The Good, the Bad and the Wild. Heidi Rice

weeks. But instead of seizing the opportunity to get down to the business of begging him for an appointment, the butterflies already fluttering in her stomach went AWOL, and she hesitated.

      She’d never had the chance to flirt with a man like this before. Never been studied in that frank, assessing way, the pulse of awareness arching between them more potent than any drug.

      ‘Anthropology can be fascinating,’ she heard herself murmur, feeling inexplicably needy.

      ‘I’ll bet,’ he said. ‘Although you’re wrong about me.’ His gaze drifted over her hair, which Tess had spent an hour taming into a chignon. ‘I belong here just fine.’ Lowering his arm, he hooked one of the stray curls that had fallen out of the chignon. ‘But you, on the other hand, don’t belong at all.’ The back of his finger brushed her cheek, the touch subtle but so unexpected, she jumped.

      He chuckled. ‘What are you afraid of?’

      You.

      Heat pulsed in that secret place between her thighs at the intimate question. She wasn’t afraid of him, that would be ludicrous, it was just that she’d never been touched like that before, with a sense of entitlement.

      ‘I’m not afraid,’ she blurted out, the urge to run sudden and instinctive and oddly intoxicating. ‘I have to go to the rest room.’

      He tucked the lock of hair behind her ear with a care that made her heart throb in unison with her pulse points. ‘Let’s discuss anthropology when you get back.’

      The suggestion was casual but proprietary and only disturbed her more. She might be a novice at this, but she didn’t think this conversation had anything to do with anthropology any more.

      Giving a non-committal nod, she rushed away, sure she could feel his golden gaze boring into the bare skin of her back—with the patient, predatory instincts of a lion hunting a gazelle.

      The preposterous image made her breath catch. She had to get out of here—before she completely lost her grip on sanity. Plan B for Boring would have to do, because Plan A was way too terrifying—and exciting.

      Colour me amazed.

      Nick huffed out a rough chuckle as he watched the sexy anthropologist dash through the crowd and admired the swing of her hips in the stop-light red dress.

      When was the last time he’d met someone so intriguing, especially at one of these tedious social functions?

      He’d have to send Jay, his publicist, a thank you note for insisting that he venture away from his laptop tonight. Except that he hadn’t really attended the gallery opening at Jay’s insistence, but out of sheer boredom having spent the day staring at a screen full of rubbish.

      Leaning back against the column, he closed his eyes, shutting out the hum of inane chatter and hoping to deter anyone from approaching him while he waited for the Woman in Red’s return.

      She’d captivated him, which was surprising in itself. He didn’t appreciate being watched or whispered about, and he’d spotted her and her friend doing exactly that. But there was something about the way she had peered at him, with none of the usual calculation or confidence he had come to expect from the women that approached him. And then when he’d got a better look at her, his senses had kicked into overdrive like those of a hormonally charged teenager.

      He kept his lids closed, picturing her, and tried to determine the trigger. Creamy, translucent skin? Wide blue eyes so dark they were almost violet? The flutter of her pulse visible in the graceful arch of her collarbone? Russet curls that had escaped the mass of hair artfully piled on her head? The swell of her breasts revealed by the plunging neckline of her gown? The fresh, simple scent of soap and spring flowers? The crisp, precise London accent that he hadn’t heard in years?

      Any one of those things could have turned him on. He was a guy after all. But still, she wasn’t conventionally beautiful: not particularly tall; her eyes had been maybe too big, she had a slight overbite and her forthright observations about his character had unsettled him. Even though they could only have been a lucky guess.

      Weird? There was no explaining the ferocity of attraction. Not really. Except maybe…?

      He opened his eyes, found himself shifting round to look at the doors to the rest room.

      And realised that by far the most captivating thing about her had been her unguarded response. Her breathing had quickened, her pupils dilating wildly as soon as she stopped in front of him. The truth was he’d always been jaded where women were concerned. Even as a boy. Once he’d grown up, he found himself craving sex as much as any man, but for him it had never been more than a physical release. And as a result in the last few years, ever since The Deadly Touch had made him one of the hottest properties in Hollywood, he’d developed a cynicism about the women he dated that meant while sex was satisfying, it had become less and less exciting.

      He knew precisely which buttons to press to get the response from women he wanted. But when was the last time a woman had responded to him so instinctively—and with so little caution? She’d been so transparent, the instant physical connection between them so intense, he was sure it had to be an act. But act or not, he was still captivated. And intrigued. It was certainly a very long time since he’d felt this level of attraction. He glanced round, smiling at his own impatience, then pushed away from the column as he spotted her standing by the rest-room doors, talking into her cell phone. Not talking, pleading by the look of it. She snapped the phone closed, stuffed it into her purse, then rushed out of the back entrance of the gallery.

      He was so astonished, it took him a moment to figure out that she’d left. Acting on impulse, he charged after her, snaking his way through the crowd.

      Where the hell was she off to in such a hurry? He didn’t even know her name. And he wasn’t finished with her yet. Not by a long shot.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘HEY, wait up.’

      Eva’s head whipped round at the shout from behind her. She skidded to a halt, stumbling as she recognised the tall silhouette backlit by the light from the open doorway.

      Strong fingers grasped her arm, steadying her. ‘You okay?’

      The firedoor crashed shut, throwing the alleyway into shadow.

      ‘Yes,’ she murmured, cursing the guilty blush burning her neck. ‘Thank you. I’m not used to these heels.’

      His fingers stroked down her arm, setting off a series of lightning bolts, before he let her go. ‘I always wonder why women wear those ankle-breakers.’

      ‘To make our legs look longer.’

      He gave a gruff chuckle, the sound strangely intimate in the darkness. ‘Is that so?’ She saw his head dip as her eyes adapted to the low light. She took a staggered breath and his tantalising scent engulfed her, masking the aroma of wet pavements and disinfectant.

      ‘You don’t need any help on that score,’ he remarked, his voice low and amused.

      She wrapped her arms around herself, the chilled autumn air not the only thing causing her goosebumps. Was he flirting with her again? Why had he followed her? And why was his attention as intoxicating as it was terrifying?

      ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘Given that broken ankles are even less attractive than short legs.’

      He laughed again, the rough murmur chasing the blush into her cheeks.

      Stop being so literal, you muppet.

      ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, mercifully ignoring her pathetic attempts at conversation.

      ‘I…’ She choked to a stop. She didn’t have an answer. Her instinctive need to flee from him seeming even more ridiculous than her small talk. ‘I wanted some fresh air. It’s stuffy in there,’ she lied.

      Unfortunately, the lie didn’t quite come off when she shivered.