Shelley had noticed him instantly.
He had that certain something, that je ne sais quoi, that savoir-faire. He was the sort of man who stood out, even in a room as crowded as this one.
Shelley normally loathed the phrase "casual elegance," but it described this man too well to be cast aside. He looked so at ease in his tailored English suit and sleek Italian shoes that one would think he'd been born in them. He wore his gold cuff links and Swiss watch with notable unconcern. His straight, thick black hair was expertly cut in a continental style, and had been combed just carelessly enough to hint at an underlying sensuality. His blue eyes studied the crowd from beneath long dark lashes, his expression showing a subtle mixture of amusement and polite interest.
He looked very smooth and polished and clever. The best course of action, Shelley decided sensibly, would be to ignore him completely.
But she found, much to her surprise, that she kept noticing him. Within moments she noticed that he had noticed her, too, and was continuing to notice her. Soon, a little harmless noticing had turned into a staring contest.
His expression was flattering as he obviously absorbed the shock of her bold stare. Something electric passed between them in that crowded, noisy room, and the look on his face deepened to frank admiration and interest. Shelley didn't blush or turn away. She didn't understand the modern Western inhibitions regarding eye contact between strangers. If you found someone interesting, it seemed only polite to let your eyes tell them so; everyone needed a little positive reinforcement now and then. What's more, Shelley knew she could learn a lot about someone in those silent moments of eye contact. She had worked with the public all of her adult life and relied on her intuitive understanding of most people.
This was different, though. There was something fascinating about this man's lively blue eyes, something enigmatic about the smile hovering at the corners of his well-shaped mouth, something compelling about the way his relaxed body radiated dynamic energy.
He pushed himself lazily away from the pillar he'd been leaning against and started to walk purposefully toward her. Their gazes were still locked. Shelley felt transfixed. She had no idea what she would say once he reached her side. "Hello" seemed too banal, but "I can't stop staring at you" would sound ridiculous. The look in his eyes assured her that he would know exactly what to say. Shelley suddenly felt something monumental was about to happen to her.
"Watch out, there!" someone shouted.
It wasn't quite the extraordinary event she had been expecting. A waitress bumped into her and dropped three glasses of sangria all over Shelley's pale yellow blouse and gray wool skirt.
She gasped as the cold liquid drenched her chest and looked down in dismay at her besmirched outfit.
"On, no!" she said, for lack of something better to say.
"Oh, miss, I'm so sorry. Oh, excuse me, miss, no, here, let me do that. Oh, it's all my fault..." The overwrought waitress who had drenched her started brushing her off rather frantically.
"It's all right. Don't worry about it," Shelley replied placatingly as she dodged the girl's violent efforts to clean her stained blouse and skirt. "Really. I was standing right in your way."
"You certainly were," agreed Wayne Thompson. "Why were you standing there like a totem pole?"
Shelley gave her young, clean-cut colleague a sheepish look. "You'll have to stay here and talk to the client. I've got to go home and change. And for goodness' sake, try to be a little tactful."
Wayne looked around the large reception hall at the several hundred guests of Shelley's potential client, Keene International Company. New to Cincinnati, the company was throwing this big, rather expensive afternoon reception to celebrate its first year in the Queen City. They had invited all their current and potential business associates. Shelley, as the director of the Babel Language Center, was currently negotiating with Keene to handle all of their language and cultural training, as well as all of their translation and interpretation work. Although Keene clearly seemed to prefer Babel to Shelley's chief competitor, she wouldn't count her chickens until she had signed the contract with this important client. It would be a tremendous account for the language center and would likely lead to her promotion.
"How are you going to get home if I stay? Didn't you come by bus this morning?" Wayne prodded.
"Yes," she admitted distractedly. Unfortunately, at this time of day, the bus from downtown to her home on Mount Adams only ran once every hour. Furthermore, even if she felt like walking to the bus stop and waiting, she had left her coat at the Babel Language Center. It would take ten minutes to walk along the covered downtown skywalk to get back to the language center and grab her coat. Then she'd have to wait for the bus and finally sit through its circuitous route to Mount Adams. "I won't get back to work until nearly closing time," she said aloud in annoyance. The thought of paying for a taxi all the way home rankled her thrifty nature.
"There's really no need for me to stay," Wayne pointed out.
Shelley considered this for a moment. Wayne was the accountant at the language center, and talking with clients really wasn't part of his job.
"No," she said at last. "I want you to stay and keep an eye on that awful man. I don't trust him."
"Who?"
)
Language center director Shelley Baird thought she had just lined up the biggest contract of her career--till her biggest competitor sent in troubleshooter Ross Tanner. Then suddenly nothing was the same. He was after her client, of course--but he was after Shelley, too. How could Shelley resist Ross's casual elegance or his spine-tingling kisses? She knew she shouldn't mix business with pleasure, but when he uttered his words of love she wanted to believe him.
