A. Arthur: Passion's Prey

She’d taken position just inside the entrance, standing near a pillar that gave her access to everyone as they walked in. This way she’d get first attempts at interviews with DC’s most powerful. And she was not disappointed as she stood back to watch the newest arrivals.

At seven fifty-three in the evening, Roman Reynolds, dressed in a classic two-button Gianni Versace tuxedo, entered the large ballroom with its thick white pillars, golden accents, and crystal chandeliers. On his arm was his wife and former MPD detective, the lovely and never overstated Kalina Reynolds. Mrs. Reynolds wore what Priya was certain was Vera Wang. In Priya’s other life she had to have been a fashion designer, and her obsession had simply carried over. Even though she couldn’t afford half the items she gawked over, she knew them all name by expensively designed name. Kalina’s dress was a fabulous A-line V-neck in a very alluring teal color that accented the ex-cop’s gorgeously natural golden skin tone.

The Reynoldses had been pictured before as they’d been out to dinner or at some other social event the millionaire lawyer was invited to. And Priya had to admit they made a stunning couple.

Next—and Priya could have probably predicted this—came Dominick Delgado and his adorable wife, Aryiola. The rumor mill was still abuzz with news of Nick’s quickie marriage and the resulting baby girl that had been born just a few months ago. Although there had been no pictures of the baby yet, Mommy and Daddy were both looking their picture-perfect best tonight.

Nick wore an appropriate modern-cut tuxedo, while his wife sported what Priya’s eagle eye nabbed as Donna Karan—a lovely tangerine dress with one capped sleeve and a crisscross pattern over her chest. Priya gave a mental thumbs-up to this obvious South American beauty for the dress but hated her for regaining that killer body so soon after having a baby.

In the back of her mind Priya noted there had never been any photos of the pretty foreigner with a protruding belly, so the baby could always be a rumor. However, the larger-than-life diamond on her ring finger was obviously the real thing.

Next up was a face she didn’t see in the tabloids often—only when he followed behind Reynolds and Delgado, which was most of the time. As Priya recalled, he was an FBI agent and looked terribly familiar. She would have sworn he was a professional wrestler if it hadn’t been for the company he kept. It didn’t matter who the designer of his tuxedo was, the slate-gray material fit him perfectly, adding an ideal touch to his military-like features of bald head, cold eyes, and stern jaw. His date, whom Priya could swear she’d seen someplace before as well, was likewise beautiful. Her hair was long, cascading over one shoulder in big bouncy curls. The dress was white and fit like a second skin—damnation to another gorgeous body. It hugged her generous breasts in a halter and displayed one outrageously long and equally toned leg through a split that soared upward to midthigh.

This was a new couple, one that looked as abnormally gorgeous as the former two. Really, Priya wanted to visit whatever salon these people did. Her own medium build and mocha skin tone could use a professional makeover. Even though she thought she did a damn good job of remaining stylish and sexy on her meager reporter’s budget. If the offer to move up in the world dropped in her lap, she’d scoop it up faster than a bird does bread crumbs. And she wouldn’t look back. Priya had vowed long ago to never look back.

The men that followed were all dressed in tuxedos, all handsome as sin, taller and broader than most of the other men in the room. Priya’s gaze followed them as they moved to a table near the far left wall of the room. She wasn’t sure why, but when she moved to find a seat she made sure it was at a table in close proximity to this one. And as she stared—blatantly because there wasn’t a modest bone in her body—one of the men looked up and locked gazes with her. For a minute she was startled—his eyes were a dusky tone of gray—but then she kept right on staring, feeling as if she were falling into that swirl of muted color, falling so slowly but so completely she didn’t have a moment to catch her breath.

A.C. Arthurwas born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, where she currently lives with her husband and three children. An active imagination and a love for reading encouraged her to begin writing in high school and she hasn’t stopped since. Her debut novel, Object of His Desire, was written when a picture of an Italian villa sparked the idea of an African-American/Italian hero. Determined to bring a new edge to romance, she continues to develop intriguing plots, sensual love scenes, racy characters, and fresh dialogue—thus keeping the readers on their toes! Visit her at: www.acarthur.net.