Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy, #1) (23)

Out of reflex, I glanced toward him, then felt my chest constrict when I caught him looking right back at me, the heat in his eyes so intense I thought it would burn right through me.

I looked away.

“No.” His hand gently cupped my chin and he turned my face back to him. “No,” he repeated, and this time I heard a plea beneath the hard sheen of command.

I started to protest, but he shifted his hand so that a finger brushed my lip, firm and sensual, and I wanted to draw him in and taste him. I felt giddy and lightheaded, drunk on the proximity of this enigmatic man who had so easily captured me in his spell.

I didn’t like it. And yet, god help me, I did.

“No argument,” he said. “No protest, no excuses.” He held out his hand to me. “You’re coming with me.”

“The hell I am.” I stood a little straighter as the earth leveled out beneath me. I was not the kind of woman who jumped simply because a man told her to. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was used to being the one in charge. To using a man before he could swoop in and use me.

One brow rose slightly, and I could tell that he was not the kind of man who was used to being challenged. Then the corner of his mouth curved up in a sexy grin. “I’d be honored if you’d take a walk with me.”

The world that had leveled out started to tilt again, this time knocked off kilter because he’d completely destroyed my expectations.

I caught myself taking a step toward him, and forced myself to stop as little bubbles of panic started to rise inside me, tempered by an unfamiliar current of excitement. “No,” I said slowly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No? Why not?”

Because I shouldn’t make decisions when I’m intoxicated, I wanted to say. But I’d had nothing to drink that night, and if it weren’t for his nearness, I would be stone-cold sober. “Because I don’t even know you,” I said instead.

“Don’t you?” His smile seemed to hold a thousand secrets, and I wanted to know each of them. “I’m Jackson. Jackson Steele. And I know you.”

“You do?” I couldn’t imagine how. I’d certainly never seen him before, because I would have remembered. And he wasn’t one of Reggie’s clients or contacts, because I didn’t recognize his name. He must have come as someone’s guest, but since I was only a lowly assistant, there was no reason for him—or for anyone at the reception—to know who I was. As if to illustrate that point, when Reggie and I had arrived, one of the Brighton group big shots had told the waitress to bring over a glass of sparkling water for “Reggie’s girl.”

I’d managed a tight smile and refrained from rolling my eyes. Always nice to be appreciated.

“Of course I do. You’re Sylvia Brooks,” Jackson said, my name sounding like ambrosia on his lips. “And though you’re not the reason I came here tonight, you are the reason I’ve stayed.”

I stood there, a little shell-shocked. Then I said, “Oh.”

It wasn’t my most brilliant conversational moment.

My idiocy didn’t seem to bother Jackson, though. Instead he just held out his hand again and flashed that killer smile. “Walk with me, Sylvia,” he said. “I promise I don’t bite hard.”

The flippant comment, said so seriously, made me laugh, and swept away the last of my hesitations. After all, what could be the harm in walking? I could always turn around and walk right back.

“All right, Jackson Steele,” I said, putting my hand in his. “Lead the way.”

I’d expected him to lead us off the veranda and into the covered pavilion where the dessert tables and complimentary bars were set up. Instead, he skirted the panda habitat, moving us away from the pavilion structure and down a path toward the interior of the zoo. We strolled beneath another covered structure where a few zoo employees were directing late arrivals up to the party.

I frowned. “I can’t just leave,” I said. “My boss is back there.” I didn’t bother mentioning that he was a lame-duck boss, and I was operating more on politeness than practicality.

“We’re not leaving,” Jackson said, as he guided me down the wide path to where it forked, one direction heading toward the exit, the other leading deeper into the zoo.

The latter was blocked by a red velvet rope suspended between two waist-high golden posts that acted like anchors. Jackson slipped between one post and a flowering hedge, then gave my hand a tug, indicating that I was supposed to do the same. I hesitated, brows raised.

He shrugged, his expression so disarming I had to laugh.

“I have a little problem with authority,” he said, as I joined him on the forbidden side.

“Oh?”

“Only in certain circumstances.”

“Like what?” Our voices were low as we moved down the asphalt path toward the gorilla habitat.

“If I’m not the one in charge, I have a problem.”

I swallowed, because I knew we were no longer talking about velvet ropes. I expected a wave of panic followed by the urge to bolt, and when it didn’t come, I wasn’t sure what to think. And then when he drew me to a stop, I stopped thinking altogether.

“Sylvia,” he said as he reached out to stroke my forehead, smoothing a few strands of hair to the side. I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, my breath ragged. The easy laughter that had been between us only a moment before had faded, replaced by something heavy and palpable. Something dangerous.