“Please follow me this way, Miss Patterson,” Doctor Hassenberg’s slender, lanky assistant, Jon said.

Even in her four-inch heels, Jon wasn’t short. Based on the shoe heel adjustment, she put him at close to six feet tall to her average five foot five inches. He had her by at least half a foot. That was the only advantage he sported. Sabra more than evened out their stats with her ample body. Dripping wet he might make up half of her mass. She had to acknowledge that they made for a comical sight of opposites. Jon seemed undeterred by anything but his job, though.

He spoke in hushed tones to her and then into an attached mic on the side of his face as the doctor gave final remarks at the front of the room.

Once again, she had to push past the mist of nervous energy he projected. Contrary to how off-putting his odd, meager appearance was in person, Jon had been a life-saver the entire event.

Like now.

He’d caught up with her to assist with her next actions. That was a nice touch. Sabra didn’t want to harp on how he’d stopped her before she could beat a path to the exit at the back of the room and back to her office.

10: 55 p.m.

The flash of digital numbers on her smartwatch worked in tandem with a haptic vibrating alarm against her wrist. It was time to get back to work. The smartwatch went everywhere with her. Tonight, she’d changed out the standard band for an iridescent burgundy one to match her dress. The watch might look fancy, but it still did its job to let her know it was time to make a beeline back to the studio to pack up. She’d done the speech, they’d paid, and now an all-nighter of packing was her next stop. Twenty-five thousand dollars would be enough to help her restart—this time in her true calling as a perfumer.

“Miss Patterson, you gave an excellent talk. Doctor Hassenberg made the right choice in having you as our speaker.”

Her ego lapped this up without shame, “You think so?”

Without warning, he leaned in as if sharing a big secret. “Yes, of course, I do. These donor dinners are usually very stuffy. You got them to laugh.”

Dang, it! Her mouth had been open when he’d done that. Sabra didn’t want to laugh now. She wanted to cough and spit. Instead, she tried to hold her breath until he righted himself and surrendered her personal space.

“Thank you, for the feedback. Much appreciated,” was her mumbled response. She’d need a big gulp of fresh air to regain her normal lung capacity and exhibit more than that meager reply.

Stop being an ingrate. Sabra snatched a breath of air in that didn’t have Jon’s lingering reek peppering it. This guy has been a godsend. He’s the reason why I have twenty-five thousand dollars confirmed in my bank account. I will act like I have some manners. Be kind and accommodating, she reminded herself.

The personal chastisement was appropriate. True to his word, Jon had been a great resource to help her get through the evening. Even now he worked to assist and help her transition from the ordeal of public speaking. It was sad that his presence and appearance didn’t live up to her earlier fantasies.

Sabra acknowledged her shallowness when it came to physical attraction. He just wasn’t her type. Jon’s hair was a stringy, greasy mess, and his hands—forget about it. Hair and hands where big attractions to her. She’d made her living beautifying hair and appearance for the last seven years. Considering how Jon’s dull hair snaked down his neck in flaccid repose, there was no way Sabra would be able to refrain from doing a sneak attack shampoo-deep conditioner-haircut drive by.

Yep, from her side of the equation, the chemistry between them resembled bug repellent more than attraction. She didn’t even care if he felt the same about her. If he did, Jon showed no signs of it. He was ultra-professional and accommodating. She’d attempt to do the same. Despite that, whenever he came close, instinct made her want to go the other way—far away.

Just a quick tidy up around the ears and sideburns would make a world of difference. Maybe an exfoliating mask might help too? Why couldn’t he be as sexy in person as he was over the phone?

She stopped herself from making any expressions that might give away her runaway thoughts. Sabra could let the poorly groomed nails slide, but his hair? That was a different matter. Her father, God rest his soul, had taught her that the crazy always showed itself in the hair.

Then there was his overall state of unkempt. Was Doctor Hassenberg a taskmaster? This guy looked to be a half-step away from emotional collapse. Sabra found herself wanting to reassure him that everything he did was great.

Poor thing. He’s doing the best he can, I suppose… Snap out of it!

Tonight wasn’t about hunting for a date. This was a job—that she’d successfully completed. A few more niceties and she’d be on her way.

