1
Ignoring the woman next to him, he turned fully around so he could observe her. Each time a member of the opposite sex came up to her, she would smile and move them along firmly and continued to walk around the long trestle table.
His evening had just looked up, he decided with a grin. Putting away his glass and not even excusing himself, he wound his way towards her, curtly dismissing and ignoring the people trying to stop him.
Placing himself next to her, he scooped up an entire plate of escargot and placed a napkin over it. "Are we stocking up for the Apocalypse?"
His deep amused voice had the petite woman whirling around.
"Pardon?"
He noticed two things at once. She had perfect diction and her eyes were a curious golden brown that reminded him of a tiger he had seen in South Africa. And she was even more delectably beautiful up close. His loins tightened in alarming arousal.
It took him a few seconds to get his thoughts together.
Taking a deep breath, he gestured towards her purse. "I figured you were taking the food for a reason."
"Oh." He almost grinned in fascination at the embarrassed look on her lovely face. "You saw me. Did anyone else?"
His smile widened. "I sincerely doubt that or you would have been booted out of here by now." At the alarmed look on her face, he hastened to reassure her. "Now that we're in this thing together, you're safe of course."
One tapered brow lifted as she stared him down, which was difficult to do, considering she barely reached his shoulders. "You're making fun of me and wondering why I'm taking the food. I can assure you, I'm not starving or anything."
"That's a distinct relief."
Her expression told him clearly that his fun at her expense was not appreciated.
"So, why are you doing it?"
"I passed a couple of homeless persons a few blocks away. They looked hungry."
"I see." Cerulean blue eyes measured her features. "And you decided that expensive finger foods such as caviar and mini beef Wellington bites would do very well."
She shrugged and smiled. A smile that punched a fist through his gut. She had tiny dimples peeking out on both cheeks. Her teeth were white and a perfect foil for lips that he had to taste.
"Any food will do. Are you going to rat me out?" That startled him out of his dazed lust and had him laughing softly.
"Rat you out?"
"Yes. Are you going to?"
"On one condition." He grinned at the suspicious look in her magnificent eyes. "You tell me your name."
"Catherine Miller."
"I am--"
"Dean Collier. I'm aware."
"Now that we're sufficiently acquainted, why don't we--" The sentence was cut off when the fascinating woman he had just met darted over to a table a few feet away. He followed her, how could he not?
"Just look at this piece." She rhapsodized.
Putting her purse, which he clearly saw was the size of Idaho, she freed her hands to reverently touch a sculpture made of the most delicate and transparent glass, tinted the palest of pink.
"I read about the artist on the internet.
" She was touching the piece reverently as if afraid to do it any damage.
"She's from a little known town in Ireland and was practically homeless until she was discovered by accident by a scout. "
She was staring at the piece, but he was staring at her. Her complexion was flawless, he realized, and her lashes long. She had a glow about her that set her apart.
"Her name is Mary Catherine." She continued to stare at the piece wistfully. He made up his mind then.
"How would you like to own it?"
She jerked her hand away as if she had been bitten and lifted her head to look at him.
"Don't be ridiculous. This piece costs more than I make in a couple of years.
" She touched it again before moving away.
He should have walked away then, at least that was what he was telling himself.
This sudden fascination and surge of lust for a woman he had just met was unlike him.
Besides, she was not his type. She was green and looked as pure as the driven snow.
He would do well to stay the hell away from her.
But Christ Almighty, he was drawn to her.
"How about a number?" She was staring at a particularly violent piece that was Jackson Colby's usual signature.
"Pardon?"
He almost smiled at the prim and proper tone. "Your phone number. We could go for dinner or coffee, depending on the time of day." He closed the gap between them, eyes intent on hers. "I like you Catherine."
She stepped back, hands fluttering as she clasped her purse in front of her as if using it as a shield.
He was too handsome, too magnetic, too everything and she knew of his reputation.
