Colin is stunning in a black suit, the lines hugging his tight, muscled frame, the white crisp of his shirt highlighted by a slim, simple black tie held in place by a silver tie-clip. He is devastatingly handsome, as each woman staring at him could testify to, including myself. Damn it. I wish wholeheartedly he didn’t have an effect on me, but he does. The rapid beat of my heart and hitch in my breath the moment I see him is a testament to that fact. Damn him, and damn my traitorous heart.

It takes a monumental effort on my part to drag my eyes away. I side step behind one of the large men in our quartet to hide, but it’s only a moment before I’m peeking out from behind him to watch Colin and his date. Raquel is beautiful—striking, actually. Tall and slim—as in, supermodel skinny—her red silk dress falls delicately around her hips, the neckline dipping sharply. Her dark hair is sleek and straight, shining past her shoulders. With eyes as dark as her hair she exudes sensuality, and an unparalleled provocative elegance wraps around her like a snake. Oozing confidence, she laughs elegantly. Raquel Meyers is perfect.

An illogical surge of jealousy rips through my abdomen at the sight of them together, piercing in its sudden onslaught, to the point where I draw in a quick breath. I know it’s ridiculous, yet it’s real and unwanted. There's no comparison between Raquel and myself; I’m simple and uncomplicated, far from the stunning creation gracing his arm.

Thankfully Molly hasn’t seen Colin and isn’t aware of the change in my demeanor, or what I’m sure was not a casual perusal of Raquel. Determined not to torture myself, I nod to Molly that I’m heading to the bar, when in actuality I’m planning to seek refuge as far away from them as possible.

With one last glance at Colin I slip into the crowd, swallowed by the monotony of three hundred people. An urgent need to escape clamps down and I need space, I need to be anywhere but here.

During my flight I bump into Evan, knocking him hard enough that he lunges forward.

“I’m so sorry, Evan.” I stumble, clutching his arm to ensure we’re both steady.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes, absolutely, I’m just headed outside to clear my head from the champagne.”

“Do you need me to hold your hair for you?”

I can’t help but laugh. “No thanks. I can manage.”

“Okay, let me know if you need anything. I’m happy to assist.”

I choose not to go outside into the cold February air, instead heading to the far side of the building, opposite to the party, where a long hallway opens into another much smaller room showcasing the remaining machinery parts on the walls. There are black-and-white photographs of the factory during its prime, along with the people who worked here. It’s a beautiful art gallery of true history and it’s calming: exactly what I need. My stride has slowed as I take in the many worn faces standing alongside the actual machines they worked at for decades, the pictures suspended on floating white walls scattered perfectly throughout the space.

Without the swarm of people, the air chills my bare arms, and I rub my hands over them for warmth. Molly’s dress leaves little coverage and I long for the jacket she also lent me.

The only indication I’m not alone is the acute and intense surge of electricity that reverberates through me. I tense; there's only one person who has ever driven this reaction from my body and I was hoping to avoid him all night. The warmth of his suit coat drapes over my shoulders and heat radiates from the soft material, warming me all over.

“In the early 1900s these buildings were built to make equipment farmers used throughout the entire country. We’re standing in what used to be the main offices; behind us is a portion of the manufacturing plant.”

Colin isn’t touching me, but he’s standing close enough that his breath moves through the loose curls framing my face. His proximity causes my heart to stop; literally, it stumbles and begins to beat again with a loud, thunderous thump. I try to steady my breathing, the volatile pulse of it a sure give-away of the effect he has on me.

“Most of the out buildings were demolished in the eighties to allow room for new growth, but many of the materials used in the factory hang on the walls around us in honor of the men and women who worked here over the course of a century.”

“You’re a history buff?” I ask, relieved my voice holds a tenor of calm I don’t necessarily feel.

The subtle shrug of his shoulders moves the outline of his shadow, which is molded into mine from the casting light behind us. In shadow we are united perfectly, an enticing allusion, and I have to look away. But the real thing is just as tempting. Why does he have to be so damn beautiful?

“History is important; it’s what led us to the present and will see us through to the future. I’ve studied the past, believing it will guide me to the right decisions.” After a short pause he shifts toward me. “I endeavor to know everything about the subject at hand. It’s important for me to understand every nuance to ensure an appropriate outcome.”

Our eyes lock as the electricity thrums, confirmation I didn’t imagine the strange current between us.

“How’s your hand?”

I had almost forgotten; it happened so long ago. Lifting it palm up, I show him the puckered pink wound. “It’s fine. You did a great job with the butterfly bandages.”

I’m shocked when he runs a finger along the scar, warming the skin below it. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” He looks deep into my eyes and I don’t know if he’s referring to the injury or his dismissal.

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m used to it anyway.”

“You’re used to it?” His brow furrows as he asks the question.

I shrug and laugh at his expression. “I’ve grown to expect the unusual. I run into things, trip, drop stuff on my toes, embarrass myself somehow . . . typically, the events don’t involve blood.”

We stare at each other for a moment, neither of us willing to break the deepening silence, the air brilliant and lively between us. Thoughts of him with another woman demand attention and I’m instantly frustrated.

Crossing my arms under my breasts, I square my shoulders and ease toward his tall frame. “Where’s Raquel?”

His eyes darken and flash over my chest as he weighs his answer. “She’s just a friend, Charlie.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Somehow I think I do.”

“I get it, Colin. Your words were crystal clear. You can’t with me, but you can with the right someone: someone like Raquel. She’s bewitching. I applaud you on your taste.” My voice drips with insolence. I have no idea where this rancid anger is coming from, but it feels good. Letting my emotions surface is invigorating and new; normally I would never challenge someone in this way. I’m shocked I’m doing so with him.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I said.” With narrowing eyes and a clenching jaw, his expression belies the calm tone. His temper is flaring and I like it. It’s . . . hot.

“Then tell me what you really mean. If you don’t give me the true story I’ll make it up on my own, and right now it’s ending with you and Raquel Meyers.”

“I can guarantee you my story is not ending with Raquel. I have something else in mind for my happy ending,” he taunts as he takes the last step closer so there's an inch between us. I have to tilt my head back for our eyes to remain locked, my thoughts scattering. I swallow reflexively, his words settling deep into my belly as I wait for him to continue. I’m speechless.

“You don’t know me. You have no idea how complicated I am, how complicated my life is,” he breathes into me, holding me firmly with his eyes while our bodies remain a hairsbreadth apart. “For some reason I can’t stay away from you. I’ve tried, Charlie. I have, but each time I see you I’m drawn back in even though I know I should stay away. You deserve more than me.”