Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(27)

Kristen cocked her head, casting me an appraising look. “And Kiki has been desperate to find something to do, on this side of the room, looking everywhere but somewhere in particular.”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I finally darted another glance toward Darren.

He stared straight at me. His arms were braced wide on the edge of his sound board. His face was tilted down ever so slightly. Gaze intense. Fierce, almost.

Then one corner of his mouth lifted.

Sudden awareness hit me. I glanced right, toward Hannah. Then left, at my meddling brother and sister. The four of us formed an evident line—and stared directly at him.

My face instantly flamed hot with embarrassment.

Cade nudged me off the stool. “Go. Correct the poor guy. He probably thinks we’re talking about him.”

I stumbled forward a few steps, holding my martini high to avoid spillage. Then I shot a death glare back at Cade. “There will be retribution.”

He grinned wide. “Counting on it.”

Huffing out an irritated breath, I turned back around and worked my way through the throng of people who milled about in the center of the room. Two slower deep breaths later, and three feet from the raised temporary stage where the sound booth had been installed, I mustered enough courage to look up at him.

Annnd…he’s still staring at me. With a smug expression. Like he enjoyed my discomfort.

I stepped up on the platform, forcing him to turn if he still wanted to look at me.

He leaned a shoulder on the exposed brick wall, not saying a word.

After another gulp of my sweet drink, I arched a brow. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely.”

“At my expense, it seems.”

He gave a half-shrug. “Hey, I’m just an observer here.”

“Good.” I waved a dismissive hand out at the peanut-gallery-three who still watched us with clear glee. “Do not read into any of that. They’re just harassing me.”

“Us.” He gave a nod to our audience across the room.

Cade had the audacity to give Darren a mini salute.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Us.”

“Why would they do that?” His penetrating gaze remained fixed on me.

To stall, I scanned over the rest of the partygoers. The turnout exceeded even our estimates. Win for Invitation Only, win for the client. As the weight of the silence between us grew, I took another taste of the sugar edging my glass. Then I took a fortifying sip.

All or nothing. “They might have thought I was interested in you. At some point.”

“Oh?” He swung his gaze toward them for a brief second, before landing it squarely back on me. “And what would’ve given them that idea?”

My pulse quickened. My breaths shallowed. He stood mere inches away, and I swore I felt the heat of his body, smelled the incredible scent of his skin.

“Ummm…” Yeah. Stalling didn’t take the pain of humiliation away. It only prolonged it. When dealing with Band-Aids, experts recommended a brave ripping over cowardly peeling.

“I might have called you sex on a stick. Once.”

His eyes widened. The corners of his mouth twitched. He pulled away from the wall, evening his weight on both legs…presumably to not topple over. Then he barked out laughter.

I frowned. “Not funny.”

“Nope.” He struggled to regain his composure. “That shit’s hilarious.”

On a huff, I turned away from him, squaring my shoulders against the cold brick wall. Then I stared up at the high-raftered ceiling, searching for my patience somewhere up in those metal girders. “Was a long time ago.”

“How long ago?”

“Ancient.” Sudden déjà vu hit me. We’d had the same dialog. Only it had been about the last time I’d had sex. Wonderful.

“Nice outfit, by the way.” His tone softened. The humor left his eyes but a steady warmth remained.

Pulling my drink away from my chest, I glanced down at my outfit. Chrome beading covered the thin strap of a tank top that disappeared under a faded black sweatshirt. My knees stuck out of the holes of acid-washed and majorly shredded 501’s. I’d had to wear sensible black underwear that covered my ass, since another one of those shred-holes ventilated just under my left butt cheek. Strappy metallic-leather stilettos let my lilac-painted toenails peek out.

“Thanks.” I let out a relieved breath, then smiled at him. “I was going for Flashdance.”

“Achieved.”

For the first time all night, I appraised his outfit. The one he’d texted me about earlier. Tee, jeans, boots. Yeah. Not a damn thing boring about it. Probably because of who was in it.

“You look good too.” Weak. My nonchalant tone sounded believable, though.

He didn’t seem to care. Just scanned the crowd again.

The reprieve gave me a chance to collect myself: to try to be unaffected by how close we stood, ignore the butterflies dancing in my stomach—the slow heat spreading downward from my flushed face…settling between my legs into a delicious ache.

I swallowed hard. Then downed the rest of my drink.

“This would be a great place to show your art.” He crossed his arms, scanning the room.

“Yeah.” I’d initially thought so too. Relaxing back, with the ball of one foot propped on the wall, I examined the space from an artist’s eye. Rusted I-beams supported the massive roof. The concrete floor had been burnished with an acid treatment, rich reddish-brown and black swirls covering the roughed surface. Exposed brick lined only the wall we leaned against. Along the back and across from us, ivory plaster served as a backdrop for giant black-and-white photographs that matched the industrial theme. All were prized collector pieces, historical photos from atop skyscrapers and bridges in various stages of construction.