She stole another assessing look at the sallow skin and overall blandness of the man, looking for any redeeming qualities.

And that would be a big, fat, zilch.

Enough with this.

Sabra had to stop trying to make Tilar’s reading fit into her life. No man was coming to shake things up or save any part of a day. She would continue to walk amongst society as the forgotten woman that she was. Desperation made one last push before giving up the ghost, though.

Jon is kind and patient. Don’t cross him off just yet.

She unleashed a grateful smile his way and was smacked down at the sight of them—them being those mangled things attached to his hands. His fingers were worse with this second look. They resembled the aftermath of a meat grinder.

WTF? Who hurt you, Jon? Who hurt you so?

Self-esteem always poked its head out through the grooming. If a man couldn’t keep himself groomed enough to be presentable, that was a problem. He fished a stylist out of its hidden slot and wrote something on the digital tablet that was more like an appendage. She fought not to visibly recoil when she caught another glimpse of his gnarly fingers. The poor man had eaten his fingernails down to nubs, and the cuticles were worse. The state of his fingers was more appalling than mere nail biting. The skill peeled and did weird things. The thought of him touching her bare skin produced what had to be a visible flinch.

Nope, not ever.

Jon’s appearance wasn’t the biggest deal-breaker, though. It was his scent. It repulsed her. Jon’s foundational aroma left her uninterested in anything about the young man. She’d pierced through to identify the components.

Oh no. This stench was his usual scent. His emanation prevailed with notes of mustiness combined with a sour fermented sweat thing going on. The sour notes amplified to halitosis when he spoke. Strange as it was for someone so young, Sabra didn’t detect any illness, disease, or chronic issues. Jon was inherently smelly.

Ew.

The instant recall of his sulfur, garlic, sweat, mothball, with a splash of spoiled milk cocktail, set her stomach on edge.

Double ew.

That did more to repel her than anything else.

His scent profile settled it. They were aggressively incompatible. Sabra wouldn’t try to guess what she must smell like to him based on her acute aversion to his natural aroma. Her feelings didn’t need to be needlessly bruised.

Pinpricks of embarrassment pinged her body. Sabra fought to regain her orientation and upgrade her thoughts. She’d blame it on her adrenaline levels re-stabilizing. Jon was perceptive and kind. It wasn’t his fault he left her as interested in him as a four-day-old tuna salad.

Who’s on a thirsty hunt down? That would be me. Her head shook at the realization. Stop being pathetic.

One of her polite smiles pushed itself his way to make up for the mental dress down he’d just starred in. For his part, the kind young man plucked a chilled glass bottle of mineral water from a waiter’s trolley rolling by. He pushed it into her hand without touching her before motioning for her to drink.

Jon waited for her to swallow.

It wasn’t until the light fizz of the water coated the back of her throat that Sabra realized how parched she was. Jon continued to wait for a moment until she finished.

Dang.

He was so mannered and kind. What a waste? She mourned the fact he reminded her of a two-day-old sour dishcloth. Out of all the attendees here, he’d been the one closest to her social standing.

Her earlier assumptions that this dinner would be for old rich people had been wrong—like way off very wrong. It was the Ken & Barbie-International edition meets Top Model Olympics up in here. Even Doctor Hassenberg was gorgeous. Did that woman ever age? Sabra remembered her as the drop-dead diva head of alumni affairs back in Savannah. She never knew the woman had any clue that she existed.

Everyone here tonight, besides her and Jon, seemed to be around her age. To add insult to injury, they were way more cultured, good-looking with that trim in height and weight proportional perfection, and wealthy. She’d walked around with a second-rate pageant smile the entire evening hoping she didn’t stick out like a dollar store cologne on a pig in a dress.

Insecure much?

“If you would, there’s someone Doctor Hassenberg would like for you to meet.” He paused and nodded in response to words only he could hear through that headset. “Yes, everything is ready. Please,” he motioned to a door at a far corner of the room, “this way.”

Too spent by the waning adrenaline that left her body, Sabra complied without a word.

“Excuse me, Miss Patterson?” the deep, smooth, masculine voice from behind her held enough intrigue to stop her feet from progressing on their own.

