a tall brunette asked to her left.
The women gathered around her, oohing and ahhing at the piece. While she recounted the details, the blue-eyed devil kept his gaze on her, and the pull of his stare had Jordana’s heart galloping.
As he studied her over his champagne glass, she feigned ignorance, even though every cell in her body trembled with bright awareness. She lifted her lashes for a quick glance at him, and he tilted a predatory, provocative smile at her.
After the ladies had taken turns viewing the necklace, she stepped away and headed for the refreshment table, suddenly parched. The bartender handed her a cup, and she took down the water in one giant gulp, attempting to extinguish the inner fire.
“Excuse me, miss. I would like another look at the necklace. Please.”
She set the cup down with a wry smile and pivoted to face him. Of course. The handsome guest responsible for her thirst. “Another? You couldn’t see it when I was standing a few feet in front of you?”
“I wanted a more private opportunity. May I?” Without her consent, his fingers delicately lifted the necklace, bringing his tall, six-foot-plus frame closer. She grasped the edge of the table as he towered over her. His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of her neck while he toyed with the piece, skimming from her rapid, telltale pulse to the base of her throat. Goose bumps rose on her skin, as if he’d grazed her entire body.
“Extraordinary,” he murmured, lifting his gaze.
So were his eyes. What color were they exactly? Carolina blue, she decided, rimmed with cobalt, surrounded by thick, black lashes, and dark brows above. Unfair. A girl could lose herself in those. She’d been holding her breath so long it had to escape in a rush, which made her breasts contract behind the bodice of the dress.
He noticed, eyes smiling.
She lifted her chin, curling her fingers tighter on the table’s edge, and could hear it creak. “Have you had a good look at it now?”
“Oh, yes,” he said and then changed to a businesslike tone. “What do you think my odds are of winning this?”
“Can’t say. It has a lot of admirers, though.”
He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Hmm. I like to take risks, but only when I know the outcome is heavily in my favor. I’m interested to know exactly what I’m bidding for.”
“Well, as I explained, it was created strictly for the event. A piece like this will be owned by one woman alone, and I doubt any woman wouldn’t want something no one else has. Also, the point is to help the children, right?”
“Of course,” he said with an inclination of his head.
“But if you want the necklace so badly, then I suggest you get ready to sweat when you write the check.”
He chuckled, stroking his clean-shaven jaw. “I’ve just got to have it… What was your name again? Jordana?”
She nodded, wondering when her nerves would frickin’ settle down.
“Well, Jordana…” he drew out with a small smile. “My name is Logan Savant, and once I’ve set myself on having something, it’s simply a matter of time before it’s mine.” A slow, sexy grin followed.
Though she was no expert in men, she knew a double meaning when she heard one. A professional flirt. In her experience, someone like him was attracted to femme fatales like her sister. Must be the dress. Or maybe the champagne he was drinking. Probably a combination of the two.
She touched the diamonds, the bold attraction in his gaze curiously shutting down her shyness. Why not flirt back? “Are you thinking of wearing it to the opera or afternoon tea? Because I think it’s versatile enough to be worn just about anywhere.”
He laughed, showing off his thousand-watt smile and a light dimple in his right cheek. More unfairness. “My thoughts exactly. Although, I have to express some concern…” He made a flippant circle around his face. “Yellow diamonds tend to wash out my skin tone.”
“Nonsense. All you need is the perfect outfit, matching shoes, and, voilà! Heads will turn when you walk in the room.”
“Ohh,” he breathed with exaggerated passion and pressed a large hand to his chest. “A dream come true.”
It was Jordana’s turn to laugh. Holy smokes, he had enough charm to fill the building and spill into the street. Not to mention every time she saw that dimple, a galaxy of giddiness bubbled in her stomach, threatening to come out, giggles and all. He was too attractive for his own good. For her own good. “You should definitely do your damnedest to be the winner of this necklace, Mr. Savant. As Joy Page said, ‘Dream, and give yourself permission to envision a you that you can choose to be.’ And you can verify that quote too if you’d like.”
“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t dream of doubting you. That was great, by the way, what you did. Showing up that old smarty-pants back there.”
“I wasn’t trying to show him up!”
“Sure you were.”
“I was simply correcting him. You were the one who looked it up and embarrassed him in front of everyone.”
He gave a helpless gesture, palms out. “I was defending you. How else could you prove you were right?”
