Feeling the heat of someone’s stare, she wished she could loosen her hair and hide behind it. She was about to step away when she felt a tingling, almost a purring, flutter against her temples and the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She rubbed her shoulders but realized the sensation was sort of relaxing.
“It’s quite lovely.” The accented voice was deep and rich, and brought to mind dark chocolate melting on the back of her tongue. Goose bumps formed on her arms and she turned to see a man standing a few feet away.
He stood at least a head taller than her, and had dark, shoulder-length hair pulled back by a leather tie. A thick strand in the front had slipped free, as if it had been tied with the nonchalance of someone who knew perfection wasn’t important. She found herself wanting to twist it around her finger and see the tips of her nails peek out from under that thick mane. The crystalline blue of his eyes was a stark contrast to a dark fringe of lashes as he looked down at her with an air of familiarity.
God, did she know him from somewhere? Surely she’d remember meeting a man like him if she had.
Those eyes, those beautiful eyes, flanked by a few lines that suggested living rather than time, raked the inner recesses of her mind. They were gentle now, but somehow she knew they could be cruel. She took a step backward on her teetering heels, her heart hammering two staccatos—one in her head and the other in her chest.
Although his attire was more casual than the stiff tuxedos sported by most of the men in attendance, he carried himself with a grace and ease that exuded confidence. He wore a brushed silk T-shirt that draped luxuriously over tailored charcoal slacks. With a black leather coat tossed easily over one arm and a hint of stubble peppering his jaw, he looked more like he belonged on a movie screen than at a charity event. Her mouth went suddenly dry and she licked her lips.
With one brow lifted, he looked at her quizzically. God, had he asked her something?
“The painting?”
“Oh, yes.” What about the painting?
“I find it very lovely.” As he stepped closer, the heat from his body warmed her bare shoulders and the two internal drumbeats evolved into one sound. She reached a hand up and rubbed her neck. Wasn’t this the same—
“Are you familiar with the piece?” He nodded toward the canvas but didn’t take his eyes off of her.
If she stretched out her hand, she could touch his chest, he was that close. Stroke his jaw, brush a thumb over his lips. Oh God, what was she thinking? She dug her nails into the palms of her hands to keep her thoughts from wandering where they shouldn’t.
His warm breath lifted a stray wisp of her hair on the back of her neck as she turned toward the painting. When his fingertips grazed down the back of her arm to guide her forward, a jolt of electricity left a trail of heat on her skin. She found herself inching closer to him, almost instinctively, as if her body knew this man though her mind did not.
“Um, yes. My friend Martin painted it.”
“I find it absolutely captivating. It’s gorgeous. I’m Dominic Serrano, but please call me Dom.” He extended his hand and she noted he wore a thick, filigree ring on each thumb.
“Mackenzie Foster-Shaw. It’s nice to meet you. Yes, Martin is an amazingly gifted artist.” The bracelets on her wrist jingled together as she took his hand in hers.
With the touch, she felt instantly alive. Every nerve ending danced as her palm pressed to his. The background piano music, which she’d hardly noticed before, seemed to morph into a tender melody. The room sparkled with prisms of candlelight reflected off the chandeliers above. Everything looked so different. How could she not have seen the room like this before?
He released her abruptly and turned back toward the painting, his expression composed, measured.
Normally, she’d have filled the void with some sort of mindless chatter, but now she felt no need. Calm and relaxed, she waited.
“Such rich colors he used. The ethereal light.” She could get lost in the sound of his voice. “The echoing lines of the composition. From the arc of her neck, along her back to the draping fabric over her shoulder.” As he spoke, he reached his hand out and traced the lines in the air, his long fingers caressing the space in front of them. Her breath rasped unevenly in her chest. It was as if he were running his hands over her bare skin. “From her breast to the curve of her legs and buttocks. I find it very enchanting. Almost seductive. Yes, your friend Martin is very talented, but he had an equally exquisite subject.”