Sabra turned to see the solemn man with that thick beard speaking. Great. Outrageously gorgeous like the rest of the crowd, he’d stood out as the super sexy, aloof one sporting the Sour Patch Kids face through the entirety of her speech. He’d been the one attendee she purposely avoided the entire evening, and for a good reason. He made her uncomfortably self-conscious to the point of embarrassment. He would be the first to catch up with her after the event.

Figured.

Jon looked a bit confused and covered both his mouth and the headset mic as he whispered into it.

“That won’t be necessary,” the towering bearded guy said as if hearing what was said through the headset, “I’d like to speak with Miss Patterson in private.” He turned his attention to her and said, “If you don’t mind.”

Her head gave him permission with an acknowledgment before she realized her non-verbal answer. Jon seemed to note it as well.

This guy made Jon look like a toadstool in comparison. His height was in the basketball player range with an athletic swimmer’s build to boot—which was fine with her. Sabra loved tall men. He had to be every bit of six and a half feet tall. Come to think of it, most of the people here were exceptionally tall. And that beard, forget about it—sexy!

Sabra’s eyes closed on their own to appreciate his overall appearance. Yep, he was fine as hell too. Height and weight proportionate was too mild of a description. Sabra’s certainty that a chiseled body hid under that impeccable suit peeked through with each stride he’d made.

She focused her eyes on seeing the most perfect head of thick dark brown hair. Every strand was in place and glistened with a healthy shine. This man knew how to groom himself! She caught a flash of something transpire between the two men before her.

Sabra swore the bearded guy’s eyes did something to poor Jon. The assistant offered a quick nod and almost slinked away before scurrying out of the room in the direction of that door—as did her inkling to meet whomever Jon had alluded to a few moments back.

Once Doctor Hassenberg’s assistant was gone, Sabra felt eyes on her. The dinner at the other end of the room was coming to a close, and the chatter volume picked up.

Was he here to ease his conscious by giving her false platitudes on his way out for the evening? Sabra dared look back at him.

Bad move.

This guy held her gaze without a blink. Power and authority wafted off him in crashing waves. She was so out of his league it wasn’t funny. The same implacable look that rode his face during her speech rested on his beautifully masculine features now. The only difference was that up close he was way more handsome than she’d first assumed.

From the luscious, thick, perfectly styled hair the color of rich mink, to his strong brow that accentuated sharp, hooded gray eyes fully capable of hypnotic enticement, on down to chiseled cheekbones sharp enough to slice, to that dreamy, shiny, full beard that threatened to hide perfect full lips, this man was her fantasy type. That is if she’d won the best genetic lottery to compete in his dimension. His appeal, attraction, and effect on her were off the charts.

They were clearly from different social classes, ethnicities, and hotness scales. Whoever he was, he’d have no problem residing on the cover of The Robb Report or some other affluent-centric magazine.

Then he spoke again. “Miss Patterson, I was wondering if I might have you—your time that is—to learn more about you and what you do. It seems we didn’t have a chance to make a proper acquaintance before dinner.

“Beg your pardon?”

He smiled and pretended to clear his voice. “To be clear, I would like to take you out of here to have a quiet coffee or whatever you’d like. I desire to get to know you better. Your speech opened up questions about you and what you wish to do moving forward.”

Was he asking her out? No, he was probably a high-end recruiter—a fine as fuck one—who represented some company with too much money looking to snap up talent before they hit the open job market. No matter, he was still a force of handsome aloofness that was inching Sabra toward sensual curiosity.

What made him tick? Why was he so hard to get a read on? She didn’t know if he despised or delighted in talking with her. His presence held subtleties that wouldn’t give up their secrets—and she loved it.

Damn him.

Racing internal functions required too much concentration to allow her to make noise, let alone form coherent speech.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.” Duh. This is what she came up with?

“That’s a yes, then?”

She managed a pathetically weak, “Yes?” Wait—what was she doing? This guy could be a rich serial killer out to take down one more victim before she could make her mark on the world.

The towering man’s presence made itself known as he took a step closer. This close and he invaded her personal space. Sabra’s body didn’t rebuff him. There was no scream to get away, none of the usual internal screeching disruptions to her emotional equilibrium. Hell, she didn’t want to do anything but reach out and grab a handful of him.

