Chapter Three

Sophie was late.

Sophie was often late.

Being on time was so hard when there was makeup to do, and hair to blow-dry, and chandelier earrings to locate in the bottom drawer of her jewelry chest (when she swore she’d left them in the top drawer), and stockings to pull on just so, inch by delicate inch, because you didn’t want them to rip.

Stockings took time to do right.

Hers were positioned properly with the garter attached at her thigh.

She’d be wearing them even if she didn’t have that little, fluttery hope of a hot man in her crosshairs. She wore them because she loved stockings. Stockings were sexy, and being sexy was fun. After years upon years of donning jeans and hoodies and knit caps because that was what the “nerds” wore and she’d desperately wanted to look the part—since being a woman in the tech field had already made her stick out like a sore thumb—she relished looking like a woman. She’d shed the old Sophie when she left the land of bits and bytes behind her, that man’s world of dressed-down anti-fashion.

Now, with her new focus on philanthropy, dressing up was not only embraced, it was essential.

The panties though…those were just for her.

She had on her favorite pair, though nearly every pair she owned was her favorite. La Perla had a way with silk and satin and beads and pearls that made every slinky bit of fabric enticing. Tonight’s panties were black like her dress, and sheer, with a slim, crisscross tie up the side.

She smoothed a hand over her dress, gave herself one more quick once-over in her full-length bedroom mirror, then snagged her purse from the middle of the cranberry-red comforter on her bed. She swiveled around, ready to go, then sneaked one more final glance.

Just to make sure that the piece of hair above her ear hadn’t fallen out of place.

Nope. All was well.

Wait.

Did she have any lipstick on her teeth? She bared her canines and was satisfied. Everything was in order. She headed down the hall to the wide-open living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows, which boasted her favorite view in the universe—Vegas, lit up and neon, bright and bold, her favorite city in all its unabashedly sinful glory.

She paused in the living room, one hand on the back of the soft chocolate-brown couch, wondering if she’d remembered to put fresh pillowcases for her brother in the guest room at the other end of the condo.

A flicker of tension skimmed through her veins.

She knew she had. This was just a momentary bout of OCD making her doubt herself.

She stood stock still, tapping her fingers against her forehead. She could recall perfectly having placed new linens on the bed just this morning. The gray-and-white striped ones. Masculine and perfect for John.

She headed for the front door. But it was always better to be safe, right? Checking and double checking, and then checking one more time in that final quality assurance test—well, that was what had gotten her far in life. She’d been notoriously thorough as a student and as a computer scientist, a trait stemming from her drive to just check once more. Tugging on her skirt and gathering up the soft material, she race-walked down the opposite hall, turned the doorknob, and breathed a sigh of relief as she took in the sight of the bed, as crisply made as a hotel room in the Bellagio.

Okay, she could go now.

She made her way to the front door and gripped the handle when she was nearly knocked on the floor by the unexpected force of the door opening.

“Oh!”

“Shit. Sorry, Soph. I thought you’d be gone by now.”

She waved off his worry. “I should be. Running late.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Were you checking everything three times?”

“Only your room,” she admitted in a low voice.

He clasped a big hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about that stuff. Besides, I’ll happily sleep on the floor, or an unmade bed. You don’t have to check to make sure everything is perfect for me,” he said softly, then gestured to her right ear. “But you might want to check on your earring. Looks like one is about to pop out.”

Lifting her hand to her ear, she felt the edge of the earring slipping from her earlobe. She peered in a small mirror by the door, catching the reflection of a framed photograph of her parents from across the room, her heart lurching briefly at the image, and how much she loved and missed them. “I thought you were working late,” she said as she repositioned the jewelry.

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I figured it’ll be nice and quiet at your place, and you’ll be out so I can work on the case here.”

“Close to solving it?”

He scoffed. “Not even remotely. Talked to some guy today who I’m sure knows something, but he won’t let on what it is.”

“What do you think he knows?” she asked, turning away from the mirror to face her brother, who was unknotting his tie and tugging it off.

“Something that would help me find the other guys I think were involved.”

“What kind of case it?”

He laughed. “You’re not getting that out of me.”

“I know. I just like asking, because it’s funny to see how many ways you can say no comment.” John never gave up details. He always spoke vaguely about his work so she could never connect the dots. Not that she wanted to. She vastly preferred operating on her side of the world, entertaining the wealthy and privileged and encouraging them to dig deep into their pockets to help those who needed it most—the children, the ill, the underprivileged, the animals who needed a voice. She’d helped raise money and fund new programs for all those causes, and she intended to do just that tonight for the hospital.

* * *

Sometime later, after the silent auction of a painting by Miller Valentina—donated on behalf of a New York-based couple who’d said the piece had given them so much already, and they wanted to give back—Sophie walked to the podium in the ballroom and thanked the sea of glittering guests in their shimmery dresses and crisp suits.

“I am so unbelievably thrilled to share the news that, thanks to your generosity, we’ve raised well above our funding goal for the new children’s wing, which will provide state-of-the art care,” she said, surveying the tables in the ballroom as the crowd clapped in recognition of the good news.

The man in the green tie hadn’t made it, and Sophie simply told herself c’est la vie. She didn’t know anything about him, and it had been silly to want a stranger so badly. Besides, he’d never truly said he was attending. He’d simply nodded when she’d made that leading comment during her phone call to Jenna. He was probably a decadent flirt, too, just like her. Better to move on, and better to rid her chest of this tinge of sadness.

