6

“Not now, Ash, she called as she hustled by. “Late for an important lunch date.” She didn’t even look to see his reaction.

She ran past Shelby and hollered back as she punched the button for the elevator.

“If Brock asks, I’m having lunch with Mr. Reese. Just tell him Friday got moved up. If anyone else asks, just tell them I’ll return this afternoon.”

The elevator opened and she ducked in. As she turned around, she saw Shelby’s look of befuddlement just as the doors slid shut again.

When she reached the lobby, she stopped in the bathroom long enough to check her appearance. She wouldn’t stop traffic for sure, but at least she didn’t look as frazzled as she felt.

The heels she’d chosen to complete her outfit were fabulous—as long as she didn’t have to actually walk in them. A trek down the block on uneven cement sidewalks wasn’t what she had in mind. She kept tennis shoes in her office for just such occasions, but five minutes notice on the most important lunch date of her career didn’t give her time to worry over footwear. She’d just suck it up.

When she crossed the street to the next block, she realized she never had gotten where they were supposed to meet. Italian, French or American. Her gaze scanned the bright umbrellas scattered along the sidewalk cafés, first on her side of the street and then across.

A vacuum formed, sucking all the oxygen right out of her lungs the moment she laid eyes on him. He stood in the sunlight, one hand shoved into the pocket of his slacks, the other holding a phone to his ear.

Power. There was an aura of power that surrounded him, and it drew her like a magnet. For a moment, she just stood watching him in absolute girly delight. He was simply…..delicious looking.

Then he turned slightly and found her. How, she wasn’t sure given how busy the street was, but he locked onto her immediately almost as if he’d sensed her perusal.

She straightened and started forward, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

She crossed the street, hugging her briefcase between her arm and her side. Evan watched her approach, lean hunger gleaming in his eyes. His features relaxed into a smile as she drew abreast of him.

“Right on time.”

She nodded, not wanting to betray how out of breath she was from her flight from her office.

“I chose good ole American,” he said as he gestured toward a nearby table. “I hope that was all right.”

“Of course.”

He held out his arm for her to precede him to the table at the end of the row. She sat, grateful to be off her feet, and placed her briefcase beside her.

He took his seat across from her and motioned for the waiter.

“Would you like wine?” Evan asked Celia when the waiter approached.

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Evan relayed his request and then looked over at Celia. “I asked you to lunch because I’m afraid something has come up and we won’t be able to make our lunch date on Friday.”

She nodded then reached down for her briefcase. “That’s all right. I brought along the information I wanted to present—”

He reached over and circled her wrist with his fingers. “That isn’t why I invited you to lunch.”

She blinked and let go of her briefcase.

“I’d still like to keep our appointment…..I’d just like to change the location.”

She was royally confused now, and it must have shown. Amusement twinkled in his eyes and he smiled.

“I don’t have a lot of time today, so let me come straight to the point.”

His fingers were still around her wrist, though they’d loosened, and his thumb moved idly over her pulse point. She was sure her pulse was racing. It probably felt like a train under his fingers. She didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. She didn’t want to lose the marvelous sensation of his touch. Did he have any idea just how devastating his effect on her was?

“I have a wedding this weekend.” She could swear his lips curled in distaste. “A family wedding. My brother is getting married on Catalina Island. I’m to be there

Thursday evening, hence the reason I can’t make our Friday meeting.”

“I understand,” she said. “We can reschedule at your convenience.”

“I’d like you to go with me.”

Before she could call back the reaction, her eyes widened and she pulled her hand

from his. She put it in her lap and cupped her other hand over it, wanting to preserve the sensation of his fingers over hers.

He put up his hand in an impatient gesture then lowered it and fiddled with the napkin on the table. He seemed almost uneasy. She cocked her head, curious now as to what he would say next.

“My schedule is quite busy. I need to move on this new campaign. I can’t spare weeks searching for a new agency. If you went with me, I could listen to your ideas. I realize a wedding isn’t ideal. I’d rather be just about any other place myself.”

