by Zoe Chant
“Yes?” Irina asked, and then gaped as Francine thrust her own wineglass into Irina’s free hand, turned on her heel and stalked off.
Irina looked down at her full hands and gulped. Did I miss something? What the hell just happened?
She watched Francine’s retreating back, as much to convince herself that the woman was actually leaving as anything else, and saw that the other woman was striding directly towards the green-eyed man who had smiled at her.
Oh.
It wasn’t me he was smiling at, at all, Irina thought, her heart sinking. He must have been smiling at Francine. That made a lot more sense.
She took a deep breath to calm herself down before looking down at her two wine glasses. The deep breath turned into an even deeper sigh.
So much for leaving waitressing behind.
And so much for being an artist.
Tears pricked at her eyes, and she blinked furiously. It wasn’t just that Francine Delacourt had been so strangely terrifying—it was the fact that everyone in the room must have just seen her blow off Irina’s work, pretty much guaranteeing that no one would bother to give her paintings so much as a second look. If the culture vultures at tonight’s event were only here because they were following Francine’s footsteps, they were hardly going to buy something she obviously found no value in.
So where did that leave Irina? Standing by herself in the corner, holding two half-drunk glasses of wine.
She could drink the wine, she supposed. It couldn’t possibly make her look more pathetic.
Goodbye, artist. Hello, waitress.
Irina clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. It wasn’t like she should even really be upset. Her art had always been just something she did for fun. A hobby. Silly and pointless. Maybe she could have had a chance to make more of it years ago, but she lost that chance when she dropped out of art school. And, sure, it had been nice of Clare to think of Irina when she had a panic with a spare spot in the exhibition, but that was all her paintings were. A placeholder.
Irina squeezed her eyes shut. If you’re upset, it’s your own fault for imagining this evening could lead to anything more.
She had to get out of here. She had to get rid of these stupid glasses of stupid expensive wine, get her coat from out of the back, and—just flee.
Irina turned on her heel and almost walked straight into someone. Her eyes were swimming, and it took a moment for the dark splodge in front of her to resolve into a man wearing a charcoal-colored suit and silk shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, right in line with Irina’s eyes, revealing a triangle of bare, tanned skin.
“Hello,” said a low voice, and Irina tore her eyes away from his neck. She looked up, and her world flipped upside down for the second time in as many minutes.
It was the handsome stranger, her pipe-dream knight in shining armor. Standing in front of her. Right in front of her.
Right. There.
Oh, hell, Irina thought, blinking furiously. He was so close she could have reached out and touched him.
Close enough to see that I’m ten seconds away from bawling my eyes out. God, how embarrassing.
“Sorry,” she muttered, trying to dodge around him, but he laid a gentle hand on her elbow.
“Is everything all right?” His voice was low, quiet enough that no one could hear him but her.
“Oh, sure, fine,” Irina blurted automatically.
“Are you sure about that? Most people aren’t fine after an encounter with Frankie.”
Irina had been about to push past him, but at that, she paused. The man was looking down at her, concern in his green eyes.
“I’m fine. Really,” Irina insisted. She even managed to hoist a smile onto her face, although her mind felt like it was flying in a thousand directions at once. Frankie? “Do you know her? Because if you’re worried about Ms. Delacourt terrorizing the guests, it’s a bit late for me. You should probably go head her off before she picks her next victim.”
Oh, good job, she thought bitterly. Bitch about his friend right in front of him. You’re so goddamn smooth.
“The only person I’m worried about is you.”
He sounded sincere. And he looked sincere, too, with no hint of sarcasm in his green eyes. Irina turned to face him in spite of herself. There was no way she was sticking around here to sob in the corner, but something about this man...
Maybe he had been smiling at her, after all. It hardly seemed possible, but—
He must have brushed right past Francine to come over here, she realized, and the thought filled her with a sort of fierce glee. Anyone brushing off Francine Delacourt to speak to her instead would have been a miracle, but a man as good-looking as this?
It hardly seemed possible.
He was waiting for her to speak, his vivid green eyes on her. She remembered the careful catalogue she had been making of his various attributes before he caught her staring, and almost blushed before she considered what he must be seeing now.
Let’s break it down, she thought, swallowing hard. Wild hair, probably three-fourths fallen down by now. A dress that probably cost less than one of his designer socks. And no amount of foundation in the world can hide how blotchy I get when I’m about to cry…
Now that he could see her up close, he was probably regretting coming within ten feet of her.
“Well, that’s very sweet of you,” she said at last. She held up the two sad, half-empty wineglasses and attempted another grin. Let’s both get out of this with as much of our dignity intact as we can manage. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to…”
...Got to ditch these, slink out the back door, and spend the rest of the evening eating chocolate ice-cream in my PJs, waiting for Clare to come back to the apartment and put me on a guilt trip for running away.
Talk about pathetic. But what was the alternative? Hang around here until closing time, hoping Francine Delacourt didn’t swing by for round two?