She stepped forward and silently read the title of the piece.
“What is it called?”
He was right there. He could read it himself, but she did what he asked.
“Where Are You, My Love.”
I am where you are. The words chimed in her head. She glanced at him but his face was unreadable.
How would his arms feel around her? Would she fit beneath his chin like a puzzle piece? He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, his stare never dropping from her face. Feeling a tiny trickle of heat between her legs, she cursed inwardly for not wearing a thong.
Sweet Jesus.
That voice again. Although his lips didn’t move, she knew it was his. It rang in her head and echoed in her ears. The darkened room seemed to spin as if they were in the middle of a vortex. The clinking of wineglasses, the low din of conversation, the lovely chords of the piano—everything faded around them.
As if in slow motion, he stepped in front of her so she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. Another inch or two and her nipples, covered only in thin folds of green chiffon, would have brushed against the fabric of his shirt. Her body trembled in anticipation.
“I know you, don’t I?”
His jaw flexed as he stared at her, his eyes an unfathomable glacier blue, terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
Without thinking, she reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, her fingertips a whisper against his temple, and her palm molded softly to his cheek.
He caught her wrist roughly, lowering it to her side, and his mouth hardened as if he were biting back the urge to say something cruel. Fury and something else smoldered in his eyes as his pupils dilated, leaving only a ring of that icy blue.
What the hell? Don’t pupils usually shrink to pinpricks when you’re pissed?
Danger lurked behind those now-dark eyes, and she took a step back. He looked almost inhuman for a moment. Part of her knew she should be afraid. But she wasn’t. Instead, anger boiled up in her veins, matching what she felt in him.
Why had he grabbed her like that? Why was he looking at her with such intensity? It stirred her dander, like the wind fanning a flame. Evidently it was okay for him to touch her, but not the other way around. Was that it?
Squaring her shoulders, she jerked her hand away. How dare he react to her that way? If there was one thing she’d learned about men from her mother, it was not to take any crap from them. With a huff, she spun on her heel and melted into the crowd.
Forgive me, she imagined him saying.
Go screw yourself, was her imagined reply.
In a daze, she meandered over to the now-closed silent auction tables. People milled about, checking various items to see if their numbers were the winning bids. Three women dressed in sparkling dresses and precarious heels jumped up and down, squealing like schoolgirls. They’d evidently gotten the auction item they had wanted.
What the hell just happened? She felt like she knew this Dom Serrano, had met him before, had encountered his voice, even his thoughts, which was completely insane and made no sense. He was somehow familiar and yet a stranger. The thrumming in her head and chest became more and more mismatched and she almost felt nauseous.
One minute he was making love to her with his words and the next minute he changed into something wild and uncontrollable. Her actions obviously caught him off-guard and pissed him off. What had she done? It was just an innocent touch.
Although she couldn’t deny the attraction,
she certainly didn’t have the fortitude for these stupid dating-scene games spurred on by misread sexual desires and hypocritical reactions. She hadn’t behaved too forwardly, had she? Maybe going pantyless had given her some balls.
Her bid number wasn’t the highest on any of the items she’d wanted. She would’ve especially loved that spa day at Ummelina downtown, but she couldn’t justify paying that kind of money for her own indulgence, only for charity. However, given the state of her financial affairs, it was probably a good thing she wasn’t the winning bidder.
She ran into a few more people she knew, friends of her mother’s whom she hadn’t seen in ages. Politely, they inquired about her mother. They continued chatting until the master of ceremonies announced dinner was being served and asked the guests to find their seats.
She zigzagged around the tables, looking for Number Three. Martin had said it was up front. She stiffened and nearly turned around when she saw a familiar figure seated at a table near the stage. Martin jumped up and ran toward her.
“Darling, I hope you don’t mind, but I asked your dishy friend to sit with us. He was stuck clear in the back and was just about to sit next to Mrs. Thorn-Steuben when I rescued him.” He grabbed her elbow and urged her forward. “He tried to protest, but I insisted. Here, right this way.”