“Miss Patterson?”

“Hmm?” Damn it, she sounded like a drunk. “Excuse me, what did you say?”

“I wanted to confirm that you said yes to getting out of here.”

“Oh, that—yes. No wait,” Sabra’s mind and words fought for cohesion.

They failed.

“I see.”

She had to fix this. “No, what I meant was that I need to vet you before leaving here alone with you.”

Perfect teeth appeared as a crooked smile emerged. Damn, but he was fine as fuck.

“How do you suggest we go about doing that?” Mirth weighed his words down with enjoyment.

Good, he had a sense of humor.

Sabra saw one of the couples she’d enjoyed meeting before the dinner. Her smile beckoned them to come over. They made their way and smiled back at her and the sexy, mystery man.

Both tall, like so many of the attendees tonight, the lady looked at Sabra’s new friend applicant and said, “It is so nice to see you out tonight. I was beginning to think you’d been lost to your work.”

Sexy man’s chuckle was robust and hearty. “Never that.” He looked down at Sabra and added, “We were hoping you might settle something for us.”

The male partner of the couple smiled as if he was in on a tantalizing secret. “We’d be delighted to help. What is it?”

Sexiness personified said, “I’ve asked Miss Patterson to consider joining me for an after-dinner beverage. As the wise lady she is, Miss Patterson requires a vetting, of sorts, to prove my manners and disprove any penchant for unsavory antics.”

This time the woman spoke up. “I—no—we both give him the highest reference. You can’t go wrong, here, Miss Patterson. He’s one of the most honorable young men I know. Always so kind and respectful, he’s a great Drag—”

“Ah yes, he is a truly great man,” the gentleman interrupted his wife.

Sabra didn’t know why he stressed the man part. Maybe it had to do with the word Drag. It didn’t matter to her. If he could pull off Drag with that beard, he had skills that she’d like to see. It was evident the man had interrupted his spouse before she could finish the word.

Wonder where she was going with that word, though?

Before an image of the bearded guy in drag could take shape, the other man continued speaking, but not before giving Mr. Amazing a quick elbow and wink in good fun. “Yes, we can’t say enough great things about this one here. You’re in great hands, Miss Patterson.” He looped his wife’s arm in his, gave her a nod, smiled at Sabra, and they were off.

Drag tendencies or not, this guy was worth the time it would take to unravel his mysteries. At the least, she’d get a chance to get out of here and do another something out of the ordinary. She looked up at the beautiful handsomeness and decided she’d believe what he was selling for tonight.

Sabra accepted the invitation to step into this bizarre scenario willing herself to see where it took her. At least he seemed to be interested in her, but one could never tell in the sexually-fluid Atlanta dating scene.

“Well, then, looks like your vetting is complete—for now,” she managed to say in a playful tease.

He took the bait. “Let’s try this again, then. Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” The word slid down her body in a silkened embrace. It felt good and right. Sabra chanced a look upward in time to see him lean down and close in.

Sabra found herself engulfed in a cloud of heady, masculine, pheromones that had to be acutely tuned to drive her mad. Deja vu flashed within for the briefest second. Had this encounter happened before?

Her mind played tricks on her as she imagined he took in a long inhale before his lips came close to her ear. Tremors to rival a pack of wild stallions quaked within. When he whispered, “Perfect,” Sabra’s body betrayed her and leaned in. He wasn’t done. Hot, delicious, breath caressed her sensitive ear as he added, “I would love to accompany you for an after-dinner coffee or drink.”

“I don’t drink, but it’s fine if you do,” she said in a breathy, entirely foreign voice that would make Marilyn Monroe proud.

He leaned back and resumed his towering position over her. A silent whimper tried to emerge at the loss of his closeness. Her body sought to get nearer as if doing so would attune her to a perfect frequency with him. Their interaction was complex, and she wouldn’t change anything about it. Sabra waited, intoxicated on his scent, and unable to break the trance he had her in.

Finally, gray eyes sparkled as he said, “I don’t imbibe either.”

Whoa—big ass vocabulary with a stunning delivery! Who was this man and why her? Why now? All night he seemed to be irritated that he had to be here. Now, this?