“Well, I can help you with that, at the very least,” the man murmured with a smile that made long dimples appear in the corners of his mouth, putting deeper shadows in his dark stubble. Before Irina knew what was happening, he lifted the glasses from her hands. His fingertips just brushed against hers, so softly she thought she might have imagined it.
Her surprise turned into indignation as a waiter almost immediately appeared and whisked the glasses away.
“Oh, seriously?” she burst out. “I was standing here holding those for how long, and you turn up and—pow!”
The man’s mouth quirked. “Call it a knack.”
“I work in hospitality. If there was a knack to catching a waiter’s attention, you’d think I would know it,” Irina grumbled. She knew she couldn’t blame the waiter, though. If there was a knack, it probably involved more “looking around for a nearby waiter” than “staring at your toes and sulking.”
Not that this guy had been looking at anyone.
Except her.
In fact, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he walked up to her. He’d been concerned and gentle; in fact, he had quietly and simply taken the stupid glasses away from her—and he hadn’t once taken his eyes off her.
He had smiled at her. And he was smiling at her now, too.
Irina felt suddenly breathless. She smoothed her hands down her dress, trying to pull herself together.
“All right, Mr. Waitstaff-Magician,” she said, hoping her face didn’t betray her battling emotions. “I’m Irina. And what should I call you?”
His eyes widened slightly in surprise. “I—oh. Yes. Grant Diaz.”
Irina held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grant Diaz. And your magical wineglass-disappearing powers.” And your Francine Delacourt-vanquishing powers.
Grant took her hand in his. His hand dwarfed hers, but he didn’t wring the bones of her hand together like some men did when shaking hands. His grip was firm but careful, and when he pulled his hand away, his fingertips brushed against hers and linge
red.
“The pleasure is all mine.”
Oh.
Irina felt unmoored, drifting in unfamiliar waters. Her mind was in a million places at once, and in its absence, her body took charge. She found herself reaching out, her fingers tangling with his, and sank into the green depths of Grant’s eyes.
Had she really left those two half-glasses of wine undrunk? It usually took at least two glasses to make her feel this floaty.
“So, what brings you here tonight?”
Irina came back to Earth with a jolt and snatched her hand back. What are you doing? she berated herself, blushing furiously. Grant looked…
Disappointed?
Oh, don’t start getting ideas. Remember where that gets you.
Irina shook her head, which was full of images of lush jungles and deep mountain lakes reflecting the dark green of the trees.
“Apart from the opportunity to act as Francine Delacourt’s drinks table?” she joked, nodding over her shoulder to the paintings on the wall. “These, um, these are mine. My friend Clare knows the owner of this gallery and did me a favor. She must have thought they would fit in the, uh. The space available. On the walls.”
She winced, but Grant didn’t seem to notice that she was babbling.
“Beautiful,” he said softly. But he wasn’t looking at the paintings. His warm green eyes, edged with those decadently thick lashes, were still focused on her.
Irina caught her breath. She couldn’t be imagining this. The lingering glances—and the lingering touches.
It was crazy. Men like this weren’t interested in girls like her. Talk about being out of her league—Grant Diaz was playing an entirely different sport. He looked like he’d just walked off the cover of World’s Sexiest Men. Not that there was such a magazine, but probably that was just because no one in the magazine business had seen Mr. Tall, Dark and Phwoar yet.
I’m babbling, Irina realized. I’m babbling inside my own mind. God, he’s so sexy.
And I’m just standing here, staring at him. Pull yourself together before he figures out what a complete weirdo you are.
“Um, and what brings you here?” she asked lamely.
A fleeting frown passed over Grant’s face, but cleared as fast as it appeared. “I was going to talk to—it’s not important. Not as important as finding you. I mean, meeting you. I mean—it’s very nice to meet you.”
He closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and groaned. Irina bit back a laugh, a feeling like relief flooding through her body. Maybe he’s as nervous about flirting with me as I am with him. I just can’t believe a guy like this is getting flustered over—well, over me.
Even embarrassed, Grant looked amazing, and Irina couldn’t help enjoying the view. Her fingers twitched to trace the line of his jaw and to feel the scratch of his stubble against her fingertips. Damn it, this was worse than holding onto his fingers earlier. She clasped her hands behind her back.
When Grant opened his eyes again, they flared as though he knew exactly what she had been thinking. Irina’s heart fluttered.
“Find me here? You were looking for me?” She said it without thinking.
“I think—I’ve always been looking for you.” A small crease formed between his eyebrows, and he looked suddenly very serious.
Irina giggled. “Oh, nice. I haven’t heard anything that cheesy since high school.”
Grant’s smile returned, slightly crooked. “Sorry. That was pretty terrible, wasn’t it?”
“Awful.”
He winced. “And I owe you a drink. Now that I think about it, the grand gesture of rescuing you from being Frankie’s side-table doesn’t work when I take away your glass, as well.”
Irina paused with her mouth open. Francine.
Irina’s eyes widened as an awful thought struck her. Grant didn’t seem interested in the paintings, so he couldn’t have come here to appreciate the art. He must have been hoping to catch up with someone. And hadn’t Francine looked strangely shocked to see Grant? And even less pleased to see Irina eyeing him up...
