Slow Hands

was all because of the heat in this sexy man’s eyes and the almost audible quality of his next, slowly indrawn breath.
    That was lust she saw there. Pure and undisguised, unhidden by social demands or proper breeding that insisted it wasn’t polite to visibly covet a woman.
    He was coveting. She was being coveted. They were both caught in the tension of it.
    Though her mind knew better, her body couldn’t help responding. Beneath the silky dress, her skin puckered, tiny goose bumps rising on the deep V of her cleavage, her nipples tightening to jut against the lace of her bra. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, and the breaths she managed to inhale were shallow. Each was filled with the warmth of him and the dark, masculine scent of his body, which had edged to within inches of her own.
    All from a look. What in God’s name might happen to her if he ever laid a hand on her?
    “Please say yes,” he murmured. “For no other reason than that you want to.”
    His tone remained light, not demanding, not intense, despite the look in his eyes and the static in the air between them. As if he knew that coming on too strong might scare her off.
    And suddenly, it was working. Her verbal defenses had been firmly in place at the start, but now…well, now she’d actually allowed herself to see him as a person—a very sexy person—rather than just the instrument her stepmother had intended to use to hurt her father.
    If he’d played the lothario, Maddy would already have been out of here. But he hadn’t. He’d merely sounded friendly, engaging, and oh so tempting. While he spoke of polite things like his family, his eyes did all the more intimate talking. He wanted her, yet managed to remain genuine and self-deprecating. Not at all like the male prostitute he was.
    Suddenly remembering what else Tabby had told her about the man, and the glimpse she’d had at the auction program, she said, “You don’t have an accent!”
    “Am I supposed to?”
    She clenched her lips shut, wishing she’d thought to learn a bit more about what she was up against tonight. Tabitha had given her the bare bones and Maddy had raced into the plan. Typical story. Just the way it was when they were kids and Tabby had been Lucy holding the ball while Charlie Brown Maddy ran down the field to kick it, knowing she was going to end up on her ass.
    “I should have made her do it herself,” Maddy muttered, though she knew that would have been a very bad idea. Even Tabitha had known better.
    Maddy could be trusted to avoid a sexy gigolo. Hopefully. Her sister could not. And Tabby seemed truly determined to make her next marriage—which was scheduled for its high society kickoff in a few weeks—work. She would never have been able to keep her perfectly manicured fingers off this hunk.
    But Maddy could. And she would. Any moment now. As soon as her heart slowed down and her body came off orange alert and went back down to at least yellow.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.” Maddy stared at him, searching for something in his expression, a hint that a predator lurked beneath his oh-so-sexy, laid-back, nice-guy appearance. There must be something—malice, greed, or lasciviousness—behind the open, honest interest in his stare. Just because she hadn’t seen it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
    There had to be more to him than she was seeing. And she almost wished she had time to find it.
    Maybe if she’d been introduced to him at a cocktail party or met him at the bank, she’d allow herself to fall for the sexy, charming, friendly demeanor and let herself be seduced by the want in his eyes. She would try to get to know him better, and let him know his physical interest was most definitely reciprocated.
    But one undeniable truth prevented that.
    If she had not been tipped off and come here tonight to prevent it, the man standing in front of her would probably be upstairs having sex with her father’s wife right this minute.
    And that was the end of her waffling. Again repulsed by the very idea, Maddy took a step away, removing her arm from his touch, and the rest of her from the force field of sexiness encompassing the man like a cloak. She was immune, damn it. Mentally and, now, because of the harsh truth she’d just forced herself to acknowledge, physically.
    Maddy pasted the cordial but not exactly friendly, expression on her face she used daily when running interference between her father and the sycophants constantly hitting him up.