Dom stood up as she approached, pulling out the chair next to him. As she took her seat, she jutted her chin out and ignored him. He held her napkin out for her and she yanked it from his grasp. Did he think she was a ditzy fool? That she could be swayed by a momentary act of politeness? She’d make him regret his bad attitude.
With her back to him, she offered her hand to the woman on her right. “I’m Mackenzie Foster-Shaw. You must be a friend of Martin’s?”
“Janet Forrest.” The woman gripped Mackenzie’s fingertips in the gentle handshake of the upper class. “And this is my husband, Ernie.” Mackenzie reached a hand over and the portly man clasped it in the same manner. “It’s so nice to meet you. Yes, we’re friends of Martin’s. We’ve got many of his pieces in our collection, don’t we, dear?”
“Which ones? I’m quite familiar with his entire body of work.”
As they ate their salads, the woman told her about each piece in detail and Mackenzie nodded appreciatively. She felt the heat from Dom’s eyes on her back and she purposely played with a lock of her hair and twirled the stem of her wineglass. She was so not going to turn around.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Forrest said. “Here I am droning on and on about myself. How about you? How do you know Martin?”
Before Mackenzie could reply, Martin’s voice boomed from behind her. She turned around and saw Dom staring at her through lowered lids. He looked dreamy and way too sensuous. Dragging her gaze away, she concentrated on Martin.
“Mackenzie was one of my best students at the University of Washington. She’s a talented young artist and I couldn’t bear to let her go at the end of the term. A few years ago I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.” He tilted his head back with an infectious laugh that invited company, and a few others at the table joined in, including Dom. “Right, darling?” Martin asked.
Mackenzie bit back her laughter and smiled awkwardly. All eyes at the table turned to her, but the only set she was aware of was the ice blue pair to her left.
“Martin was kind enough to offer me a job teaching beginning art students—”
“Yes, and she came up with a brilliant lesson plan where she takes them on a walking tour of the various local galleries, then puts what they’ve observed into their own work in the studio. In addition to that—”
“Martin, please.”
Ignoring her protest, he continued. “In addition to being an artist, she’s also a skilled photographer. She works for a location scout in town. You know—movie locations.” Excitement tinged his voice and he sat forward in his seat. Like everyone else, he thought her part-time job was glamorous. If only she felt the same way.
“Oh, how wonderful. That sounds so exciting. Just what does a location photographer do?” Mrs. Forrest leaned forward as well, clasping her gnarled fingers under her chin.
Mackenzie squirmed in her chair and rearranged the food on her plate.
“We get a spec sheet from the production company, spelling out what they’re looking for at each shooting location. I research possible sites, taking pictures and measurements and my boss—my other boss, not him—” she inclined her head in Martin’s direction “—handles all the permits and permissions. Sometimes he has ideas for me but other times, I do the research myself.”
“So what film are you working on now?”
“I’m not allowed to say specifically, but a potential client wants to shoot some scenes at a cemetery. So that’s what I’ve been working on based on their specific needs. I’ve got a few more sites to photograph before I’m done. The port. A beach with a cityscape in the background— I’ll head over to West Seattle for that one. But it’s the cemetery I’m having the most trouble with.” She touched a finger to her forehead, remembering the migraine.
“You’d think that’d be easy,” Dom said. “There are plenty of cemeteries around here.”
Determined to ignore him, she turned to Mrs. Forrest and continued. “It needs to be somewhat dark, very oppressive, and not too far from the city. It’s expensive to take all the film equipment too far.”
“That’s a little frightening, don’t you think?” asked Mrs. Forrest. “How do you do it, dear?”
Mackenzie leaned in and lowered her voice. “When I’m out shooting remote locations, I carry a gun.”
Mrs. Forrest gasped. “Oh, goodness. Do you know how to use the thing?”
