tossed easily over one arm and a hint of stubble peppering his jaw, he looked more like he belonged on a movie screen than at a charity event. Her mouth went suddenly dry and she licked her lips.
With one brow lifted, he looked at her quizzically. God, had he asked her something?
“The painting?”
“Oh, yes.” What about the painting?
“I find it very lovely.” As he stepped closer, the heat from his body warmed her bare shoulders and the two internal drumbeats evolved into one sound. She reached a hand up and rubbed her neck. Wasn’t this the same—
“Are you familiar with the piece?” He nodded toward the canvas but didn’t take his eyes off of her.
If she stretched out her hand, she could touch his chest, he was that close. Stroke his jaw, brush a thumb over his lips. Oh God, what was she thinking? She dug her nails into the palms of her hands to keep her thoughts from wandering where they shouldn’t.
His warm breath lifted a stray wisp of her hair on the back of her neck as she turned toward the painting. When his fingertips grazed down the back of her arm to guide her forward, a jolt of electricity left a trail of heat on her skin. She found herself inching closer to him, almost instinctively, as if her body knew this man though her mind did not.
“Um, yes. My friend Martin painted it.”
“I find it absolutely captivating. It’s gorgeous. I’m Dominic Serrano, but please call me Dom.” He extended his hand and she noted he wore a thick, filigree ring on each thumb.
“Mackenzie Foster-Shaw. It’s nice to meet you. Yes, Martin is an amazingly gifted artist.” The bracelets on her wrist jingled together as she took his hand in hers.
With the touch, she felt instantly alive. Every nerve ending danced as her palm pressed to his. The background piano music, which she’d hardly noticed before, seemed to morph into a tender melody. The room sparkled with prisms of candlelight reflected off the chandeliers above. Everything looked so different. How could she not have seen the room like this before?
He released her abruptly and turned back toward the painting, his expression composed, measured.
Normally, she’d have filled the void with some sort of mindless chatter, but now she felt no need. Calm and relaxed, she waited.
“Such rich colors he used. The ethereal light.” She could get lost in the sound of his voice. “The echoing lines of the composition. From the arc of her neck, along her back to the draping fabric over her shoulder.” As he spoke, he reached his hand out and traced the lines in the air, his long fingers caressing the space in front of them. Her breath rasped unevenly in her chest. It was as if he were running his hands over her bare skin. “From her breast to the curve of her legs and buttocks. I find it very enchanting. Almost seductive. Yes, your friend Martin is very talented, but he had an equally exquisite subject.”
She stepped forward and silently read the title of the piece.
“What is it called?”
He was right there. He could read it himself, but she did what he asked.
“Where Are You, My Love.”
I am where you are. The words chimed in her head. She glanced at him but his face was unreadable.
How would his arms feel around her? Would she fit beneath his chin like a puzzle piece? He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, his stare never dropping from her face. Feeling a tiny trickle of heat between her legs, she cursed inwardly for not wearing a thong.
Sweet Jesus.
That voice again. Although his lips didn’t move, she knew it was his. It rang in her head and echoed in her ears. The darkened room seemed to spin as if they were in the middle of a vortex. The clinking of wineglasses, the low din of conversation, the lovely chords of the piano—everything faded around them.
As if in slow motion, he stepped in front of her so she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. Another inch or two and her nipples, covered only in thin folds of green chiffon, would have brushed against the fabric of his shirt. Her body trembled in anticipation.
“I know you, don’t I?”
His jaw flexed as he stared at her, his eyes an unfathomable glacier blue, terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
Without thinking, she reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his