One Wicked Lick from the Drummer (The One 3)

He’d said something to make Lynda laugh, succeeding in making her look less like she might throw up her breakfast, where Teela had failed with that particular challenge.

Gorgeous looking, attentive, charming and commanding. Plus, he wanted to make the world a better place by stopping aid piracy. There was a reason everyone on the team was a little over-excited. He might truly be too good to be true.

Sigh.

On stage during the forum, he’d bantered with the female host who baited him mercilessly to the delight of the audience. He wanted to talk refugee-aid projects and his fund raising for satellite surveillance. Chaffing at the brief, she’d wanted to focus on behind-the-scenes movie drama and his famously declared lifetime bachelor status. He won. But it was a narrow victory and Teela had felt for him as he managed that tension without losing his gracious manner with thousands of eyes and the weight of the media’s expectations on him.

He’d spent the rest of the time in exclusive meet and greets and specially selected media interviews that Lynda’s PR team had managed, and then been whisked away to see potential Delany Foundation donors.

Teela’s last chance to have her own grip and grin had been at the dinner he’d swept in late for and she was now self-uninvited to. That’s what she got for being an event uncrasher.

Doing the right thing. Rookie mistake.

That Sophie would agree with.

Teela stood on the empty balcony where the guests had enjoyed pre-dinner cocktails, struggling to come to terms with the reality of her sudden redundancy after countless twelve-hour workdays. It was an odd flattening feeling that made her body feel heavy and lethargic. The rest of her on-site team had left for the night and Lynda, the hotel staff and its famous chef had everything under control from here. There really was no valid reason to stick around.

Too tired and hungry to summon the energy for the trek to her car and the drive home, she checked her email, scrolling one more time through the event social media pages, smiling at all the selfies starring Haydn that had been posted.

When the head waiter appeared with a selection of drinks, a plate of canapés and a thank you for not making her rearrange the table settings, Teela chose a sparkling water gratefully and sipped and nibbled while reading a string of increasingly ribald messages from Evie that had started early in the morning and ran through the day.

Is he stupendously hot up close?

Are you breathing the same air already?

Has he touched you?

Have you offered to show him the city, the best places to eat? Your body?

Make sure to use plenty of tongue when he suckcums to your fresh charm. Evie spelled succumb wrong, deliberately. That spelling was likely in her phone’s dictionary from overuse.

What are the abs like?

Have you pashed yet?

How is the dick action? Alive, dead, dead sexy?

She was convinced she was alone with the lights of the harbor foreshore and the ferries shuttling back and forth on a balmy summer evening, trying to come up with a fittingly humorous response to Evie, when he said hello.

She jumped, slopping her drink over her hand and fumbling for the shoe she’d stepped out of.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

That voice, unmistakably rich and deep like hot mint chocolate topping poured on melty vanilla ice cream. The makings of waking dreams and endlessly unfulfilled midnight desires. And that was before she turned to face him. He truly was lovely to look at, effortlessly arresting. All his features best aligned for viewing pleasure.

“I’ve disturbed your peace,” he said.

He’d made her vital organs snap to attention and start a parade.

“No, please. I was about to leave. I’ll give you your privacy.” It was the right thing to do. Again. Dammit. How is this my luck?

“Aw hell.” A hand combed through his hair, leaving it adorably ruffled. She wouldn’t be the only one who itched to smooth it, ruffle it again, grab a handful when he—oh Lord, keep it tidy.

“Now I feel worse. You were communing with the pretty sunset and I made you spill your drink and put that torture device back on. Don’t go because of me.”

Teela looked down at her red shoes, her rebellion against dressing with necessary corporate restraint, mostly because it was easier not to look directly into Haydn Delany’s eyes until she’d collected her wits.

When she looked up again, he held a cigarette. “I bummed this off the concierge. I hoped you might have a light. You won’t put out a press release or turn me into a meme, will you?”