An Excerpt From: LEATHER AND LACE Copyright © TAYLOR TRYST, 2007 All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Cleo shifted in her seat. Knowing he was watching her made her wetter than she’d ever been. Nevertheless, she was on a case, she reminded herself. This guy was off-limits. It was that simple.
She’d managed to divert his attention from her face and to her other attributes but now she had to escape without being cornered, which was easier said than done.
Moistening her lips with a drink of water, she couldn’t help but wonder how Lukas Nathanial Lace would taste. Rich, she imagined, very rich. It would be quite a rush to be up close and personal with the king of Lace Incorporated.
Her breasts crushed against that rock-hard chest, her hands exploring the rippling muscles that he’d tried to disguise beneath the impeccable tailoring that only the wealthy could afford. She’d run her fingers through that gorgeous blond hair, which he kept short and so carefully styled.
He was a six-three, one-hundred-and-ninety-pound, incredibly gorgeous überstud.
She was so screwed.
Scanning the menu but not paying attention to the fare, Cleo couldn’t help but wonder about the mystery client who’d hired her for this little undercover soirée.
A courier had delivered an envelope that contained a wad of cash and explicit instructions to follow and document Lace’s every move.
Once she had obtained the appropriate information, the client would be in contact with further instructions. Cleo had personally visited the courier service that had made the delivery to her loft but it was a dead end. She had no idea who wanted this information and why. The envelope contained instructions for delivery and enough cash to cover the delivery fee and a case of designer brew for the courier.
Short of having the envelope fingerprinted, Cleo had been out of options. Who knew how many sets of hands had touched the damned thing before it had arrived at her doorstep. Whoever the client was, however, it was extremely clear that he wanted to remain anonymous at this point.
As much as Cleo hated to admit it, keeping Lace under surveillance and gathering personal information about him had proven to be much more difficult than she’d first imagined.
He had money. That much was painfully obvious. He topped Forbes magazine as one of the top ten wealthiest men in America. He was single and nearly reclusive, which also put him at the top of another list, America’s most eligible bachelors.
Lace had kept an extremely low profile and that had made him an elusive target, not only for Cleo but also for the droves of females wishing to turn his head. Peeking over her menu, she couldn’t help but smirk.
Luke was a power player, all right. He sat at the head of the table, a king of many minions, his employees hanging on his every word.
He was the center of attention, so much in fact that the waitstaff of the restaurant catered to him as if they were in his employ personally.
Hell, Cleo was lucky to have gotten a glass of water from a busboy and she hadn’t even seen the server. She looked around, only to find a couple seated behind her, lingering over coffee and dessert.
At least they’d gotten their food, she thought bitterly. “What are you having?”
Cleo didn’t even have to look up. She knew by her gut reaction to the sound of his voice that Luke had moved in for the kill.
A predator indeed.
Maybe it was his confident attitude that gave him away or the deep tone of his voice, which seemed to envelop her like supple velvet enveloping bare skin.
She knew it was Lace before she met his gaze. Lowering the menu, Cleo held her breath. She attempted to feign disinterest but the moment their eyes locked, all hell broke loose.
Her heart skipped a beat or two, she couldn’t be sure, and then pummeled her rib cage like fists into a punching bag.
Breathe, just breathe, she told herself. It was something she did on a daily basis, so it should be easy enough. In and out…in and out…nice and slowly.
Oh God, he’d asked her a question, Cleo realized. She replayed it in her mind and had to interpret his words as if they’d been some exotic foreign language.
Having? What am I having? For dinner?
“I’m afraid I haven’t decided,” she said, finally managing to move her tongue and spit out a few words. She flashed a smile, exuding just the right amount of charm, mixed with a stab of indifference that she had to dig deeply to employ.
This was Oscar-winning shit right here.
“The veal is fabulous,” Luke said, casually slipping a hand into the pocket of his pants, as if perfectly relaxed. Nothing Lace did, however, was casual. Cleo had known that about him immediately.
He was a businessman at heart, a wolf among sheep, every move well crafted and perfectly executed. Why did she suddenly find that so hot?
“May I?” Luke asked, motioning at the chair across from her.
Sit, oh God, he wanted to sit. She’d screwed up big time. So much for her little undercover op. One of the golden rules of tailing a subject was not to have the subject notice your tail.
She tried to remain calm but her eyes must’ve betrayed her because he caught the look of surprise she’d tried to conceal.
“Forgive me,” Luke said with a respectful nod. “You must be meeting someone.”
“No—” Cleo corrected, a bit too soon.
Uugh. She sighed in frustration. She sounded like an idiot. She hadn’t meant, no, of course not. Had it come out that way? Desperate, as if she had no friends, no dates?
As if she was a recluse who ate every meal unaccompanied and never went to the movies because she hated sitting alone in the theatre.
“This was an impromptu lunch,” she added, scrambling to sound at least somewhat intelligent and compatible with the male species.
“Then you don’t mind,” Luke asked. He pulled out the chair and sat down with all of the confidence of a man who was accustomed to getting everything he wanted.
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