He offers me his hand and I accept it, noticing the silver ring on his index finger with a cross carved in the center. I’m not sure why I notice this at all. “Nice to meet you, Candace,” he says, drawing my gaze to his green eyes. They’re intelligent eyes, but I wouldn’t say kind eyes. There’s a hardness there that makes me wonder about his motives for this donation. Nevertheless, I return the greeting. He’s staring at me now, his attention uncomfortably intense, and I’m a bit unnerved but that seems to be my perpetual state of existence these past few days.
We sit down, me next to Robin, while Kirk claims his seat across from her, as he was sitting before my arrival. For obvious reasons, this comes as a relief. I slip out of my coat as Robin grabs the waiter’s attention and I order wine before Kirk lifts his whiskey glass in my direction and says, “I hear you're quite talented.”
“Stunning work,” Robin chimes in. “You couldn’t have a better architect on this project.” She laughs. “I’ve said that a dozen times, haven’t I?”
Kirk’s lips lift, his eyes crinkling at the corners slightly, enough to age him to perhaps late thirties or early forties. He’s a good-looking man and yet that coldness seeps beyond his eyes and distracts from his looks. But then, I’m in love with another man. I’ve proven immune to other men quite completely over the years.
“I’m blessed to do what I love,” I reply and pull out my portfolio, sliding it in Kirk’s direction.
We begin to talk about my work and the museum design and I forget my discomfort. I am fully engaged in expressing my ideas for the new wing, which I now know will be dedicated to Kirk’s father.
“These plans look worthy of my father’s name,” Kirk approves.
“We’ll be naming the wing you're creating after his father,” Robin provides, and in that answer, I find motivation. Kirk is a man who likes power and his family name on the museum wing is power. Or he just wants to honor his father, but I just don’t read him that way.
I’ve waved off an offer of more wine when Robin receives a text message. “Oh my,” she says. “The fire alarm went off at the museum. I do believe it was a prankster from what I’m being told, but I need to go ensure all is well.”
“We can finish up here,” Kirk offers.
My discomfort is back. Before I can hardly blink, Robin is standing, wishing us farewell and Kirk is moving to the chair in front of me. My phone buzzes with a text message now as well. I grab it and read a message from Smith: Go to the bathroom.
I don’t need to be told twice. “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room,” I say to Kirk, already on my feet.
“You sure you don’t want another glass of wine?” he asks.
“No thanks. Maybe coffee. I’m getting married in a few days. I’m saving my calories for the honeymoon.”
His eyes flicker with something I cannot read and don’t even want to try. I hurry away, around the bar and down a hallway. Smith is not present and I’m not sure what is going on. Maybe he just wants me to go into the bathroom and call in from a private location? I find the bathroom and enter to find it empty. I’m barely inside when hands come down on my waist from behind. I gasp.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Candace
I know instantly it’s Savage.
His touch. His masculine scent. His energy.
I whirl around and he’s already shut the door and pulled me against him. My hands press to his hard warm chest and his are at the back of my head.
“Miss me?” he asks.
“God, yes,” I murmur.
I’ve barely spoken the words before his mouth is on my mouth, his tongue stroking deep, and curling my toes, but too soon he pulls back and demands, “Then why are you with another man?”
I smile, because I know he’s not serious. “I know you know why I’m here and I also know you know I’m immune to anyone but you, Rick Savage.”
“I do,” he says. “But he doesn’t.”
“I told him about my wedding,” I assure him.
“You did, huh?”
“Oh yes. And anyone else who will listen.”
His hand splays between my shoulder blades and he molds me flush against his hard body, and for a moment, we just breathe together, feel each other, want each other. “Mine,” he murmurs softly.
My hand splays on his chest, over his heart, and I echo him. “Mine.”
His mouth crashes down over on mine, and any reserve we’d managed is thrown to the wind. His hands are all over me, his kiss wildly possessive. But so is mine. I too feel possessive. I lost him. I realize now when he was gone these few days just how much I feared losing him again. I twist my fingers around his T-shirt and pull him closer, if that is even possible. He drags my head back and deepens the kiss, long strokes of his tongue, driving me wild.