Turning to Megumi, he saw her eyes fixed, vaguely noted the glazed look in them, the tremor in her lower lip. His focus left her behind as the disruption grew in intensity.
Then he was facing Hiro...and the woman he had on his arm. And the realization was instantaneous.
She was the source of the disturbance.
She was the only female around who wasn’t Japanese. Even the non-Japanese businessmen in attendance were married to Japanese women. It was the only way to truly enter society, the path to the most solid form of business alliances in Japan.
Every eye in the ballroom seemed to be following her. The Japanese had strict parameters for their women’s beauty. But most were enamored with Caucasian beauty and coloring. Most men obsessed about Western women, even if few approached them, because many of the qualities they so admired in the safety of fantasy proved intimidating in reality. All of those qualities were present in this woman.
She towered above everyone, flaunted her height even more with high heels. Hiro was tall for a Japanese man at almost six feet, and she stood taller. Only a couple of inches short of looking six-foot-four Raiden in the eyes.
She stood out in every other way, too. Among all the dark-haired people around, she looked like a flame-haired Amazon, tanned, curvaceous, bodacious, oozing sexuality and confidence. And among all the women in soft or bright colors, she was the only one in fathomless black. She looked every voluptuous inch the femme fatale, the opposite of everything considered desirable in a Japanese woman, the antithesis of the petite, porcelain-skinned, delicate and demure Megumi. Though one look at prevalent Japanese porn said she was the epitome of the nation’s not-so-secret fantasies.
But he didn’t share those fantasies, had none really. That came from the total discipline he’d trained in from early childhood, to hone his skills to inhuman precision. During his years with The Organization, he hadn’t made use of the choice female companionship they’d provided to keep their agents placated. Since his escape, he’d remained as fastidious. The one time his shields had come crashing down had been with her.
But this woman was evoking the same...compulsion. When she wasn’t even looking at him.
His awareness clung to her even as he forced his gaze to pan to Hiro as he bowed to Megumi. Raiden barely registered that her hand dug deeper into his forearm. Everything in him was focused on the other woman.
Hiro bowed stiltedly in answer to his own compulsory bow, before resuming looking at Megumi. “May I introduce Ms. Scarlett Delacroix, Megumi-san?”
As the ladies exchanged bows, his eyes were dragged back to the woman’s profile. He barely tore them away as Hiro turned to him, his gaze colliding with his, the arm around Scarlett Delacroix’s nipped waist visibly tightening.
Was Hiro announcing his claim? Telling Raiden not to think of making a move? Hiro assumed he would, with his brand-new fiancée standing at his side?
That would make Hiro more astute than Raiden had thought. He did want to make a move. Which stunned him, because he never did.
But maybe Hiro wasn’t reading his aberrant reaction specifically, just believed Scarlett Delacroix was irresistible to any male. He would be right about that, too. If he with his ironclad control felt those unstoppable urges toward that vivid creature, other men must be champing at the bit.
But his reaction was indeed abnormal. He waded in gorgeous women and gave none a second glance. But this woman’s effect had nothing to do with her physical attributes. It was identical to her effect. His every sense was clamoring so loud, as if in recognition...