Oh, shit. Is he her ex, or something?
She bit her lip. There was no way she could let this pass without knowing for sure.
“Um. Is she the person you actually came here to see?” Oh, God. Just say it. “Uh, you two aren’t…?”
“God, no.” Grant sounded so shocked by the idea that Irina knew he was telling the truth. “I’m good friends with her brother. Her twin, actually. I was hoping to see him here tonight.”
Irina looked around. There was no one in the room tall or blond or terrifying enough to be related to Francine Delacourt, let alone be her twin.
“I guess we’re both at a loose end, then.”
Grant’s answering smile sent a shiver down her spine. He opened his mouth, and she found herself leaning forward.
“Am I interrupting?” Francine Delacourt’s voice cut through the air.
Irina spun around. Francine was standing over her shoulder, glaring daggers at Grant.
“I—yes?” Irina said and instantly regretted it. She gulped. Honesty was probably not the best policy in the face of someone who looked like she was one bad mood away from stomping you underfoot.
Francine’s expression was icy, but it wasn’t Irina she was looking at. Irina didn’t envy Grant being on the other end of her laser-beam eyes.
Not that he seemed bothered by it.
Maybe he’s built up an immunity after knowing her brother for so long.
Grant nodded a greeting to the other woman. “How are you, Frankie? And how’s Mathis these days?”
Francine bared her teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. Irina shuffled sideways, uncomfortable to have Francine hovering at her shoulder, and—not entirely accidentally—found herself standing at Grant’s side.
“Mathis spent the summer traveling,” Francine said slowly. “And Lance tells me you’ve been… in the mountains?”
“You know me. Six months of trees and rocks, then holing up here over winter.” Grant cast a quick smile in Irina’s direction, and she found herself smiling back.
“Hiking and hibernation?” Irina found herself saying. “If that’s not the recipe for a perfect life, I don’t know what is.”
Francine’s eyes sparked. “What would you know about it?” she practically barked.
Irina blinked. Uh, what the hell?
She gestured at the paintings on the wall beside them. Francine followed her gesture, eyes narrowing.
“The disappointing Adirondacks—remember?” The words came out a bit sharper than Irina had intended. Standing next to Grant must be giving her more courage to stand up for herself.
“I see.” Francine’s voice was quiet, but there was steel in it.
Grant shifted his weight, closing the distance between himself and Irina. The warm wool of his jacket sleeve brushed against Irina’s bare arm.
“I was hoping to catch up with Mathis now that I’m back in the city, but I’m having trouble getting hold of him,” he said lightly.
Francine stared at him. “The last time I saw my brother, he was looking forward to seeing you,” she hissed as she swept away.
“Well… great. Thanks,” Grant said to her briskly retreating back. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “That woman gets more terrifying every time I see her.”
Irina met his eyes, and smiled. It was meant to be a chirpy smile, but it turned out a bit wobbly. “Terrifying is right.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed as he glanced in the direction Francine had disappeared, and his knuckles brushed against the back of Irina’s hand. The closeness of his body and the touch of his hand did more to make Irina feel better than anything he could have said. Somehow, just having him near her made her feel… safe. Protected.
The thought lit a warm spark inside her, and against her better instincts, she slipped her hand into his. Grant turned toward her.
“Even Frankie isn’t usually that intense. If that’s the way she was beha
ving before I came over—well, I’m sorry I didn’t arrive sooner.” He squeezed her hand.
Irina felt her cheeks go red. “True, well, I don’t think I can forgive you for something that happened before you even knew I existed. On top of that… I’m still busy not forgiving you for stealing my drink.”
She held her breath. Her mind might have been scattershot earlier, but now, every particle of her body was sharply focused. On his tall, strong body, so close to hers that she could feel the heat of it radiating toward her. On his hand holding on to hers.
And on his eyes. His gleaming, forest-green eyes, and the way he looked at her like she was someone special.
It had been a long time since anyone looked at her like that.
She held her breath and waited.
“Forget the drink,” Grant said, and for a moment Irina’s heart sank.
But only for a moment, because the next thing he said was: “Let me take you to dinner.”
4
GRANT
Say yes. Say yes, he begged silently, staring into her dark eyes. He was looking into them so intently, he almost missed the blush that spread across her cheeks.
Then she raised her chin. “All right, then. I think that would make up for your vast and numerous errors.”
Grant’s panther purred in his chest. The noise was so loud in his mind that he had to take a moment to check that he wasn’t making any sound out loud. His slip about “finding” Irina had been bad enough.
Irina. His panther had never reacted to anyone the way it did to her, and it was troubling him, though not enough to stop him from getting as close to her as possible.
Lance, have the car brought around, he projected silently. He felt Lance’s reaction as the other man received his telepathic message: the instinctual prick of the snow leopard’s ears and the man’s curiosity.
“So, I don’t want to sound desperate, but…” Irina’s hesitant tones instantly raised Grant’s protective instincts, and he slid his hand from her elbow to settle against her lower back. Her spine felt stiff against his palm—no surprise, after a confrontation with Frankie.
“You’re hungry?” he asked.