Wonderful, she thought grimly. She would either have to wear her jacket all through dinner and boil, or sit with her arms folded across her chest. Because no way was she going to flaunt the shaming evidence that Alex turned her on.
Fortunately Alex was seated at another table when she took her place next to Margaret, and she gave a sigh of relief that she could at least eat her dinner without feeling painfully self-conscious. With some distance between them she was able to covertly study him, her eyes feasting on the way his hard features softened when he smiled. The party was in Charles Metcalf’s honour, yet it was Alex who held centre stage. He sat like a king surrounded by his courtiers, all eyes focused on him, while Katrin Jefferstone sat beside him, trying very hard—too hard—to act as his consort.
It was at that moment that Jenna realised she was not the only person suffering from an outsized case of hero-worship. A glance around the restaurant revealed that most women, even those with their partners, were affected by Alex’s looks and sheer charisma. He must surely be aware of the looks directed at him—indeed, he probably felt as if he was sitting in a force nine gale with the amount of eyelash-batting taking place around him—and Katrin was certainly conscious of his popularity.
Katrin was a curious woman, nicknamed rather unkindly by some as the Ice Queen. She was cool to the point of rudeness, kept herself very much to herself, and seemed to have taken an instant dislike to Jenna. Watching them, Jenna noted the edge of desperation in the other woman’s body language as she strove to keep Alex’s attention. They were subtle gestures—a toss of her hair as she moved her head closer to his, her fingers resting lightly on his arm whenever he turned away—but they added up to a woman who could barely contain her hunger. Katrin was in love with Alex. She too must be beset by the same aching awareness that consumed Jenna whenever she was in Alex’s company, but, unlike Jenna, she made little effort to disguise the invitation in her eyes.
She was just one of the crowd, Jenna accepted bleakly. Alex was a stunningly virile man, and she was no different from the countless other women who prayed for him to look their way. He looked up then, his eyes focusing directly on her, and she blushed at the ignominy of having been caught studying him. Hastily she looked away, but her eyes were drawn to his by a magnetic force and she discovered that he was watching her, his expression unfathomable, although even across the width of the room his personality swamped her.
‘I think my husband is determined to dance with every pretty girl in the restaurant.’ An amused-sounding voice interrupted her thoughts, and Jenna smiled at Charles Metcalf’s wife. ‘It is his birthday, so I suppose I’ll forgive him. Charles, do mind Jenna’s toes—she’s only little.’
As the evening continued Jenna grew breathless and pink-cheeked from her exertions on the dance floor, but found she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Charles and the other staff proved to be great company, and as she was coerced into jiving to an old Elvis classic, she realised how good it felt to throw off her responsibilities for a few hours.
‘You appear to be having a good time. Dancing is obviously one of your hidden talents.’
She stumbled to a halt on the way back to her table, her path blocked by Alex’s formidable chest. ‘It’s a wonderful party,’ she agreed huskily, her heart performing its familiar somersault at the sight of him. ‘I’d forgotten how much I love dancing.’
Her enjoyment had been evident; he had spent much of the evening watching her on the dance floor, unable to tear his eyes from her slender, graceful figure. Her hair gleamed like burnished gold on her pale shoulders, which were left bare by her halter-neck top. For a brief moment he envisaged winding his fingers into a silken strand, untying the ribbon that secured the top around her neck and drawing the material down to expose her breasts.
Jenna Deane was proving to be a distraction he could do without, he thought, and smiled derisively. Who was he kidding? Jenna was fast becoming an obsession he could do without. She was married, for God’s sake! At the end of the evening she would go home to her husband. Another man had the right to fantasise about her delectable body, but not him.
‘You’re such an expert—you’d better give me a few lessons,’ he suggested lightly. It would look odd if he didn’t dance with his secretary, and the upbeat tempo of the music meant that there was little danger of body contact.
She could hardly refuse him, Jenna conceded, trying to mask her reluctance as she took his hand. She could manage one dance without making a fool of herself, surely? With one hand resting lightly on her waist, Alex danced as he did everything else—superbly. The music changed seamlessly from disco to a slow ballad, and Jenna stepped back, but his arm tightened imperceptibly around her waist, drawing her up close against him.