Page 41 of Angel

The moment he entered the room, I saw him. Then again, I was searching for him long before he arrived. I made sure to be among the earlier guests. He has a reputation for not lingering too long at these events, and I didn’t want to miss my chance.

Champagne drops down his chest onto his expensive suit, and now I’m up closer to him, my heart flutters a little. It turns out that the closer you get to this man, the hotter he is. Too close and he burns.

“I’m so sorry.” I stutter, which isn’t like me. I would like to pretend it’s an act - it’s not. He unnerves me, and I’m guessing it’s because he is the most charismatic and handsome man I have ever met.

He doesn’t even attempt to deal with the mess I just made. It’s as if it’s part of his attire for the evening. He wears chaos well.

“Ms. Clere.” He nods, recognition in his smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. His vibe is cold, untouchable even, and I am so turned on I almost can’t speak.

I never expected him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so clumsy. Please allow me to pay for your dry cleaning.”

He raises a perfect brow.

“I require nothing from you.”

My face burns.

“Of course, it’s well, I feel bad and I want to make it up to you.”

He nods, a gleam in his eye that doesn’t go unnoticed, and I’m surprised when he extends his hand.

“Then dance with me.”

I almost forgot the music was playing, and there are several couples already gliding around the impressive dance floor.

I swallow and tentatively take his hand. Wondering where my aloofness has gone. I am in control. Always in control, but not with him. I wonder why.

His arm slides around my waist, and I note how he holds himself back so as not to drench my gown in the champagne still damp on his suit.

I grasp his other hand and shiver inside. Not from the cold. I know when someone turns me on, and it appears he can do that with one piercing glance.

He says nothing as we dance, the heat from his body merging with mine, my mind in tatters, desire lighting a fuse through my body.

They didn’t tell me he was a god. I never looked before, but I’m looking now.

“Um—” I struggle to regroup, my mind whirring as I attempt to regain control of the situation.

“I am a great fan of your work.”

I sound like an overeager fan and curse my lack of composure.

“I can say the same to you.”

His voice is deep, slightly husky, no nerves, no emotion, just firm, blunt even.

“Thank you.”

I have nothing else to say.

His aftershave is overpowering my senses; it’s seriously gorgeous, much like the man holding me so firmly.

“You stole my attention, Ms. Clere. Was there a reason you claimed it?”

“I, I…”

I falter because what the hell do I say to that?