Besides, she had a busy agenda for the rest of the evening. “We would not have been able to do this without your generosity,” she said, beaming at the guests. Her heart was full, bursting with joy over their willingness to give. “But don’t think I’m going to let any of you gorgeous people—and for the record, you are all my favorite people—slip away this evening. We have Heaven Leigh here with us, and if her voice doesn’t make you want to snuggle up to your date, then I don’t know what will. She’ll be on in five minutes.”

Sophie’s assistant, Kelley Jeffers, caught up with her as she walked through a small section of the wings backstage. Ever efficient and always prepared, Kelley tapped her clipboard. “You have forty-five minutes until we need you on again to close out the event with the awards.”

“Perfect. I’ll grab a drink and mingle.”

“Be sure to be backstage at nine forty-five so we can stay on time.”

“Absolutely,” she said then headed to the steps, ready to chitchat and socialize. As she reached the ballroom floor, though, she nearly froze.

She wasn’t sure if she saw him first or merely sensed him. If perhaps her body had installed some sort of homing beacon to detect the presence of Absolutely Delicious Male in the ballroom. She turned her head, and goose bumps rose on her bare arms as she drank him in.

In the distance, he leaned against the big doorway to the ballroom, looking cool, sexy and debonair, wearing a dark gray suit that fit him like a glove—tailored, and snug where it needed to be, revealing strength and tone. His light brown hair was messy, but not sloppy. It was the type of hair that was too thick to be contained, that couldn’t be combed into submission, but instead simply invited fingers to run through it.

But then, if she was doing things right, her hands wouldn’t be free.

Across all the tables and chairs, past the dazzling chandelier lights, beyond the sea of designer dresses, he locked eyes with her.

His seemed to say I’m here for you. I’m coming to get you.

She flashed a smile, aware that it was a high-wattage one, but then that was how she felt—bubbly, buoyant, and powered by the thrill of possibility. She hadn’t misread the moment outside the municipal building. The chemistry had been electric and instant—and intense enough for him to come calling.

As she walked around the dance floor to find her way to him, a flash of gray hair appeared in the corner of her vision. Next came a phlegmy clearing of the throat.

Oh dear.

Not now.

Please not this second when her hormones were beating a path to Mr. Hotness Whose Name She Didn’t Know and Liked It That Way.

One of her regular donors placed a clammy hand on her bare arm—Clyde Graser, pushing eighty, sweet as could be, and more generous than virtually anyone.

He was also terribly out of touch with women.

“Sophie, how are you, my dear?”

He received one of her brightest smiles. “I’m very well, Mr. Graser. So good to see you.”

After a minute of small talk, he cleared his throat once more, a sign he had something important to say. “My grandson Taylor is coming back to town. He graduated from Harvard Law earlier this year and has been hired into a corporate practice here. I have a hunch the two of you would get along swimmingly, and I would love to introduce you to him.”

A newly minted law school graduate was probably all of twenty-five. Divorced and thirty-one, Sophie had a clear cut-off. You had to be over thirty to ride this ride. She simply wasn’t into cradle-robbing.

“I’m sure he’s lovely,” she said, doing her best to be kind but evasive.

Clyde’s matchmaking effort wasn’t the first she’d had to deflect. These sorts of offers had been happening with increasing frequency since she and Holden had divorced two years ago. With the money she’d socked away from the sale of her company—even after Holden’s cut of the profits—and the work she did now, many of the city’s old wealth wanted her for their sons.

She wanted no such thing.

“Wonderful. Then I’ll bring him to the Beethoven concert,” Clyde said. The law firm Clyde had founded was a lead sponsor of that upcoming charity event, and Sophie hoped to convince him to pour even more of his corporate cash into a community center that was being refurbished in a section of town that had been a hotbed for a local gang many years ago—a street gang that had been rising up again, which made it all the more important to revitalize the neighborhood.

“I can’t wait,” Sophie said as Clyde walked away.

Then her pulse suddenly quickened.

She knew.

Knew the sexy man had to be mere feet from her. She knew it by the way the little hairs on her arms stood on end. Sophie and this man were two elements smashing into each other and setting off sparks. There was no other explanation, because she’d never felt this kind of intense desire for someone she’d just met.

It was a riot inside her body.

He placed a hand on the small of her back—gentle, terribly gentle, and it unleashed an electric charge in her. “Can’t wait for what?” he asked.

Oh God, his voice. His deep, sexy voice that was an aphrodisiac. It was the opening act in the seduction of her.

“For the evening to turn more exciting,” she said as she came face-to-face with the man she knew nothing about. He was the sexiest stranger she’d ever met, and he wasn’t going to be a stranger much longer.

“Looks like I arrived just in time. Because that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Excite me?”

The first notes of a sexy ballad sounded from the stage. “Yes. That’s why I came here,” he said, gesturing to the throngs milling about around them. “Right now, however, I’d like to monopolize you on the dance floor, Miss Sophie Winston.”

“You know my name,” she said, shooting him a look that said she was impressed.

“I do,” he said, holding her captive with his dark blue eyes. “And I’d like to get to know more than your name.”

“That sort of intel might be obtained with a dance,” she said, clasping his hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor as the lights dimmed and the song wrapped itself around them.