Though it certainly wasn’t voiced as a threat, it was certainly implied. If she went with him, he’d listen to her pitch. If she didn’t he might not have time for her when he returned.

Worry knotted her stomach. Tagging along to a family wedding seemed entirely too personal even if the purpose was solely business. Not to mention it was hard enough to battle her attraction for him in a business setting. But something as intimate as a wedding?

“How long would we be…..away?”

The question came out more as a squeak than a concise, professional query. She sounded like a scared little girl facing the big bad wolf. Oh, but Evan made such a yummy wolf.

It was all she could do not to put her head on the table and bang a few times.

“We’d fly out Thursday evening. Rehearsal and dinner on Friday, wedding Saturday with reception to follow and since it will likely go well into the night, we’d return Sunday.”

It would only require one missed day of work. No one but Brock would even need to know, and he certainly wouldn’t spill the beans.

She didn’t know why she hadn’t immediately agreed. She couldn’t afford to say no. He had her over a barrel and he damn well knew it. Still, she hesitated—if for no other reason than to let him know he didn’t call all the shots.

Okay, so maybe he did, but it didn’t hurt him to think otherwise. For two seconds.

“All right,” she said in as level a voice as she could manage.

Did he expect her to attend the festivities? It certainly sounded as though he did by the way he outlined the events. She supposed it would be rude to tag along and lurk in the shadows waiting for her appointed time. Or maybe he envisioned having her follow him around everywhere so he could fit in snatches of conversation when possible.

“I’d be happy to purchase any items you may need for the trip,” he said.

Startled, she glanced up. “No, I mean…..no. Of course not. I can manage just fine. You’ll need to tell me the appropriate dress code of course.”

He managed a wry smile. “I’m sure anything to do with Bettina will be formal.

Quite formal with lots of glitter and fanfare.”

His gaze slid sensuously over her features and then lower until her neck heated with a blush.

“I think anything you wear will be stunning. The dress you wore the other night was perfection on you.”

The blush climbed higher and she prayed her cheeks didn’t look like twin torches.

“I’m sure I can find something glitzy and glamorous,” she said lightly. “We girls do like the opportunity to play dress up.”

Interest sparked in his eyes. “I can’t wait.”

The waiter returned with the wine, and Celia latched gratefully onto the glass. Her hands shook. She was sure if she stood, she’d go down like a brick. She’d break an ankle trying to stay up on these ridiculous heels.

Note to self: Don’t pack gorgeous, sexy shoes for the weekend. Around him, she’d be a disaster on stilts. He’d spend his entire time picking her up off the floor, that is if she didn’t end up in the hospital in traction.

“I’ll call you later in the week with the flight arrangements. We’ll be taking my private jet.”

She swallowed and nodded, then realizing he’d need her number—her cell number and not her office number—she reached down into her briefcase to retrieve a business card.

She frowned, fumbled some more then pulled the bag into her lap. With a groan she realized her business-card holder must have fallen out. Impatiently she tore a piece of paper off a notepad and took out her pen.

Dropping the bag again, she put the paper on the table and hastily scribbled her home and cell number then passed it across the table to Evan.

He took it, studied it a moment then carefully folded it and tucked it away in the breast pocket of his jacket. The waiter approached with menus and Evan looked to her for her order.

“Just the lunch salad,” she said. What she really wanted was a really greasy burger with onion rings, but she didn’t want to appall Evan. Her brothers gave her all sorts of hell for her indelicate tastes, but then they were to blame for them.

Evan ordered a steak, medium, and after the waiter was gone, Evan stared over at her, his gaze inquisitive.

She cocked her head, prepared for him to ask her a question, but he didn’t say anything. He just seemed to study her as if he wanted to uncover all her deep, dark secrets.

Finally he sat back with a satisfied smile. His eyes glinted with triumph.

“I think this wedding is going to turn out to be enjoyable after all.”