Her heart racing, her fingers itched to open the flap of her bag and reach for the charcoal pencil she always kept with her. She had done so many sketches of him but she hadn’t been satisfied.
A real-life version of Spike, marauding space pirate extraordinaire.
“Excuse me? Are you drunk, Ms. Nelson?”
Blushing, Lexi realized she had said those words out loud. There was a sly look in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. As if he could see through her skin into the strange sensation in her gut and understood it better than she. “Of course not. I just...”
“Just what?”
She pasted on a smile. “You reminded me of someone.”
“If you are done daydreaming, we can talk,” he said, pointing toward a door behind her.
“There’s no need to walk away from your...party,” she said, cutting her gaze away from him. What had she done wrong? “I just want to know how Tyler is.”
He flicked his head to the side in an economic movement, and his guests moved inward into the lounge, or rather retreated from her. Even their conversations restarted, their apparent curiosity swept away by his imperious command. Her spine locked at the casual display of power. “Not here,” he said, and whispered something in the brunette’s ear, while his gaze never moved from her. “Let’s go into my office.”
Lexi licked her lips and took a step to the side as he passed her. Now that she had his complete attention, a sliver of apprehension streaked through her. She looked around the lounge. Safety in numbers. Really, what could he do to her with his guests outside the door? But the sheer size of the man, coupled with that unexplained contempt in his gaze, brought out her worst fears. “There’s nothing to talk about, Mr. Demakis. I just want to know where Tyler is.”
He didn’t break his stride as he spoke over his shoulder. “It was not a request.”
Hints of steel coated the velvety words. Realizing that she was staring at his retreating back again, she followed him. Within minutes, they reached his state-of-the-art office, this one with an even better view of Manhattan. She wondered if she would be able to see the tiny apartment she shared with her friends in Brooklyn from here.
A massive mahogany desk dominated the center of the room. A sitting area with its back to a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline lay off to one side and on the other was a computer, a shredder and a printer.
He shrugged his jacket off and threw it carelessly onto the leather chair. The pristine white shirt made him look even more somber, bigger, broader, the dark shadow of his olive skin under it drawing her gaze.
He undid the cuffs and folded the sleeves back, the silver Rolex on his wrist glinting in the muted light.
Leaning against the table, he stretched his long legs in front of him. Whatever material those trousers were made of, it hugged his muscular thighs. “I asked you to wait.”
Coloring, Lexi tugged her gaze up. What was she doing, blatantly staring at the man’s thighs? “I walked up nineteen floors for a few minutes of your time,” she finally said, feeling intensely awkward under his scrutiny. He just seemed so big and coordinated and thrumming with power that for the first time in her life, she wished she had been tall and graceful. A more nonsensical thought she had never had. “Tell me how Tyler is and I’ll be on my way.”
He pushed off from the table and she tried not to scuttle sideways like a frightened bird. Hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, he towered over her, cramming his huge body into her personal space. His gaze swept over her, somehow invasive and dismissive at the same time. The urge to smooth out her hair, straighten her T-shirt, attacked again.
“Did you just roll out of bed, Ms. Nelson?”
Her mouth dropped open; she stared at him for several seconds. The man was a mannerless pig. “As a matter of fact, yes. I was sleeping after an all-nighter when the call came in. So please forgive me if my attire doesn’t match your million-dollar decor.” For some reason, he clearly disliked her. It made her crabby and unusually offensive. “FYI, you might have nothing better to do with your time than loll around with your girlfriend, but I have a job. Some of us actually have to work for a living.”
Amusement inched into his gaze. “You think I don’t work?”
“Then why the sneering attitude as if your time is more precious than mine? You obviously make more money per minute than I do, but mine pays for my food,” she said, shocked at how angry she was getting. Which was really strange. “Now, the sooner you answer my question, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.”