Just inside the lobby, there was a large gilded frame set up on an easel, in which a beautiful scripted font announced the Calderon party’s rehearsal dinner. That name hit him; the memory of Maria laughing with the man over the telephone the night he’d met her hit him full force with a punch of jealousy that, had he allowed himself to acknowledge it, would have disturbed him.
Unannounced and uninvited, not giving a shit, he walked inside the ballroom. It was late, the catered-meal was over, and now people were scattered all over the room, talking in small groups, some of them swaying to the soft music that played in the background. The open bar in the corner was still manned by one of the hotel bartenders, but the atmosphere in the room told him that around now, the party was about to break up, the guests needing to prepare for the wedding that would undoubtedly take place the next day.
As he glanced around the room, it didn’t take five seconds before Garrett saw her.
And when he did, his ire rose up, almost swallowing him whole.
She held a glass of champagne in one hand, and a masculine arm was draped over her shoulders. A man was leaning over her with a smile as he laughed at something she said, and then he reached up with his other hand and touched her cheek. Touched her fucking cheek. The move put her within the circle of the unknown man’s arms, and Garrett felt a wave of fury rise up and inundate him.
As he stilled just inside the double doors and watched, it took everything he had not to go over there and physically rip the guy from her side. Breathing deeply, even from this distance, he could see the blush that stained her cheeks as she shook her head, her eyes filling with a teasing laughter.
Garrett took in the blush right before he noticed the dress she was wearing. His heartbeat flew off the charts as his cock hardened and jerked against his fly. The anger and jealousy running through his veins only made his erection more potent. There was nothing wrong with the dress, per se. On a mannequin, it would have been impressive. But on Maria, the dress took on a life of its own. The allure of sexiness that she’d been ramping up the last few days dimmed in comparison to the way the dress enhanced her figure. The garment was black, came a few inches above her knees, but it clung with a tenacity that seemed to make it show off every feminine attribute that she had.
And she had attributes in fucking spades.
At that moment, a waiter carrying a tray of champagne passed them, and the man she was with reached out and snagged only one flute, as Maria’s was still full. When the fucker let go of her with one hand to accomplish the feat, Garrett was only mildly appeased that she seemed to take the opportunity to gracefully dance out of the man’s reach. As she made the move, she glanced over the party with that precise eye for detail that told Garrett she was still on the job. As her gaze traveled around the room, he prepared for the moment when her eyes would meet his.
Expecting the punch to his system, he braced himself, feeling his lips flatten. When her gaze hit his, it was like a shot of electricity that almost knocked him over. Her allure only irritating him more, with a sharp tilt of his head, he motioned for her to join him, knowing damn good and well that if she refused, the outcome wouldn’t be good. For either of them. He wasn’t in the mood to tolerate any bullshit this particular evening.
It became apparent immediately that she was refusing him. He fought both his anger and his arousal, as he turned and stepped just outside of the ballroom. Turning his head, he kept one eye on her, fully prepared for the moment she’d have to make use of the elevator to get to her room.
With his eyes on the double doors of the ballroom, he leaned back against the wall and waited.
****
Maria was silently panicking. She’d seen and heard Garrett pissed before and for whatever reason, she wasn’t ready to face his anger tonight. His anger . . . and his arousal. There’d been no question looking at him earlier, the man was pissed. And an aroused, pissed off Garrett Rule was not someone she was up to fighting with tonight.
She wasn’t scared of his anger, not really, and she wasn’t scared of his arousal, at least, not at the moment. She took a breath and then admitted what she was afraid of: she was scared of her response to him. And of what she might not be able to stop from happening if she was alone with him tonight. And there was no question, from the fire smoldering off him, she knew his intentions were to get her alone. She needed to stay away from him, especially tonight. It wasn’t as if she was tipsy, because she’d been nursing the single flute of champagne the entire night and it was still half-full. So, inebriation wasn’t the problem.