“Well, I appreciate the support.” A smile pulled at her lips. “Do you always defe
nd perfect strangers?”
“When they’re as beautiful as you? Without question.”
She arched a brow. “Nice line.”
“I think so, too.”
Fighting back another silly grin, she asserted, “I was being sarcastic.”
“No kidding. I also speak sarcasm. Where did you learn it?”
“On a farm with my grandfather. You?”
“Die Hard movies,” he answered in all seriousness. “Let’s just say I felt compelled to make sure he knew you were right. I’ll never let him live it down. From now on, when he gets lofty and starts talking about how well-read he is, I’ll be sure to remind him of tonight.” He jutted his chin down and mocked his friend’s British accent. “Your opinions are so pedestrian, Savant. When I was your age, I didn’t have my numbers crunched for me by a computer…blah, blah, blah.” He switched to his natural voice. “Oh really, Lancaster? Remember the time you misquoted Oscar Wilde and looked like a bloody idiot in front of everyone? Hmm?”
Jordana tapped his lapel. “You’re cruel.”
“It goes both ways. I can only imagine what Lancaster says behind my back. I’m sure I’d be amused by it, though. He lived in England for eleven years and came back with an accent and a litany of pancake insults.”
“Pancake?”
He offered her his arm and she took it as he drew her away. “Flimsy. Soft. Harmless. The last party we both attended, he called me a ‘bellend,’ which, of course, I had to Google to know what the hell he was saying.”
“And it means?”
“Basically, he called me a dick.”
Her brows rose. “Ah. That’s not very nice.”
“The insult makes sense if you think about it. The British have such a knack for creative insults. It might not be the kind of thing you would shout in England, but here I could say it all day long.”
“I certainly won’t see a bell the same way again.”
“See? I taught you something. Now we’re both more well-rounded people. I can spit out a quick quote from Oscar, and you learned how to say dick in a whole new linguistic form.”
She noticed a few pairs of eyes casting her way as she laughed. Swallowing, she tried to regain her composure and released his arm as they passed by the ballroom doors. “You have to stop making me laugh.”
“Why? Are you allergic to it?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then I’m not going to stop.” He paused, softening his tone. “I like your laugh.”
Her heart fluttered at his words, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
Just then, a slim blonde in a one-shouldered black dress floated to Logan’s side, and Jordana could hardly disguise the disappointment on her face as the woman’s hand slid around his bicep. “It’s time to go in, Logan. They’re opening the ballroom.”
He smiled at his companion—oh God, his wife?—then shifted his eyes to Jordana once more. “Rebecca, this is Jordana. The necklace she’s wearing is going up for auction tonight. What do you think of it?”
Rebecca gave her a fast once-over, completely ignoring the Sigvy. A twitch in her lips said she didn’t think Jordana represented enough competition to affect jealousy. “Hmm, it’s okay.”
“Only you could be blasé about diamonds.”
“Maybe it’s her. She doesn’t really pull them off,” she commented, speaking as though Jordana weren’t standing right in front of her. “Oh, but I love your dress.”
“Thank you.” Time to go. Jordana wondered how a woman as frostbitten as she captured such a charismatic man like Logan. Probably with her size-two body and a cache of family money. Jordana stole a quick glance to Logan’s left hand. Not married, but obviously taken due to the possessiveness in Rebecca’s eyes. The flirtation was over. She didn’t belong in this elite group anyway. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Savant. Enjoy your evening, and good luck at the auction.”
She felt his eyes on her back as he said, “Er, it was a pleasure…”
Later, after standing behind the side curtain so long her feet were numb, it was her turn to go onstage for the live auction. Palms dampening, she was sure she’d fall on her face before she made it to her designated spot. Somehow, she managed to walk without turning an ankle. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were on her. Including Logan Savant’s, she supposed. She couldn’t see anything but a hot, bright spotlight and noticed a camera hovering nearby so everyone could see the jewelry on the projection screen.
The announcer began. “This lovely young lady is wearing a Charles Sigvy one-of-a-kind diamond piece. Donated by the local designer for tonight’s benefit. Can we zoom in on this custom work of art please?” He waited for the camera to adjust. “Thank you. This captivating necklace features a sparkling array of white and yellow round diamonds. An extraordinary piece for any woman’s collection.” He tapped his gavel. “We’ll start the bidding at ten thousand.”
