Andrew kept walking, his gaze locked on her incredible face. It was as if his vague fantasy of the ideal woman had suddenly, magically materialized in front of him.
Uncomfortably aware of the clichés swirling around in his dazed mind, he paused, frowned, and set his champagne glass on the nearest available surface. And then he squared his shoulders, straightened his tie and moved toward her again. He simply had to meet her.
There were people around her. He took a quick survey and realized that she was standing with two married couples he knew on a casual basis. There wasn’t an unattached male nearby, giving him hope that she was unescorted this evening, unlikely as that might seem.
Could he really be that lucky?
He clapped a hand lightly on the shoulder of one of the men standing near her. “George,” he said. “Good to see you.”
George Carlisle turned with a smile. “Hello, Andrew. Happy New Year. You remember my wife, Meryl?”
“Of course.” Making an effort to be patient, Andrew greeted the older woman. “And how is the family?” he asked her.
“Fine, thank you. Mark’s a senior at the naval academy and Lisa’s a freshman at Vanderbilt.”
“You must be quite proud of them.” Andrew turned to the other couple. “Good evening, Norvell. Joyce, it’s good to see you again. You’re looking very well.”
The fiftyish matron preened, her ample figure stuffed into a designer gown that should have been at least a size larger. “Thank you, Andrew. I’ve just been talking to your mother about you.”
Andrew faked a smile. “Don’t believe a word she told you,” he said lightly. “She exaggerates terribly.”
Joyce giggled and turned, finally, to the slender brunette who’d been surveying Andrew with curious dark eyes. “Nicole, have you met Andrew Tyler?”
The woman shook her head and smiled. “No, I haven’t.”
Her voice was unexpectedly deep, with a husky edge to it that made Andrew instantly fantasize about throaty murmurs in the night.
What in the world was wrong with him? He hadn’t reacted to a woman this way since he’d been a teenager—and even then he couldn’t remember feeling quite so floored.
Joyce made the introductions. Nicole Holiday held out her hand, and Andrew took it. Then found that he couldn’t bring himself to let it go.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked her, aware that the two older couples were watching them with openly amused smiles. He hoped he didn’t look quite as dazed as he felt, but he couldn’t really worry about that at the moment. It was all he could do not to stammer.
This wasn’t at all like him.
“Yes, I’d love to dance, thank you,” Nicole replied in that deliciously sultry murmur.
Still holding her hand, he led her toward the dance floor, muttering something unintelligible to the others as he left them. As soon as he reached the dance floor, he staked claim to an empty ten square inches of space and turned to take Nicole into his arms.
She was only five or six inches shorter than his six foot two. Her high-heeled sandals added another three inches. She was slim, but shapely. Her floor-length black dress draped sarong-style at the waist with a slit that opened to reveal one long leg clad in sheer black silk. There was a dimple at the right corner of her mouth, a little mole high on her left cheek. Her eyes were as dark as chocolate, and her nose was sheer perfection.
“You’re staring at me,” she commented after they’d danced for a moment in silence.
“I know.”
Her left eyebrow rose at the wry response. “Is there a smudge on my face?”
He shook his head and managed a smile. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Not surprising. I’ve never been here
before.”
“Did you come alone?” He didn’t bother to hide his hope that she had.
“With Joyce and Norvell McClain,” she corrected him. “They’re old family friends.”
“I see.”