She did not belong with this crowd at all.
The coveted invitation had come from a parent who had another engagement and could not make it.
Catherine had been delighted when it was offered to her.
"No," she said firmly, chin lifting. "I said I know who you are.
I try my best not to believe everything I read about celebrities, but your reputation preceded you.
I'm not the type to be dazzled by a handsome face and boatloads of money.
" She stepped further back. "You have the wrong person. Please excuse me."
He considered going after her as she hurried away and down the steps but decided against it.
Watching her until she was out of sight, he turned to the hovering gallery employee.
Ignoring the blatant invitation in her eyes, he jerked his head towards the piece.
"Have it wrapped up and sent to my place. "
"Yes, Mr. Collier." She purred.
He stayed a few more minutes, but with Catherine gone, the shine had gone out of the evening. Saying his goodbyes to his very hurt and disappointed date, he left.
*****
"Hey there Galahad." Dropping her now empty purse on the gleaming hardwood floor, she made room for the enthusiastic greeting from her half-breed companion.
"Have you been a good boy?" Scratching behind his floppy ears, she sent the animal into a frenzy of delight that had him licking her face as he stood on two paws and planted the other two on her shoulders.
"Okay, enough boy." Wriggling free, she snapped her fingers and had him padding after her obediently.
She had adopted him a year ago when she went to the animal shelter to help out.
One look at the soulful eyes had her snapping him up.
He had been small, barely two years old then, but had grown into his large paws in leaps and bounds and was her faithful companion.
Sliding out of her sandals, she rummaged around for a packet of her special tea before putting the kettle on.
"I made some people happy tonight." She searched for a treat and handed it to him.
"A couple of homeless guys I saw when I was going to the gallery.
" She took out a cup and put the pouch in.
"They appreciated the meal." Her chuckle disappeared as she recalled how she had been forced to leave before she wanted to.
Dean Collier. He was even more handsome than his photos on the internet.
And even more magnetic in person. Rubbing her hands up and down her hips, she shook her head.
He was rich and bored. That was the only reason she could think why he had asked for her number.
Men like that weren't interested in women like her.
"I know better than to think otherwise, right Galahad?"
The dog barked in agreement and had her smiling.
*****
He drove around for a bit in the vain attempt to try and cool down.
And he had to admit that he was also hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
She had mentioned feeding a few homeless people with the things she had stashed away inside her purse, so if he just happened to drive past the spot, he might see her.
He did not see her of course, but he saw the men gathered around a park bench partaking of the rich fare she had provided.
It fascinated him enough to slow down and take it in before driving off.
He grew up in a world where checks were handed out to try and make the problems go away.
His mother and sister were both on several charitable foundations.
The company donated large sums of money to selected charities, but he knew they were mostly tax write-offs.
He had never seen anyone in his family actively donating their time to any of the charities.
There were lavish parties where people preened for the press and smiled for the cameras.
It was all for show. He belonged to a brittle and cold world that cared more for making a good impression for the public than actually caring about the needs of the unfortunate.
Not all of them, he remembered as he turned into the parking lot of his townhouse and switched off the engine.
The 'wives' of members of his club were making a difference.
So much so that he found himself having a mind change about his own society.
Shoving the door open, he stepped out into the cool spring air, the scent of oleanders and daffodils assailing his nostrils and not in an unpleasant way. He had intended to spend the night a different way by taking his date home.
After seeing Catherine and talking to her, that had changed.
Dragging restless fingers through his hair, he firmly resolved to stop this nonsense and take his mind off her.
With that in mind, he let himself in and went upstairs.
The townhouse was a split level, open concept design, with the spiral staircase leading to the upper level where his bedroom suite was in full view from the ground floor.
He had deliberately ordered the design that way.
He lived alone and apart from the women he brought home with him; he loved his own space.
Heading towards the recessed bar in the living room, he selected a bottle of scotch and took it with him upstairs.