Was he really going to kiss her on both cheeks? A swift movement of his head confirmed her suspicion. She held her breath as his lips brushed her other cheek and a shimmer of desire rippled inside her belly.
She was about to step back and gulp air when she remembered the other girls had kissed three times. Ugh. So pretentious. But she could handle it. Hang tough. She lowered her eyes for the return journey to cheek number one. Braced herself against his male scent. She was almost out of here.
Then something went very, very wrong.
Two
S he never knew quite what happened, just that Dominic's mouth collided with hers.
Not a hard, fast kind of impact where things bounce apart.
A slow crash.
The landing soft, warm and quietly devastating.
It was impossible to say what really went on without a photon microscope to analyze activity at the nanometer level.
Something happened, though.
Parted in astonishment, their lips seemed to fuse. Then their tongues touched, sparking a sharp jolt of rogue energy.
A firm hand on her back steadied her and pulled her close, which only made their lips weld more tightly together.
A sizzling-or was it a shivering?-sensation rippled through her limbs, rendering them limp and almost useless. His mouth became her source of strength, infusing her body with energy that raced along her synapses, stinging them to a new level of awareness.
At some point her eyes closed, but this strange new world wasn't dark. Lights and colors flashed in her brain, echoing the dazzle of sensation that engulfed her body.
Confusion and disorientation made her reach and grab for something-anything-to hold on to. That's how her hands ended up under his jacket, fisted in his thick cotton shirt. Gripping, hanging on for dear life.
And then it was over.
She managed to step back, gasping for breath, blinking in the horrible brightness of the restaurant's stark lighting.
Her lips tingled, flushed with blood. Her heart banged against her ribs.
To give him credit, Dominic looked slightly stunned too.
She checked the buttons of her shirt with a shaking hand, anxious to see if they were still closed over her heated and hypersensitive breasts. All in place.
She checked her hair. Still on her head. She forced out a little laugh. "Goodness, that continental kissing is dangerous."
She cursed herself for sounding like such a geek. He probably smooched women goodbye all the time.
It was her problem if her life was so dull that a simple kiss had knocked her right from one dimension into another.
"Well, well, well." Dominic's dark eyes roamed over her face. "You're full of surprises."
Heat crept up her neck. Did he think this was her fault? Could he see her nipples, peaked to hard points, through her blouse? She resisted the urge to look down.
"I prefer a simple handshake," she stammered.
"Not me." Humor shone in his eyes. "I could get used to goodbyes like that. Maybe I'd better walk you downstairs so we can say goodbye again."
She grabbed her pocketbook off the floor. "Please, don't trouble yourself. Stay and have dessert and coffee."
She needed to get away from this guy. Her recent scientific research had demonstrated that all kinds of strange things could happen in the right circumstances. Unpredictable things.
Dangerous things.
Surfaces could shift and alter their appearance. The very substance of something could fundamentally alter.
Perhaps under the right conditions-the penetrating laser stare of his eyes, for example-her clothes could entirely vanish.
His eyes had turned completely black. Desire radiated from them like heat rising off tarmac.
"Thanks again!" She cleared her scratchy throat. Dominic hadn't moved an inch. "Must fly!"
It was unlikely she could have exited the dining room faster if she actually did fly. She ran-literally-for the door, then gasped for breath as she leaned her whole weight on the elevator button outside.
Her body still hummed with stray bursts of heat and rogue flashes of electricity. Her fingertips stung and even her earlobes felt hot.
No doubt there was some quite ordinary scientific explanation for what was happening in her body.
Then again, as her father's daughter, she knew there was nothing ordinary about science and the miracles and magic that were waiting to be discovered if you dared to dream and venture into the unknown.
She gulped.
Ping.
She dove into the elevator as soon as the doors opened, cutting a swathe through a group of Japanese businessmen. "Sorry!"
She pressed herself against the burled walnut panels as the door closed.
Dominic Hardcastle.
She shut her eyes and willed her body to come under control. She'd locked lips with the boss's son.
Was this some kind of game to him? Revenge for the way she'd imperiously ordered him out of her lab?
Did he say he was staying? Would she have to see him every day? Her breath came in ragged gasps.
She wasn't sure she could stand up to the stare of those unrelenting black eyes ever again. She'd probably dissolve into a column of disembodied atoms.
How predictable of her. Tarrant Hardcastle had secured a reputation as the lady-killer of his generation and no doubt his son had inherited the gene. The DNA that enabled them to use people, suck them dry and toss them aside. She hugged herself against the air-conditioned chill.
When the elevator reached the lobby she didn't get out. Instead she pressed the button for the fifteenth floor.
Back to the lab. To find what she was looking for and get out of here. To secure the rights to her father's research and the chance to continue his legacy, before Tarrant Hardcastle and his wickedly seductive son destroyed her chance forever.
Dominic remained in the restaurant for another half hour. He ate one slice of bittersweet Sacher torte with cream, a profiterole drenched in rich chocolate and a lime cheesecake with fresh raspberries. Yes, he had a sweet tooth.
Three cups of black coffee too.
But nothing seemed to fill the strange hole gaping in his gut.
What the hell had that woman done to him?
The waiter refused his attempt to pay the bill or tip. Thanks, Dad. He managed not to laugh out loud.
Where had Tarrant Hardcastle been when his mom was trying to make dinner on a grocery budget of twenty dollars a week?
He'd like to see Tarrant Hardcastle go down on his knees to her and beg forgiveness.
Resentment heated inside him, alongside the desire that tight-lipped scientist had ignited there.
Bella Andrews was one of Tarrant's protégés. Funny how all the employees here were both brilliant and attractive. There was something downright creepy about that. Were they all Stepford Wives clones?
He caught sight of himself in the mirrored steel finish next to the elevator.
You fit right in.
In his dark, well-cut suit, with his dark, well-cut features-which were obviously inherited from his famous father-he blended tastefully with the scenery.
A mocking laugh fell from his lips as he stepped into the empty elevator. His dad hoped he'd stay and take over?
No chance, Pops.
But he wouldn't be leaving empty-handed either.
He went to hit the button for the lobby, but his fingers disobeyed and pressed the number fifteen instead.
No doubt the lab would be locked for the night.
But when the elevator opened, he stepped out.
The door to the lab was closed, as it had been earlier that day. He tried the handle. Once again, it opened.
The room wasn't nearly as bright as it had been earlier. The overhead fixtures were off and the newly risen moon bathed the lab in silver light through the wall of windows.
Eerie.
He knew he shouldn't be here, but that was part of the thrill. Not his fault if they didn't bother to set the lock.
A sliver of light at the far end of the long room drew his attention. His leather shoes were silent on the polished floor as he crossed the lab, past the moonlit shadows of microscopes, and the racks of glassware. He could hear a rhythmic, mechanical sound. Familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
In his Bella-awakened state it made him think of sex. Where was Bella now, with her accusing stare and her prim little mouth?
The answer became apparent as he peered through the crack in the door.
The sound was a Xerox machine.
And Bella.
She'd removed her shoes and stood on stockinged tiptoes, feeding sheets of paper into the machine. The moving beam of light flashed past her body, then the copy spat out with a rhythmic ka-thunk.
He stood in the doorway. Silent. Watching.
Bella took the sheaf of fresh copies, folded it, and stuck it into a leather briefcase propped against the machine.
So. The copies were going home with her.
She took the originals from the machine and disappeared through a door on the far side of the room. He heard a metal file drawer opening.
He glanced at the digital face of his watch: 10:28.