“What makes you say that?”
“That’s just the type of man you seem to be.”
It irked him that she thought she’d so neatly summed him up after such a brief acquaintance. Especially since he hadn’t come close to figuring her out.
“Nicky,” someone called from nearby. “You look great! I like you as a brunette.”
“Thanks,” Nicole replied, then smiled at Andrew’s expression. “I was a redhead last year. The year before that, I dyed it honey-blond. I liked it both ways, but I finally got tired of touching up the dark roots.”
He eyed the near-black curls he’d been admiring all evening. “This is your natural color?”
The little dimple at the right corner of her mouth deepened. “More or less.”
Nicole Holiday was definitely not what she’d first seemed—in more ways than one, Andrew mused. And then she rested her cheek against his shoulder and his mind went blank again.
Andrew lost track of time as they danced and mingled with Nicole’s friends in the club. He was welcomed among them, yet still he felt markedly out of place. In contrast to Andrew’s traditional formal wear, the others were dressed more casually, more contemporarily Most of them looked as though they’d stepped off the set of a popular Generation X sitcom, making Andrew feel older than his years.
It wasn’t that they were that much younger, in actuality; but they dung to their youth, while he’d worked to downplay his own during the past few years, especially since taking over the top spot at DataProx. Even their slang was unfamiliar to him—there were times when he felt as though he was struggling to understand a conversation in a language with which he had only a passing acquaintance.
He was only thirty-four, he thought at one point. Why did he suddenly feel like an older uncle who’d been pressed into chaperoning a party?
He couldn’t help wondering if Nicole—or Nicky, as all her friends called her—was beginning to notice how different he was from the others.
If she regretted her impulsive invitation for him to join her this evening, she certainly hid it well. She still smiled at him in that way that made his pulse race. She touched him easily, and frequently, making him fantasize about more intimate touches in more private surroundings. She introduced him to everyone as her friend Andrew, making it sound as if they’d known each other for a long time, rather than only a few hours.
Occasionally during the evening, someone would ask Nicole about “Stu.” Andrew noted that she always reacted in much the same way to the name. She wrinkled her nose and murmured something unintelligible in response. Then she usually towed Andrew off to the dance floor, effectively ending the conversation.
It was more than obvious that she did not care to talk about Stu; Andrew, on the other hand, found himself wanting to ask her about the guy. Just who was he, and what did he mean to Nicole?
And why, he wondered, did it matter so much to him? He’d only just met Nicole, after all. He certainly didn’t know her well enough to contemplate a long-term relationship with her. He’d never been the jealous or possessive type—especially with a woman he’d known only a few hours.
So why was he suddenly reacting to Stu’s name with a surge of jaw-clenching, fist-flexing, bicep-hardening testosterone?
Rather concerned about his uncharacteristic behavior where Nicole Holiday was concerned, he tried to remember how much he’d had to drink during the evening. Was his judgment impaired? Was it safe for him to drive?
But, no. He’d had only a couple of glasses of champagne at the club, hours ago, and nothing since arriving here. Nicole had accepted a drink from one of her friends, but he’d politely declined, good-naturedly calling himself the designated driver. So if he was intoxicated, it had little to do with alcohol, and everything to do with Nicole’s smile.
He would have to start being careful, before that smile led him straight into trouble.
Announcing that it was time for a breather, the DJ played a slow, sultry number. This time it was Andrew who wanted to dance; he was growing addicted to the feel of Nicole pressed cozily against him. Something else he’d better worry about—when his mind cleared, of course.
She went into his arms with the ease of long familiarity, nestling her head into the curve of his shoulder. He wondered if she could hear the erratic hammering of his heart. If any other woman had ever felt this good, this right, in his arms, he’d forgotten.
He slid his hand a few inches higher on her back, to the area bared by the low dip of her sexy black dress. Her skin was impossibly soft, enticingly warm.
The images that flashed through his mind were probably illegal. He held her slightly away from him when she would have snuggled closer; it had been many years since his body had embarrassed him on a dance floor.
Nicole tilted her face up toward him, her warm brown eyes telling him that she knew what she was doing to him—and that she liked it.
Wicked eyes and an angel’s smile. He’d never anticipated how much that combination would appeal to him.
He suddenly had to taste her again. Needed to do so more than he needed his next breath. As if she’d read his expression—or his mind—Nicole rose on tiptoe to bring her mouth invitingly closer to his.
Andrew kissed her. And then kissed her again. And she returned the kisses with an enthusiasm that almost made him forget their very public surroundings.
It was with some difficulty, and a great deal of reluctance, that he pulled away from her when the music ended.
Still standing very close to him, Nicole reached up to touch his cheek. “Andrew?”