This job made her edgy, but he, and her immediate and inappropriate internal response to him, downright frightened her. After all, she was standing in the ballroom of his home—his private residence, Tabitha reminded herself for the umpteenth time—and her event-planning company, Magical Moments, was being paid a very intimidating six-figure sum of money to see that the night was immaculately presented for himself and his guests. She didn’t have time to contemplate the tug of arousal at the sight of him; there was too much work to be done. “You seem to have read my mind,” he said, stalling her as she reached to adjust a glass bowl on one of the perimeter tables. “This is perfect.” It was quiet, they were alone, and he was on the other side of the room, but the acoustics brought the sound to her like he was standing behind her. His voice flowed over her like silk, low and intimate, with a warm timbre that promised wicked things. She shivered and turned to face him, only to find herself held captive by a pair of intelligent, ice-chip eyes that stole the very breath from her lungs. The way he had emphasized the “miss” before her name had sent shivers down her spine, punctuating his appeal with a stab of desire straight to the heart of her sex. Any idiot could see by the lack of a ring on her finger that she was not attached to anyone, but the way he pointed out that lack of attachment sent her mind twirling toward the obscene. So not good, Tab.
