CHRISTIAN
Black had always beenmy favorite color.
Silent. Deadly. Impenetrable.
I felt at home in it, like shadows merging with the inky wells of night.
Yet in the span of a second, she’d upended that as she had every other thing in my life.
Heat poured through my blood as Stella walked in front of me and slowly turned, taking in the lavish decor. The museum’s long-running elephant display served as a thirteen-foot-tall centerpiece while projections of marine life danced on the walls, giving the illusion that we were underwater. Black-clad servers circulated with champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and a stage sat at the far side of the room, waiting for the host to climb on and congratulate everyone on how much money they’d raised at the end of the night.
The seats for this event were eight thousand dollars a pop.
I’d spent more than that on her dress, and it’d been worth every cent.
“This is beautiful,” Stella breathed, her attention resting on something behind me.
Green eyes. Green dress. Symbolic of life and nature.
Green.
Apparently, it was my new favorite fucking color.
“Yes, it is.” I didn’t turn to see what she was so enraptured by, nor did I pay attention to the curious stares people sent our way.
I hadn’t been spotted with a woman on my arm in over a year. By tomorrow morning, the city would be abuzz about the date I’d brought, but I couldn’t care less.
From the moment Stella had stepped into her living room wearing that damn dress, every other thought had crumbled into dust.
A soft flame of resentment burned in my chest. I hated the hold she had on me, but still, I couldn’t stop looking at her.
A turn of my head in the car ride over.
A last-minute flight to a far-flung country to keep myself away.
Scattered weeks and months when I’d thrown myself into work to forget her.
No matter what I did, something always drew me back—the gentle lilt of her voice, the scent of fresh florals and greenery. A turquoise ring that burned a hole in my pocket long after I’d vowed to toss it in the trash.
It wasn’t love. But it was maddening.
Stella’s gaze slid over to meet mine. A soft exhale parted her lips at whatever she saw on my face, and the urge to push her against the wall, fist her hair, and coax her mouth open until I claimed it completely ignited in my chest.
Tension twisted between us like an invisible rope, so tangible I felt its abrasive scrape as it snaked around my chest.
The moment stretched a second into eternity before Stella averted her gaze.
Her knuckles turned white around her clutch, but her voice was calm and even when she spoke again.
“You never told me what the event is for.” She avoided my eyes as she looked around the room again. “Ocean conservation?”
The stranglehold around my chest had loosened, but the release left me oddly dissatisfied.
“Close. Baby turtles.”
My mouth tipped up when her head whipped around.
My answer eroded some of the earlier tension, and Stella’s grip on her purse visibly loosened.
“I didn’t figure you for a turtle lover, Mr. Harper. What’s next? Feeding ducks? Adopting puppies?”
Her playful questions coaxed a wider smile from me. “Don’t hold your breath. I watched a lot of Franklin growing up.”
Her face glowed with laughter. “Ah, that explains it. I was an Arthur girl myself.”
I filed that away for future reference. There were no unimportant details when it came to Stella.
“Aardvarks are underappreciated, but sadly, they’re not a pet cause for Richard Wyatt’s wife. No pun intended,” I added.
A knowing gleam entered her eyes. “I assume Richard Wyatt is important to your business. Potential client?”
I hid another smile at how quickly she pieced it together. “Yes. Big private equity guy, big money, looking for a new security team. His wife is his weakness.”
I’d lasered in on the Wyatts the minute we entered. They held court in the northeast corner of the room, surrounded by fawning admirers, including the human equivalent of a lump of coal.
Mike Kurtz, the CEO of Sentinel Security.
My good mood faded at the sight of him.
The bastard went after every account I did. There wasn’t a single original thought rattling beneath that overly gelled hair.
Kurtz looked up, and an oily smile spread across his face before he broke off from the group and strode toward me.
We were both in our early thirties, but I already spotted the touches of cosmetic surgery propping up his fading looks—a chin augmentation here, some Botox there.
Beside me, Stella eyed the new arrival with curiosity, which deepened my foul mood. Kurtz didn’t deserve an ounce of her attention.