Jaline slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
He turned just enough to offer her a glance at his profile. “Nothing so extraordinary. I’m just used to people talking about me behind my back.”
Tall.
Check.
From what she could see? Smoking hot.
Check-check.
If chemistry sparked between them?
A shiver ran up her spine.
Rachel pulled out her chair and slowly sat, facing the man she hadn’t expected to find.
Mr. Right Now.
CHAPTER FOUR
ISAACLOOKEDUPas the chair opposite him was pulled away from the table. A woman in a dark green dress sank onto the seat with incredible grace, setting her clutch in her lap before crossing her legs in a controlled move that drew his attention. His gaze rested on the dress’s short hem before he realized that her legs were bare. In October.
Isaac shifted slightly in his seat. He had always appreciated the way women’s bodies appeared deceptively softer, their more subtly sculpted lines and lithe forms imbued with inherent grace. And when a woman worked to enhance those fine lines and fluid form? He appreciated it all the more. Without a doubt, the woman who had taken a seat across from him put in more than sufficient time to hone her form. She’d done such a magnificent job that, embarrassingly, Isaac found himself staring.
Appreciating.
Craving.
The woman began tapping a well-manicured fingernail against the small bag in her lap. “Let me know when you’re done with the physical assessment. The timer on our little meeting starts in—” she twisted in her chair, then twisted back “—about three minutes.”
“Plenty of time, then.”
“Time for...”
“Surely you’ve heard how important first impressions are.”
Her finger—the one tap-tap-tapping her handbag—went still. “And what, exactly, are you doing to secure that all-important first impression?”
“I’m sitting here trying not to intimidate you.”
She laughed then, the sound as promising as room-temperature bourbon poured over chilled whiskey stones.
“Do that again,” he said quietly, his gaze hovering at the highest point of the slit in the dress, the one that exposed a thin strip of smooth skin on the outside of her upper thigh.
“Do what again?” she asked in that sin-and-redemption voice.
“Laugh.”
“Make me.”
Isaac leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Who was she, this stranger, that she thought she stood a chance in hell of ordering him to do anything at all?
Had the dress she was wearing been displayed in a museum, it would have been called “Temptation in Textiles.” And with just cause. It was cut so that it showcased her best physical assets—long legs, trim waist, pert breasts, pale skin and that elegant neck, half-hiddenby the mass of loosely curled mahogany hair. That strong jaw.
He liked defined characteristics in a woman—knew men who much preferred their women softer, both in form and personality. Not him. As far as Isaac was concerned, strength was strength. And strength trumped softness each and every time.
Whoever this woman was, she understood the value of strength.