This man, the one I didn’t know, surrounded me, his height dwarfing me and his body electrifying me. The spicy aroma of his cologne mixed with the whiskey on his breath created a concoction that blended perfectly with the Hurricane’s rum in my system.
He was so close that at first my eyes met his broad chest. Slowly, I brought my chin higher and higher. His wide neck came into view as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Finally, my gaze met his. “I believe you have the wrong—”
The rest of my sentence disappeared into the black hole of his stare.
Such as with a true region in space exhibiting gravitational acceleration so strong that nothing can escape from it, I felt myself drawn into the depth of his nearly black eyes. In the crowded courtyard filled with stagnantly hot, humid New Orleans air, a chill covered my skin, bringing goose bumps to life and drawing my nipples taut.
Why hadn’t I worn an outfit with a bra?
What would it feel like to fall into this mountain of a man?
Just another inch forward and my breasts and his chest would collide.
“Our table is waiting, Emma.”
Releasing his grip of the bar, the man’s large hand came to the small of my back.
My forehead furrowed as I tried to make sense of what made no sense. His touch seemed too intimate and his presumption without merit. “Perhaps I’m the wrong Emma?”
He’d now directed me away from the bar. In his presence, there was no pushing or shoving to get around bodies of other patrons. Instead, the sea of people parted as we walked toward the archway where I’d first seen him.
“No.” His deep voice resonated beyond the melancholy music, twisting my insides.
Once out of the courtyard, we entered a dimly lit hallway with flame-like sconces upon the walls. I stopped. “This is ridiculous. I’m not leaving here with you. I don’t know you.”
His lips quirked as if he found my opposition amusing. “You’re quite right, Miss North. We aren’t leaving. The owner has graciously provided a private dining room for our enjoyment. And soon we will be well acquainted.”
North.
North was not my last name. It was Jezebel’s, the woman I’d recently learned gave birth to me.
My neck stiffened. “Sir, you have the wrong Emma. My name is Emma O’Brien.”
His strikingly handsome face tilted. “My mistake. I was made aware of the change.”
My head shook. “Change? O’Brien isn’t a change.” I took a step back. “Who are you?”
He reached for my hand, turning my knuckles upward and bending gallantly at the waist, his firm lips brushing over the surface of my skin. Like a match to flint, my hand tingled with the heat brought by his touch. “Please, Emma, call me Rett.”
I retrieved my hand. “Rett, your attention is flattering, but I really must go. My friend is waiting.”
“No, my dear, Mr. Underwood has gone.” He shrugged. “Presumably back to the hotel. Of that I can’t be certain. He found…shall we say, a friend?”
My head moved from side to side before I peered over my shoulder toward the courtyard. Down the empty hallway, the music filtered our way as the growing crowd obstructed my view of where Ross had been seated. “He left me?” I turned back to Rett. “Ross wouldn’t leave. We had a business meeting.”
“About that, let’s be seated, and I will fill you in on the particulars.”
My feet were still not moving, my high-heel sandals seemingly rooted to the rough tile of the corridor. “You know about our business deal?”
“Emma, I have done my best to learn everything I could about you.” His hand again came to my lower back. His fingers splayed warmly upon my skin, between the top and skirt. “Come, let’s talk.”
“This…it doesn’t feel—”
He turned, his one hand skirting my waist while his other, still upon my back, applied pressure. “Come now…” His deep tone echoed through the corridor as his eyes simmered. “Admit to yourself what this does feel like.” His possessive hold tightened, bringing me closer. “Admit it is exhilarating and stimulating. Admit that you’re curious to hear what I have to say. Admit that you’re intrigued and even turned on. When you do, I’ll admit my thoughts.”
I tried to step away. “You have no right—”
His chin rose, silencing my protest.