“Well, yes. I’ve been using one for years. My mother started taking both me and my brother to the shooting range when we were old enough to legally carry a gun.”
Please stop and move onto someone else. Surely someone else at this table would be more interesting to talk to.
“You must be a terrific shot. Do you have it with you now?”
“No. Not enough room in this little thing.” She winked at Mrs. Forrest and shook her clutch. “And nowhere to strap a holster on this outfit.”
Everyone at the table laughed. Good, now maybe the conversation would turn elsewhere. She threw a glance in Dom’s direction and he looked down his nose at her, his lips turned up as if he was trying not to give her a haughty smile. He was so irritating. She wondered if he practiced. She flipped her hair and turned away.
Words like fascinating and exciting swirled around the table. She shifted her water glass, aligned her fork next to her plate. Taking compliments was not something she was comfortable with, and neither was being the center of attention.
When the conversation thankfully turned to other things, she relaxed against her seat and felt the sudden warmth of Dom’s hand. Every nerve ending jumped to attention. He had casually, maybe even conveniently, laid his arm on the back of her chair. Before she could sit forward, she could’ve sworn he brushed his thumb across her shoulder blade. A trail of sparks lingered on her skin and she shivered involuntarily.
Mrs. Forrest whispered into her ear. “What’s your date’s name? I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten.”
“Dominic…Serrano, I think. But he’s not my date.”
Louder now, Mrs. Forrest said, “Mr. Serrano, what is it that you do? I detect a bit of an accent, though not much. Spanish, is it?”
“My family is originally from Northern Spain—yes. But I’ve lived in the States for years now. I’m surprised you even picked up on it.”
“Ernie and I made the mistake of visiting Madrid during the summer months a few years ago. Remember that, honey? It was so humid…” While Mrs. Forrest continued, Mackenzie sipped her wine, not paying much attention until Dom began to speak.
“I work for a multinational corporation that has contracts with the U.S. government. We have a small presence here locally, but it’s classified, so I really can’t say much about it.”
>
“Goodness. We’ve got exciting here—” she patted Mackenzie’s hand “—and mysterious there. What a couple you two make. Is your office here in the city?”
Mackenzie bristled. “Careful, he might have to kill you if he tells you.”
Everyone laughed, including Dom, who rested an arm easily over the back of her chair again. She made sure not to lean back this time.
“We maintain a small field office downtown, but the majority of the region’s work is out of British Columbia. I’m in charge of things here in Seattle, and I occasionally work in Portland, Spokane and Boise. But I’m afraid that’s about all I can tell you.” Dom’s smile stretched to his eyes and seemed genuine.
Why did he have to be so charismatic? It’d be much easier to ignore him if he wasn’t. She toyed with the evening bag on her lap, turning it over and over, and the prongs of an embedded crystal caught the chiffon of her skirt. Damn. While Martin talked about one of his recent projects, she picked it loose, but the stupid thing snagged the fabric.
“Why don’t you just put that on the floor beneath your chair?” Dom said. “I’ll make sure no one steals it.”
“Everyone knows it’s bad feng shui to put your purse on the floor.”
“Pardon me?” He sounded amused.
“Purses are never to go on the floor. It encourages money to fly out.”
His faux pained look told her that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Who told you that?”
What an asshole. “My mother.”
“And you believe it?”
She gritted her teeth. “It’s a habit, okay. Is that better?”
“Well, here, let me set it on the empty chair beside me, then. We certainly don’t want anything flying out of your purse unexpectedly.”
Oh my God. Even though she was irritated, she almost snorted out loud and had to bite her lip to keep quiet. If only he knew about the panties tucked inside.
“Fine.” Without looking at him, she held out her purse and hoped she came across as indifferent, bored and completely disinterested. She couldn’t care less that he was sitting just inches away from her, that she could feel the heat of his stare on her back and neck, that he was so damn hot. No, she didn’t care at all.
Bonded by Blood Page 7