Billion Dollar Stranger - Stephanie Brother Page 0,73

about men who know how to flirt that's so appealing, even though I'm pretty certain he's most likely to turn on his charm to every woman he comes across!

"So, what makes you think I'm in distress?"

"Well, you're at a fundraiser by yourself."

"How do you know I'm by myself?"

"I've been watching you. That dress?? He trails off, looking down the length of me like he wants to lick the route his eyes follow. My dress is pretty great; teal silk, form-fitting and asymmetric, off the shoulder with one fluted sleeve. More daring and attention-drawing than I'd ever usually go for.

"So you're a benevolent stalker?" I say, secretly pleases that he's noticed.

"Stalker, no. Benevolent, sometimes. A little bit in love with how clingy that fabric is, totally."

"That tux is pretty clingy too," I say, looking him over from head to toe as slowly as I can. He's a damn fine specimen of a man; at least six foot three with an athletic build. His fair hair glitters under the twinkling fairy lights, and his eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Glad it meets your approval." He shifts his feet to widen his stance and draws himself to stand as straight as a soldier. All I can think is 'impressive,' but he needs my approval like a hole in the head. From what I can make out, this man has a seriously inflated ego.

"Who says I approve? I just said it was clingy. That could have been a polite way of me saying it looks like you bought it when you were a few pounds lighter."

His laugh is a full belly one, and he doubles forward, resting his empty hand on his thigh.

"Damn, girl, you know how to wound a guy."

"It was my specialty in College; 'male put-downs 101'."

"You must have got an A+."

"My lecturer wanted me to do a doctorate in it," I chuckle.

The music changes to something slower, and we're buffeted by a passing group that is heading towards the doors, maybe for a smoke.

"So, we've been talking for the last five minutes, and I haven't introduced myself," he says, switching his champagne to his left hand and holding out his right for me to shake. I take it formally, doing a little curtsy to exaggerate his sudden seriousness. "Robert Harrington."

"Dr. Analie Taylor," I reply, and he shakes his head.

"Please tell me you didn't really do a doctorate in male-put-downs-101."

I smile because how can I not. He's just too damn cute and quick-minded. "Nah. Psychology."

"Ah??ow I'm really scared. Put-downs I can take. Analysis, not so much."

"You have skeletons in your closet?" I ask flippantly, expecting him to respond in a jokey way. It surprises me to see something dark pass over his expression. It's only there for a few seconds before he masks it, but it's enough to set my professional brain in motion, wondering what he's concealing with all his humor and charm. Maybe his phantom of the opera mask isn't the only one he's wearing to the ball.

"Well, it is Halloween," he says after a beat. "I wouldn't fit in very well if I didn't have at least one skeleton."

"There isn't a person in here without a skeleton," I say, wanting him to understand that he isn't alone. After years of listening to patients, I can confidently say that we are all one big succession of wounds, healing, and scar tissue.

"So what's yours?" he asks.

"I thought you guessed mine earlier. Closet BDSM enthusiast here."

"God, I'd love to see you in leather or PVC," he says. "I can be masterful, too, if that's what you like."

"Maybe I'm a top," I tell him. "Maybe I like digging my stiletto heels into the chests of poor helpless men and making them beg."

He shakes his head and knocks back the rest of his champagne. "I've got all sorts of images in my head now."

He isn't the only one. I have a desperate urge to see him unmasked, to peel off his clothes layer by layer, and play with him physically as we have been verbally. It's been a long time since I felt a spark of attraction to a man. Maybe it's my interest in the mind that makes it more challenging. I've always been very cerebral, so it takes a special kind of spark from witty conversation and plenty of intelligence to get me thinking about anyone this way. Unfortunately, that combination doesn't come along very often.

"Glad to have stocked your spank-bank," I reply.

"Yeah, I'm always looking for new material for that," he says, rolling