Quicker than Jordana could keep up with, the bidding proceeded with rapid succession. Her eyes widened as the price climbed higher and higher. Fifteen thousand. Twenty thousand. Thirty thousand. Jordana grinned, knowing she was helping to raise such a high sum for the charity supporting needy children.
“Sold! To you, sir, for seventy-five thousand!”
Jordana clapped with the audience before turning offstage. The necklace was taken off her, carefully placed in its velvet box, and it disappeared around the corner with security.
She started to make her way back to the volunteers’ room, waving at a couple of models who passed by. First thing she’d do when she got home was run a hot bath and soak her tootsies for a solid hour. Perhaps work on another page of her homemade children’s book. And maybe fantasize about Logan Savant. Okay, definitely fantasize about him.
With a smile while turning the corner, she bumped into a statue. Or more accurately and to her shock, the fantasy himself.
Logan flashed a wide smile. His warm palm grasped her elbow, his fingers grazing under her forearm, igniting a river of electricity on her skin. He held a shiny, black bag in his other hand. “Jordana. I was hoping I’d catch you.”
“Oh. Hello again.” Twice in one night? She looked up into those sexy blue eyes. The easy effect his grin had on her senses was seriously ridiculous. So was the fact he’d sought her out…alone, no blonde attached to his side. If he was going to hit on her when he had a girlfriend, she’d set him straight in no time.
“Events like these can be pretty stale after you’ve been to one or two hundred,” he said. “You were the highlight of the cocktail hour.”
“I’m flattered.”
“And you’re beautiful,” he added, jerking his head to the ballroom. “Up there on stage. No man in the room could take his eyes off you. Especially me.”
Could she go one minute without blushing around this man? Still, she managed to hold her composure. “I think you mean the necklace. Every man knew any woman who received it would probably thank the winner all night long.”
His laugh tickled her ears. “Well then, I can’t wait to see what happens.” He held up the bag and it swung gently.
Her eyes widened. “You were the highest bidder?”
“Damn right, I was. I told you I had to have it.”
He spent seventy-five thousand dollars just like that? “Your girlfriend is very lucky.”
“My what?” He quirked a brow. “Oh, you must mean Rebecca. That explains why you ditched me so fast. No, you have it all wrong. She’s just a friend. Since I didn’t have a date lined up and she wanted to come, it worked out.”
Not his wife, not his girlfriend. Surprise, surprise. “Sorry, I assumed from the way she glared at me, you belonged to her.”
“Ah. Don’t mind Rebecca, she can be a little snobby at times. Anyway, it’s easier to go with someone platonic. She can do her own thing at the party, and I can steal away to talk to the only woman I know who can make Donald Lancaster speechless.”
Ah yes, Colonel Mustard. “Maybe I shouldn’t ha
ve. It was a little rude, wasn’t it? I couldn’t help myself.”
He gazed at her softly, his voice lowering to a silken tone. “Not at all. And I’m glad you didn’t.”
Jordana had to swallow under the intensity of that stare.
“Is this what you do for a living?” he drawled. “Model jewelry, quote literature, and charm innocent men into bidding thousands of dollars on jewelry they can’t wear?”
“You’re an innocent man?” she teased. “I’m just filling in for my sister, who’s the real working model. She claimed she had an emergency, so I raced down here, expecting to see her bleeding or in handcuffs. Turns out, it wasn’t that serious, but she begged me to fill in. I borrowed a dress and here I am.” Breaking eye contact, she gave a light shake of her head with a smile. “I don’t even know why she couldn’t wait until the auction was over. Only that her boyfriend was involved and she had to go. She’s very dramatic when it comes to him.”
“I see. You sacrificed your Saturday night to help your sister. Now that’s loyalty.”
“No big deal. After all, I got to dress up and have some fun raising money for a good cause. Not exactly hard labor.”
He grinned. “And we met as a result.”
“We did.” His desire, however unfathomable, poured from his gaze. No doubt, if he’d seen her in the leggings and hoodie, he never would’ve looked her way, but he was definitely looking at her now.
He took a step closer. “I want to see you again.”
“You do?” She craned her head to meet his eyes. “When?”
“Tonight. After the party. It ends at ten o’clock. I’ll make sure Rebecca gets home okay, and then you and I can go out, wherever you choose.”
Was he kidding? She was too shocked to respond.
“Or stay in,” he added. “I’m good either way. But just so you know, I don’t put out that easily.”