She needed to regain any power in this interaction possible. Then Sabra would be able to push past the idiot driving her back to the ordinarily competent woman she prided herself on being.

Habit engaged her olfactory senses to kick in. Sabra offered a smile to camouflage the pronounced breath she took in.

Ah, so refreshing, clean, and… interesting. Like a loose string that continued to unravel without and end in sight, his scent essence pulled her in. With her odor memory engaged, his full-bodied cologne tugged on her need to solve both his fragrance and scent puzzle profile.

When had she encountered this fragrance blend before?

He definitely wore a professionally mixed fragrance. Notes of cinnamon, sandalwood, and a delicate spice-musk blend played with each other in a balanced and subtle chorus. That he wore an exceptionally mastered scent was to be expected at a dinner with this caliber of attendees. Wealth seeped through the air in torrents. She pushed passed the outer camouflage to find his aroma.

Sabra prided herself on being able to home in on the scent essence of anyone. Those close to her called it a gift. There had even been times when she’d been able to detect sickness in a person by their smell alone. She protected knowledge of the extent of her gifted ability too. That same ability had been the first sign that there was an uprising with some of the prominent pageant moms out to get her.

That damned Melanie Peele. Don’t think about that.

She continued her assessment ignoring the faint smile that peeked through his well-groomed thick facial hair covering.

The more she pressed in to connect with his scent the more this guy unnerved her in a way that made Sabra want to blush. Instead of giving into the feeling, she conjured up enough energy to plaster a smile on her face in return.

There it was. A thick umami of comfort with a punch of sweet-hot, zesty, spiciness, and finished off with a pleasing invitation to explore an elusive musk had her rocked to her foundations. She chanced another quick whiff to discover something else. Was that a hint of artificial bubblegum and cherry flavor?

Curiosity captured her interest. Impulse took over. Sabra had to know more about this man—even if he might not be impressed with her in the least.

Thrusting out a hand, she made the best of an awkward situation. “I need a redo here.”

He looked a bit confused when he asked, “A redo?”

“Yes, it seems I’ve jumped the gun of sorts.” She paused a second to gather more confidence to keep going. When she was ready, Sabra pushed more radiant energy into her tone. “Hello, again. It seems I’m at a loss here. You know my name, but I don’t recall learning yours earlier.”

The very tall man looked down at her hand. He paused long enough for her to force herself to maintain the proffered greeting. Background noise grew louder and closer as they stood there. He didn’t seem to perceive their changing surroundings as his gaze appeared to fixate on her gesture. When her outstretched hand began to tremble ever-so, he enveloped her hand with a warm, large one of his.

He didn’t stop there. Sabra noticed the care he took to position his large thumb on the web between her thumb and index finger. Unlike her handshake, his index finger lightly rested alone the column of her inner wrist. The result produced bolts of excitement on a direct course to her core.

A flash of concentrated curiosity and craving assaulted her senses. The lingering effect warred with some of her favorite things. Her cinnamon candy trio of red hot imperials, atomic bomb jawbreakers, and red hot tamale gummies that had been an almost constant companion food option over the last six months had nothing on the sense explosions his touch produced.

“Yes, about that. My name is Colson Kelnar, but I’d be pleased if you call me Cole.”

“Cole, huh?” the name marbled around her mouth as a new taste. “You don’t look like a Cole.”

“Really?” A thick eyebrow cocked to punctuate his interest. “What do you think is an appropriate name then?”

“I don’t know just yet.”

Sabra unconsciously tightened her grip on her will. Swirling energy around them worked to promote a meeting and melding of their souls. Could she hold her own? Sabra braced for more of his essence to confront hers. He appeared to follow suit with how his eyes sparkled. Sabra sucked at the flirting ritual, but she’d give this one her best try. Instead of confrontation, a subtle shift that slid into her psyche seemed to accept him. Theirs wasn’t a confrontation, it was a fusion. Sabra shook her head to clear out the wishful fantasy. He remained still with those ever watchful eyes.

