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No doubt in her mind, even though his back was turned.
And what a broad back it was. Towering above everyone else, bright blond hair clipped neatly above his white shirt collar, he filled his black tuxedo jacket with the perfection of anEsquirecover model.
It was not only his imposing physique that had her ensnared. It was the grace and confidence of his movements.
He half-turned to speak to the blonde woman beside him, and Eve instantly recognized Heather Krug from the rival agency, Premier.
Eve raised the glass to her lips, only to realize it was empty.
“Refill?” she heard Devon offer.
She shook her head, her eyes trained on the two.“I still have this.”
She reached for the prosecco shot.
Heather was staring up at him, not having to tip back her white-blonde head too far because, in four-inch heels, she towered at almost six feet. In a figure-hugging ice-blue dress, she was a Nordic stunner. Eve tried hard not to feel like one of the shrimp Tandoori canapés she had just seen carried in on platters. She was petite—not short, she reminded herself—and well-proportioned for her height, but part of her had always wished she could be willowy and model-tall like Heather.
Beside her, Devon made a comment, but Eve didn’t hear him.
The tall man bent his head to whisper something in Heather’s ear. His hair swept lower over his forehead as he turned slightly, giving Eve a view of what, even from a distance, could only be described as a perfect profile.
Those shoulders… She downed the prosecco in one big gulp. Bubbles exploded in her throat. She coughed.
“Easy, there, sailor. That isn’t water. Are you all right?” Devonplaced a hand on her back.
She managed a nod but coughed again, watching Heather throw back her head and laugh, her long nails grabbing the tall man’s jacket sleeve.
“Earth to Eve.” Devon’s gaze followed hers, and then he nodded in understanding.“Ah. I see you’ve spotted God of Thunder over there.”
She wet her lips.“Is he—”
“Yeah, that’s Larssen. Owner and CEO.”
She didn’t have time to probe for more because the lights started to dim.
A side door opened, and two servers entered, wearing the cute air hostess outfits, wheeling in a massive box completely covered by blue cloth. They left it near the lectern that sported the same brass airplane logo.
Devon set down his empty martini glass.“Come on. Let’s get closer to the action.”
As they threaded their way through the many people who had migrated toward the podium, the lights dimmed lower and lower. Somehow, Devon managed to insert himself diagonally to the lectern in the first row, pulling Eve with him.
A hush descended on the crowd.
The air grew thick with excitement.
Overhead, colored lights began to blink alternately: red, green, repeat. Eve watched as, cloaked in shadow, the man emerged, lithely took the podium stairs, and stepped behind the lectern.
A sound chimed from the ceiling, and she recognized the tone heard in the cabin when a plane reached altitude. Two spotlights searched the room.
“Showtime,” Devon whispered.
But the playbill is mine.
The spotlights crisscrossed the podium, then stopped on the lectern. Light flooded the room again, and suddenly, there he was, six feet away, in all his golden glory.
Good grief. A Norse god turned human.
He had looked good from a distance but up close…Eve swallowed.