Just One Taste...(3)

"And here I thought you'd wanna know where before what," he said, his voice low and seductive.

He even had a nice accent. Southern, but smooth. Not good ol' boy and  not suppressed as if he'd taken classes on how to lose his heritage like  so many she knew. "Maybe you could show me instead."

His finger trailed down her arm. "Not here I couldn't."

Oh, my. She swallowed. "Somewhere more private?"

"You don't have to work?"

"Yes. No."

Yes, you do, her conscience reminded her. Work, smirk, her libido countered.

"I've got a few minutes," she said coolly, though it was hard to be cool  when one's knees were on the verge of buckling beneath the weight of  Mr. Wonderful's interested stare.

"To spend with me?"

"If you like."

"You're good at your job." His gaze roved her face. "I watched you. For  quite a while." While her breath hitched in her throat, he glanced  around before his gaze came back to hers. "The food is excellent. The  layout and decorations shine with class. The guests … " He shrugged as he  snagged two glasses of champagne from the passing waiter, then handed  her one.

Though she didn't normally drink her clients' liquor, she sipped and couldn't stop the eye roll for the guests.

He grinned. "A bit tedious?"

"A bit."

"Self-importance tends to make the air thick."

"I knew I was short of breath for a reason." Though she very well knew  the real reason. "Ninety percent of them are doctors and lawyers.  Arrogance is a job qualification." She started to smile again, but the  amused expression on his face tipped her off to her blunder. Only  occasionally had she paid attention during etiquette lessons. "Which one  are you?"

He toasted her with his flute. "Lawyer."

"Not around here." No way this guy could have flown under the gossip radar, even if she was on the outer edges of the circle.

"I am as of Monday."

She hadn't heard this. She wondered if he'd be working with her father  or rivaling him. Regret rolled over her. Why a lawyer? That hit too  close to home. A home where she was no longer welcome.  "Congratulations," she said without any warmth.

"Don't like lawyers?" He sipped. "Pity. I was looking forward to that chocolate-dipping demonstration."

Glancing at him, at the interest, the regret in his eyes, she waved  aside the old prejudice. And the memory of guys who'd used her to get  close to her father. The pain of rejection she couldn't seem to shake.

Thanks to the man before her, desire and curiosity had woven their spell, dispelling her conscience's shouts of caution.

She turned to pick up a wooden skewer, slid a strawberry onto the end,  then rolled it beneath the warm chocolate spilling from a spout on the  fountain. The seductive, sugary aroma surrounded her like a lover,  lulling her in its warm embrace. Mischievous thrills zipped down her  spine.

An elderly couple approached and took their sweet time selecting a  crystal plate and fruit, drenching it in chocolate, smiling at each  other the whole time. Vanessa had seen the same effect on many people  over the past few years. There was just something plain decadent about  chocolate. Liquefy the stuff? Oh, boy. The sparks will fly.                       
       
           



       

With her own sparks ready to ignite, she turned.

Knowing she should take a cautious look around, but ignoring the call to  respectability, she cupped her hand under the dripping strawberry and  held it in front of his lips.

He turned his head. "Lose the skewer."

She hesitated. She was a rebel, not a troublemaker. Most of the time anyway.

"Come on," he added.

Hardly able to believe she was complying in a room filled with her  parents and all their respected cronies, but unable to resist his dare,  she slid the dripping strawberry off the skewer and held it between her  fingers, against his mouth. His gaze never leaving hers, he bit in, his  tongue catching the tip of her finger. The juices flowed over her  fingers, dripping into her palm. Her body tingled; her stomach  fluttered.

She wanted him. Wanted him like crazy.

Heart hammering, she popped the rest of the berry in her mouth, then  chased the sweetness with champagne. As the icy drink rolled down her  throat, she wiped her hand on a napkin and tried to find some balance,  some reason to resist him. And came up flat empty.

"How fast can you get out of here?" he asked, setting aside his glass.

"I-" She put down her glass. "This is nuts. I don't even know your name."

"Lucas."

"Is that first or last?"

"First. That's enough for now, isn't it? I'm tired of networking and  dropping names to impress. I don't want to compare stationery or brag  about judgments and client lists."

For a second, she was shocked by the naughty "first names only" suggestion. But it also appealed to her on a couple of levels.

First, it was naughty.

Second, if he learned her last name, he'd most likely connect her with  her father. How many guys had she gone out with at her mother or  sister's suggestion, only to learn they were aspiring attorneys looking  to break into her father's firm?

"And your name?" her gorgeous companion asked.

Her mother would probably have a stroke if she found out her daughter  had picked up a man-a stranger-at her dignified children's hospital  fund-raiser. Her sister would demand lineage and financial-status  reports. Her father would want to see his law degree and standing with  the American Bar Association.

Really, discretion was in order.

And yet she itched-in more places than just her brain-to take a chance.  To plunge and then dive. To walk down an expected road and see where it  led. She was literally on the edge of jumping in with both feet and not  asking too many questions.

So she did. Ask a question, that is.

"Do you have a fiancée?"

He angled his head. "No."

"A wife?"

He grinned. "No."

She tapped her foot.

Then again, picking up a guy at a party would be a scandalous-and  honest-way of telling her sister she was dating. Lately, she'd been  assuring her matchmaking-minded sibling that she had all the dates she  needed. Not exactly a lie. She just didn't need any dates at the moment.

Mr. Scrumptious, however, could easily change her mind. She glanced up at him. And smiled.

"Vanessa," she said, sliding her hand across the lapel of his suit jacket. "My name's Vanessa."





2



SHE WAS A CONTRADICTION.Manners, but flaunted tradition. Elegant, but  proudly sported a tattoo. Vanessa had cued in on his Rolex, but didn't  seem moved by the moneyed crowd.

A puzzle Lucas would like to solve. Later, much later.

Even though he stepped outside into the blast of a humid summer night,  the heat couldn't match the fire coursing through him. He could still  feel the brush of her hand against his chest. Instead of the sweet scent  of the magnolia trees dotting the country-club lawn, he smelled her  alluring Asian-spice perfume.

As much as he valued the control he'd gained over his life and his  actions, he'd only narrowly resisted yanking her against himself and  kissing her until neither of them could breathe. Forget networking.  Reputations and decorum be damned.

For the first time in a long, great while, the thrill of the hunt had taken over but had nothing to do with his career.

When his senses seized him, so did the memories. He longed for the  cigarettes he'd given up, since trips into the past didn't come without  ghosts. Wandering past manicured flower beds behind a posh Atlanta  country club, he instead remembered the scent of chicory, fish fresh  from the stream, Spanish moss dripping like tattered lacy curtains over  the swamp. He recalled friends he'd partied with in New Orleans, the  small knot of family he'd left behind and crawfish boils shared with  both-the potatoes, onions and dark red crustaceans spilling out across a  newspaper-lined folding table, while the music heated up and whiskey  cooled the fire.                       
       
           



       

Louisiana would always be in his blood, he supposed, even if sometimes he wanted to exorcise it from his mind.

And here, on the outside, beyond the windows where the thoroughbreds  looked out into the mundane, with his past shimmering in his blood,  seemed the perfect place to wait for Vanessa. When the party was over,  they would continue what they'd started.

He justified his exit from party networking by reminding himself he was  mostly a mystery to the people inside, and it wouldn't be wise to push  himself too firmly just yet. His change of heart and legal specialty  wouldn't be welcomed by some, wouldn't be believed by others. Keeping  his distance, allowing them to learn about him in pieces, and, of  course, letting the rumors fester and grow more elaborate could only  help.