Billionaire's Contract Engagement / Money Man's Fiancée Negotiation. Michelle Celmer

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      He smiled again. “I like confidence. I don’t like false modesty. I look forward to seeing what you have in mind, Celia Taylor. I have a feeling you put every bit of that passion I see burning in your eyes into your work. Brock Maddox is a lucky man to have such a fierce employee. I wonder if he knows it.”

      “Are we moving into the appointment phase?” she asked lightly. “I have to admit, I’ve enjoyed watching you surrounded by the piranhas as you call them.”

      He put his glass down on a nearby table. “Dance with me and we’ll discuss appointment times.”

      Her eyes narrowed.

      He lifted one finely constructed eyebrow into what looked like a challenge.

      “I’ve also danced with female ad executives from Golden Gate, Primrose, San Fran Media—”

      She held up her hand. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re making your selection on who’s the best dance partner.”

      He threw back his head and laughed. Several people around them turned to stare, and she had to resist the strong urge to flee the room. She hated the attention that Evan seemed to have no issue with whatsoever. How nice it must be not to have to worry what people thought about you. To have your reputation intact and not have suffered the stupidity and vindictiveness of others. But then men rarely suffered in cases like hers. It was always the woman. The vilified other woman.

      Knowing no graceful way to bow out of the dance, she set down her own glass and allowed Evan to lead her onto the ballroom floor.

      To her relief, he held her loosely. To anyone looking on, they could find no fault or impropriety. She and Evan didn’t look like lovers, but she knew the thought was present in both their minds. She could see the desire in his eyes and knew he could probably see it in hers.

      She wasn’t practiced at hiding her emotions. Maybe being the only girl in an all-male household growing up was the reason. Her family was a loud, demonstrative lot, and she’d always been regarded as the precious daughter and sister.

      It would make her life easier to be able to hide her thoughts from this man. Then she wouldn’t concern herself over whether he was giving her a shot because he thought she deserved it or whether he was thinking only of the powerful sexual pull between them and how best to capitalize on it.

       Wow, Celia. Lump him in with all the other jerks you’ve known, why don’t you? Nothing like being tried and convicted based on your gender.

      “Relax. You’re thinking way too much,” Evan murmured close to her ear.

      She forced herself to do as he’d instructed and gave herself over to the beautiful music and the sheer enjoyment of dancing with a man who took her breath away.

      “So how is next week? I have Friday free.”

      She jerked back to reality, and for a moment couldn’t for the life of her figure out what he was talking about. Some professional she was.

      “I was thinking we could meet informally and you could go over what you have in mind. If I’m interested we could do the whole shebang at your agency. Maybe that’ll save us both a lot of time and hassle if I’m not loving your ideas.”

      “Sure. I can do Friday. Friday is good.”

      The music ended, and he held her just a bit longer than necessary, but she was so affected by the intensity of his gaze that she couldn’t formulate a single objection.

      “I’ll have my assistant call you with the time and location then.”

      He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. The warm brush of his mouth over the back of her hand sent a bolt of pleasure straight down her spine.

      “Until Friday.”

      She watched wordlessly as he strolled away. He was immediately swallowed up by a crowd of people again, but he turned and found her gaze. For a moment they simply stared at one another and then the corners of his mouth lifted into a half smile.

      Oh, yes, he knew. He knew exactly what her reaction to him was. He’d have to be a complete moron not to. And he was anything but. The man was smart. He was driven. And he had a reputation for being ruthless. He was the perfect client.

      She turned to walk toward the exit. She’d done what she’d come for. There was no reason to stick around and be social. If there was any gossip over her dance with Evan, she certainly didn’t want to hear it.

      On the way, she passed Brock and Elle, who were standing somewhat awkwardly to the side. Brock didn’t say anything. He just lifted an inquiring brow. Of course he would have seen her dancing with Evan. Brock probably hadn’t looked at anyone but Evan all night. A shame, really, since Elle looked fabulous in her black sheath.

      “Friday,” she said in a low voice. “I meet with him Friday. No formal pitch. He wants to hear my ideas first. If he likes them, he’ll arrange a time for us to hit him with both barrels.”

      Brock nodded, and she saw the gleam of satisfaction light his eyes.

      “Good work, Celia.”

      Celia smiled and resumed her path to the door. She had a lot to do before next Friday.

      Evan Reese loosened his tie as soon as he walked into his hotel suite. He left a trail of clothing from the door, where he threw his jacket over one of the chairs, to the bedroom where he peeled off his socks and left them on the floor.

      The desk with his laptop and briefcase beckoned, but for once, the idea of work didn’t appeal to him. He was too preoccupied with thoughts of Celia Taylor.

      Beautiful, seductive, impossibly aloof Celia Taylor.

      His body had been on heightened sense of alert ever since she walked into the ballroom, and though he’d known the moment she left, he was still tense and painfully aware of her scent, how she felt in his arms, how her skin felt under his fingers the one time he’d been bold enough to touch her.

      He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than just touch. He wanted to taste her. He wanted her underneath him, making all those feminine, breathy sounds of a woman being pleasured.

      He wanted to slide his hand between those gorgeous legs and spread her thighs. He would spend all night making love to her. A woman such as Celia wasn’t to be rushed. No, he’d get to know every inch of her body. Find out where she liked to be touched and kissed.

      His fixation with her couldn’t be readily explained. It wasn’t as though he lived as a monk. He had sex. He never lacked for partners. Sex was good. But he knew that sex with Celia would never be just good. It would be lush and delicious. The kind of experience a man would sell his soul for.

      She was indeed a beautiful woman. Tall, but not too tall. She would fit perfectly against him, her head tucked just underneath his chin. She often wore her long red hair up in a loose style that told him she didn’t pay a lot of attention to whether every strand was in place.

      He wanted to take that damn clip out, toss it in the garbage and watch as her silken mass spilled down her back. Or better yet, let it spill over him while they made love.

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