His influence on her mood continued to soften her opinion of him. Those eyes held kindness and genuine intrigue. Then there was the way he smelled. He could get it if he tried. The morality snapback from that thought was lightning fast. She couldn’t devolve into a horny toad at the first real male attention she’d had in ages. Nope, this guy needed to know she wasn’t some desperate, lonely, lame woman willing to do anything for a moment in the shine of a gorgeous guy. Who was she kidding though? The guy was still out of her league and appeared to be way more versed in the wiles of dating than she was, but devil be damned, she couldn’t let go.

“Hopefully you can come up with a proper moniker for me over that coffee.”

“Since we’re going with nicknames, my friends call me Bria instead of Sabra. Not sure why my father named me that, but it is what it is. Sabra sounds too much like the Saber sword weapon. So, I prefer to go with Bria when around friends and family.”

“Bria. I like it.” The way he said her name landed like the last puzzle piece clicking into place.

All she wanted to do was fall into him and never come up for air. Then that damned adulting responsibility whacked her over her senses. She nearly snatched her hand from his and took a step back.

People began to file around them, some stopping to commend her on the speech, others to say that they looked forward to seeing her again soon. The latter was strange since they proclaimed this after looking between her and Colson.

What was that about?

When there was a break in the flow of people, Sabra reclaimed the ability to speak as a professional. “I hate to do this, but I have to decline that offer for a coffee tonight.”

Gray eyes narrowed but only for a split moment

“Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind? I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds. I promise I have no intentions of behavior unbecoming a gentleman.”

“I wish you did,” slipped passed the guardrail of her thoughts to a mumbled utterance before she could catch it.

He didn’t appear to notice her slip. Whew.

Wanting to assure him it had nothing to do with him, Sabra offered up an explanation.

“It’s not that at all. You see, I have a pressing issue back at my studio that must be completed tonight.”

His face gave up no hints to whether he believed her or not.

Colson smiled. Her body loosened a bit of tension.

“Is it something I can help with?”

“I doubt it. I have movers coming first thing in the morning, and I’m not finished packing.”

“That sounds exactly like something I can help with.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I have to change, and you’re not dressed to do manual labor.”

“It’s just a suit.” His deep voice massaged away further protests. “It’s not like I can’t have it cleaned or get another.” He waited only a split second for her to respond before adding, “Besides, this will give us time to chat. I’ll even spring for coffee on the way.”

“That won’t be necessary. You don’t understand. I haven’t made much of a dent on the office. I couldn’t impose on you.” There was no way Sabra wanted this man to see her soul laid bare in all the crap in the office that still needed to be packed.

“I insist.” He stepped closer and leaned in. This time Sabra’s body responded by leaning in too. “Please, let me help you. You can use me in whatever way you see fit. I’m yours for the rest of the evening.”

“Are you sure you’re not drunk? I think there was a bit of bourbon in the bread pudding.”

“Miss Patterson,” he leaned in again, “I assure you I’m not drunk. All I ask is that you allow me to assist you in meeting your deadline.”

“Well, I…”

“That settles it,” he pounced on her weakened reply quick, fast, and in a hurry.

It felt great to have a man of his caliber so ready to be at her beck and call. Sabra could get used to this.

Hypnotic baritone words lulled her into compliance as he added, “Let’s grab a ride and get out of here.” His warm breath, sweet as any dessert invited her to come closer. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

She allowed the intriguing man to guide her out of the event and into a waiting limo.

What the smitten couple didn’t see was a gleaming Nina Hassenberg nod in approval. She located her mate, a smiling Petrov, and her ever faithful assistant, Jon, and sent thanks to them.

The night had been an enormous success.

Jon might not be much to look at, but the unwanted offspring of a half-Hobgoblin and Homonculous was her best assistant. He’d used his ability to lure and lead to marvelous effect. Sabra and Colson were well-met.

Petrov smiled back at Nina. Yes, she had the perfect mate for him as well. He was patient, and that would be what it took to mate with the woman destined to be his. Nina had an idea of who it might be. She’d have to do her best work to cage that spitfire long enough for them to meet. She smiled as that internal tingle of excitement of mounting another mating encounter began to take shape.

Nina’s mate came close and smiled. The two were well-met and had been routing lovers’ chance meetings for a long time. They basked in the fruit of the labor. This had been a fruitful night indeed. Two couple matings beside Colson had been seeded, and it was a record night in donations.