I wanted to reach out and touch him; the temptation was unbearable. He turned toward the doorway to make sure no one was around and then leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Can I trust you to be discreet?”

His breath felt hot in my ear and sent my head spinning. Maybe it was from the champagne, or maybe it was from his masculine scent filling the air around me. I felt like I might have to hold onto the desk in order to keep my balance.

“Discreet?” I repeated.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” He grinned in amusement.

He was so arrogant it drove me crazy - in many different ways. I looked up at him and tried to regain my composure.

“Discreet? Meaning you want me to sleep with you?”

He froze and said nothing. He looked at me up and down and I felt like I was being judged by his vibrant blue eyes. Then he started laughing. I immediately felt mortified. Why did I just say that? I’m sure that my face was bright red now.

“Well if you’re offering. But actually, I was talking about a guest here tonight. I was hoping you could give me her number or some way to contact her. She already left the party.”

My heart dropped to my stomach. “That’s …what you meant by discreet?” I barely got the words out in my extreme embarrassment.

“I know it’s probably against the rules to get that information from you, but I thought you could be discreet about it. Bend the rules just a little, for me?” He grinned again. I’m sure he’d never had a woman say no to him in his entire life.

“Oh, I see.”

“Yes, she’s mysterious, talented, and stunning. Just my type.”

He was toying with me; I could tell and I looked at the ground, feeling so stupid for making such an assumption. Why did I think that way in the first place? How on earth could I automatically assume this man wanted to have sex with me?

Look at him. He could have any woman on the planet.

“She was absolutely captivating, and seemed to possess a quality that I can’t put my finger on.”

I’d had enough. Each word he spoke lowered my self-esteem even further and I needed to get away.

“OK then, if I do know this woman and I give you her number, promise not to say where you got it?” I asked him while shuffling through my contact book on my desk. “Her name?”

“Absolute discretion of course. Her name is Rose Brant.” He said with that arrogant grin.

I quickly jotted the woman’s number down on a piece of paper and handed it to him, but he didn’t take it.

He paused and looked me over once more with hooded eyes. “Put it in my pocket, will you?”

I looked up at him, for a sign that he was kidding. That dashing grin was gone. He was being serious.

“I’m not going to do that.” I said, taking a step backwards.

He chuckled again. It was something that was starting to make me uncomfortable with every second.

Then he grabbed the paper, pulling it slowly out of my hand then reached into his pocket, going deep.

“Thank you.”

He turned and walked out and I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he was gone.

But I spent the entire night thinking about him.

2

After some creative guest-list sleuthing, I could not account for the mysterious man in front of whom I’d humiliated myself.

Who was he? As far as the guest list went, he was not on it.

Therefore I could only assume he’d accompanied an invited attendee. It was driving me crazy to not know who he was. He had begun to occupy not only my thoughts but also my dreams, which had turned incredibly sensual and decidedly erotic.

As for New York, I was settling in nicely. It was late January and the white beauty of snowfall had graced the city. The tourists from the holiday season had vacated and we residents once again had the city to ourselves.

I was co-ordinating another event and decided to use the same Chelsea art gallery from before. Since the last party was such a success, it seemed like a good decision. There was currently an exhibit in the space, which meant I had to work with the color scheme already in place, but I considered it a challenge.

I once again made a makeshift office in the back and had the keys to the gallery. It was late by the time I finished my preparations and I decided it was time to finish up for the night.

I walked to the front door and put the key in the lock when I heard, “Are you locking me in?”

Instantly recognising the gravelly voice, I turned to see him standing in the gallery. I was shocked and startled. I didn’t know anyone was there, and he was the last person I expected.

“What are you doing here?” I asked nervously.

“I came for something I like.” He grinned at me, doing that thing where he looks at me up and down. My body flushed with excitement.

“What?” I asked, and in my nervousness I dropped the keys from my hand.

He walked slowly toward me and I could feel my breathing getting heavier as he glided confidently across the room.

When he bent fluidly down to the floor and picked up the keys, he looked at my feet and let his gaze linger. Then he rose slowly and his gaze followed. It went from my feet all the way up my body until he was standing up straight. He towered over me and I looked up at him with what I knew was naked desire in my eyes. The amount of lust I had for this man right then was terrifying.

He handed me the keys and said, “So is it too late?”

My heart pumped louder and I was sure he could hear it. “For what?” I asked.

He raised one eyebrow at me. “To get the piece I want?”

I was confused, but his close proximity to me was interrupting my clarity. I stood in silence until he said, “I really like the blue-colored one over there.”

He stepped away from me and went to look at a painting on the wall.

Of course, I thought, feeling like stupid once again.

This was an art gallery after all, and for all he knew, I worked here.

Man, I was an idiot.

“Well, I actually don’t work here, but if you’d like to buy it I can put you in touch with the gallery director.”

He looked at me in surprise. “You don’t? But you were closing up… and were in the back office the last time I was here. So I don’t understand.”

“Actually I’m an event coordinator. I produced the other fundraiser here, the one you attended and I’m doing another here next week, which is why I have the keys.”

“I see.”

He was silent as he stared at me.

I started fidgeting because it was an awkward moment of silence. I didn’t know what he was thinking. He was obviously processing something. I didn’t want to add in anything else. I always seemed to make a fool of myself when I opened my mouth around him, so it was better that I kept it closed.

“You co-ordinated the last fundraiser?” he asked. “The one with the rustic flowers and woodland?”

“Yes, everything. The way the event flowed and unfolded. That was all me.”

“That was a magnificent event. Very energetic. Lots of donations,” he commented quietly.

“Yes,” I replied with a confused look. I couldn’t tell what I was reading off him. Was he amazed that I could be behind something so epic? And how did he know how many donations had been made?

“You know, I’m in need of an event coordinator for something soon. I’ve hired a few, but I’m never happy with their work. It’s not inspiring. Not like yours.”

“Well thanks but I am fully booked with the company I work for…”

He swatted my reply away as if it were a pesky fly.

“My company holds many fundraising events throughout the year, so you would be gainfully employed if you choose to come work for me. The event I’m thinking about is very soon, in a few weeks as a matter of fact, so there’s not a lot of time to pull it together. Tell me, have you ever been to Carnivale in Venice?”