Merger to Marriage (Boardrooms and Billi - By Addison Fox Page 0,3
to the toast. “And sharing a complex yet simple glass of wine with an exquisitely beautiful woman.”
She was unexpected. Rare. And his interest raised another notch, deepening in the light of her dark gaze.
“We were interrupted. Why don’t you like categories?”
That dark gaze dropped, and Holt couldn’t help thinking she hid secrets behind those eyes. But it was when she looked up again that he was charmed by the intensity he saw reflected back at him.
“I think the human experience is far richer than people often give it credit for. And those boxes we like to drop people into? Well, they’re boxes of our own making, not a true reflection of that other person.”
“No one can really know everything about another person.”
“Which is why we shouldn’t categorize them or assume we really know them. We don’t. We know what we think we know about them.”
“You feel quite passionately about this?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Let’s say a lifetime of being put in a box of someone else’s making grew rather tight and restrictive.”
The prim set of her shoulders and the long legs delicately crossed at the ankles drew him, the proverbial moth to flame. There was depth here, and far more than a pretty face. While he’d never spent much time analyzing or worrying over his dates, the fact that he was now faced with a woman who had layers and thoughts and opinions had him immediately intrigued. And interested far more quickly than he normally would be.
“I have no interest in putting a label on you, but I do have an interest in getting to know you better.”
“I’d like that.”
“Perhaps we can start with a name?”
She hesitated for the briefest moment before she spoke. “Elizabeth.”
“Lovely to meet you, Elizabeth.” He extended his hand. “I’m Holt.”
“You, too. Holt.” His name hovered on her lips as she slid her hand into his, her voice husky and deep from the wine.
He held her hand a moment longer than necessary before releasing it and picking up his glass. “We’ve spent a lot of time talking about work. Or dancing around it. What do you do for fun?”
Light flooded her features, filling her gaze with delight. “I have a charity I’m involved in that I love.”
“What do you do for them?”
“I work with special-needs children at a camp upstate. It’s called Hands, Hearts and Hugs.”
“What sort of work is it?”
“The program is about creating opportunity. Many of these children haven’t been given much chance in life, either due to poverty issues or abandonment. The organization provides housing and healthcare services where needed, along with programs to educate and help these children find work as they grow into adulthood.”
She knew the quality of the wine, and she was attending one of the weddings of the year, so she clearly knew her way around wealth and privilege. But her excitement about the children she worked for displayed a quality he hadn’t seen in many women of his acquaintance.
“It sounds pretty amazing.”
“It is.” She smiled, obviously warming to her subject. “The engagement these kids have with the world is incredible. They don’t see labels. They see the person inside.”
“How long have you worked with them?”
“About three years now. We’re trying to get their facility expanded and have hit a bit of a snag, but we’ll find a way around it.”
“I think I’m starting to get a picture of you.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head, a mischievous smile playing around her eyes and lips. “Have I put you off the career-woman-with-attitude impression?”
“I think career woman is far too simple a description. You’re like this wine.” He held up his glass but kept his gaze firmly locked on hers. “Beautifully complex. You’re also full of bright, vivid colors. You embrace the world, pulling it in close and putting your own personal stamp on it.”
“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I mean every word.” He leaned forward, unable to tear his gaze from her. Sexual awareness sparked between them like a live wire. He felt it—reveled in it—even as he realized there was something more.
Respect.
He certainly didn’t disrespect the women of his acquaintance—and all knew full-well where he stood on anything permanent—but no one he’d met before inspired such an immediate wash of interest and need. Yes, she was attractive. Devastatingly so, but it was something more.
Something richer.
“Why don’t you ask me to accompany you upstairs, Holt?” Her voice was just like that live wire he’d thought of, and it sparked through his bloodstream like a fire.
“What’s upstairs?” He wanted her,