Page 9 of Paw Inspiring (Paranormal Dating Agency #86)
EIGHT
I ntense hazel eyes met Meara’s, flickering with something wild beneath their surface. The stranger towered over her, his broad shoulders filling out an impeccably tailored suit that showcased every impressive inch of his powerful build. A slight scruff shadowed his strong jaw, and his black hair bore the kind of deliberate messiness that suggested he’d run his fingers through it in frustration at least once tonight.
His hands stayed firm on her waist, steadying her but also holding her close enough to catch his scent—something woodsy and male that made her head spin. Heat radiated from his body, and Meara found herself fighting the bizarre urge to lean into that warmth.
“I’m so sorry!” She finally found her voice, though it came out breathier than intended. “I wasn’t watching where?—”
“My fault entirely.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder, sending shivers racing down her spine. His eyes darkened as they tracked the path of a champagne droplet sliding down her collarbone. For a fraction of a second, Meara could have sworn they flashed gold.
She managed a shaky laugh. “Only thing wounded is my dignity. And possibly this dress.”
His lips quirked—not quite a smile, but something that softened his intimidating presence while ramping up his appeal to dangerous levels. “Let me make it up to you.”
Before she could respond, another voice cut through the moment: “Well, well, what do we have here?”
Frenchy materialized beside them, his eyes dancing with delight at the tableau before him. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend, Meara? The one you’re sharing such an... intimate moment with?”
Meara realized she still stood within the circle of the stranger’s arms. He didn’t seem inclined to let go, and she found herself reluctant to step away.
“Artek Riggs.” The stranger’s voice carried that same thunderous undertone, but his eyes never left Meara’s face.
“Meara Adams.” Frenchy jumped in when Meara remained silent, too caught up in that magnetic gaze. “Artist extraordinaire and the woman you’re currently holding as if she’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic.”
A touch of color stained Artek’s sharp cheekbones. He started to release her—only for another interruption to break the moment.
“Boss?” A sandy-haired man approached, his gray eyes taking in the scene with obvious amusement. “Sorry to interrupt, but Senator Matthews is asking about that security proposal...”
“Trey.” Artek’s tone carried a warning, but he finally stepped back, leaving Meara feeling strangely bereft. He reached into his jacket, producing a business card. “In case you need anything.”
Before Meara could fumble for her own card, Frenchy whipped one out of seemingly nowhere. “And here’s hers. You’re welcome, handsome.”
Artek’s lips twitched again as he accepted it. His fingers brushed Meara’s arm once more—a deliberate touch that sent electricity dancing across her skin. Then he turned, following his associate into the crowd with the fluid grace of a predator.
“Holy mother of matchmaking.” Frenchy fanned himself with another business card. “Did it suddenly get hot out here, or was that just the nuclear-level chemistry I just witnessed?”
Meara stared at the card in her hand. Northern Winds Security. She traced the embossed letters, her pulse still racing. “What just happened?”
“What happened is that you finally met someone who made you forget about paint swatches for five solid minutes.” Frenchy grinned. “And judging by the way he looked at you, I’d say the feeling was mutual.”
Gerri’s delighted laughter floated through the room while Betsy’s voice carried a distinct “I told you so” tone. Meara clutched the business card tighter, her skin still tingling where Artek had touched her.
Maybe this gala wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.
“Girl.” Frenchy grabbed her shoulders the moment Artek disappeared into the crowd. “GIRL. Did you see those shoulders? That jaw? That ‘I probably bench press school buses for my morning workout’ energy?”
Meara couldn’t stop staring at the spot where Artek had vanished. “Frenchy?—”
“Don’t you ‘Frenchy’ me. That man could crack walnuts with his biceps. Did you see how his suit strained when he caught you? I thought those buttons were going to pop off and take out half the waitstaff.”
“He wasn’t that?—”
“Oh honey, yes, he was. He’s the kind of man who probably chops down trees with his bare hands and uses bears as throw pillows.” Frenchy fanned himself with Artek’s business card, which he’d somehow swiped from her grasp. “Northern Winds Security? More like Northern Winds Seduction. The man’s got ‘romance novel cover model meets Special Forces’ written all over him.”
Heat crept up Meara’s neck. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Because I saw the way he looked at you. Like you were a honey pot and he’s Winnie the Pooh after a three-day fast.” Frenchy’s eyes sparkled. “And don’t think I missed how those eyes of his went all molten when you did that little hair flip thing.”
“I did not flip my hair!”
“You absolutely did. Right after he caught you, you did this adorable little head toss that had him looking at your neck like it was a five-star restaurant’s menu.”