Jeanie London - About That Night...

Seizing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, he cornered Jules across the room from Dale, who schmoozed with several matrons from the Arts Council near the buffet, earning his high-figure salary by representing ADF when its principal was otherwise engaged.

“So tell me, beautiful.” He let his fingers linger on hers when he handed her the glass. “What brings such a lovely lady to an erotic theater alone?”

She shrugged, just a slight lifting of her shoulders that seemed at once both feminine and noncommittal. “There aren’t too many men who appreciate the historic significance of this theater and I wanted to see it one last time so I can marvel at your skill when the renovation’s done.”

Nick couldn’t decide what turned him on more, her interest in his architectural abilities or her confidence in them. “So the history of the place appeals to you. What about the architecture and the performance?”

“If I were to put them in order of importance, I’d actually have to say the renovation would be first on my list, then the history and finally the theater. What’s onstage doesn’t seem to matter much. The real magic is being here.”

Nick eyed her over the rim of his glass, could detect nothing but genuine interest in her rapt expression. Was she just flirting with him? He’d known more than his share of women who’d professed an interest in architecture, only to be bored stupid whenever he’d mixed business with pleasure and combined a weekend away with a site analysis.

He was a man of limited interests and architecture topped his list and encompassed his life, which probably explained why dating best suited his life in the field.

“So the architecture brought you here tonight. That’s my good fortune.” Clinking the rim of his glass to hers, he ignored the imploring look Dale shot him from across the room. “But the performance didn’t excite you at all?”

“Excite.” The word formed on her lips in a breathy whisper. “What an interesting choice of words, Nick. Yes, the architecture brought me here, but I’d have to be dead not to have been…excited by that performance. I’m alive.”

“I noticed.”

“And what about you? Did the performance excite you?”

There it was again, that breathy puff of sound that glided over those champagne-moistened lips and turned his thoughts to kissing. Stolen teasing kisses. Deep-throated hungry kisses. Wet demanding kisses.

“No reflection on the actors or the play, but the show didn’t do half of what you’re doing for me right now.”

He expected some reaction to his admission, surprise or pleasure, but quickly realized Jules intended to play this game her way. Arching an auburn brow, she touched the rim of her glass to her mouth, sipped, then darted her pink tongue out to wipe away the remnants from her lower lip.

He followed the movement with his gaze, imagining how that sweet liquid would taste warmed by those luscious lips. This woman was playing with fire and she knew it. Nick knew it, too. He enjoyed the chase as much as the next man…okay, probably more than most. But he prided himself on his control. So why was Jules having this damned intense effect on him? He’d blown off his schmoozing duties, which constituted work in his mind, to keep her all to himself.

Unfortunately, remaining isolated wasn’t possible and before long the Arts Council president corralled them.

“There you are, Dr. Fairfax. I’m interested in hearing what you think of the Risqué Theatre now that you’ve seen it firsthand. I can’t tell you how thrilled the board members are that you’re supervising the project personally.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Turner, I’d supervise all my senior teams if I could, but unfortunately I can only be in one place at a time. Your theater presented a challenge I couldn’t resist.”

He glanced down at the beautiful woman by his side, surprised at the frisson of excitement that coursed through his blood when she lifted her smoky gaze to his. “Mrs. Turner, this is my friend Jules,” he said, never turning back to the matron as he completed the introduction, because Jules’s beautiful face transformed into a polite social mask before his very eyes.

She extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure. I greatly admire the work the council does. Your grant program has an impressive track record of benefiting artists and cultural renovation sites in the area.”

“How delightful of you to notice.” The president positively beamed and Nick drank his champagne, content to listen for whatever clues Jules’s conversation might reveal.

She hadn’t offered her full name or mentioned why the cultural affairs of Savannah interested her. Nick found himself strangely disappointed. And challenged to find out all he could about her.

“Tonight’s performance was actually part of the grant program,” Mrs. Turner said. “Local writers submitted proposals for closing night scripts. The variety show tribute to the theater’s long and illustrious history overwhelmingly won the council’s approval and the grant.”

Jules looked thoughtful. “I thought the format was particularly appropriate, given that the sets for each vignette mirrored a historical transition in the theater’s architectural evolution. Didn’t you think so, Nick?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, but the truth was he’d been so busy admiring Jules from the balcony that he hadn’t noticed that the vignettes had reflected anything about the theater’s architecture, except as a tribute to the different eras.

This was his first clue that Jules’s interest in architecture was an honest one and since he wanted to know just how honest, he steered the conversation around to the detailed work needed to replace broken nosing and the crumbling cusps around the room.

Sure enough, Jules’s gaze traveled straight to the molding on the stairs, then up to the nearby doorway, with a certainty only a familiarity with architecture would bring. Nick decided right then to get her away from this party to find out more about this exotically beautiful woman who shared a common interest.

But he’d no sooner shaken off the Arts Council president when Dale arrived. He planted himself squarely between them for an introduction, and Nick knew at once Dale intended to bust his chops by making a play for Jules.

This wouldn’t be the first time Dale had challenged him. What Nick couldn’t figure out is why he even bothered, since he usually came off worse for the effort.

“Jules, this is my senior project manager Dale Emerson.”

“Well, hello, gorgeous.” Dale sandwiched her hand between his big paws and held on for dear life.

“Nice to meet you,” Jules replied and something about the surprise in her eyes made Nick suspect she wasn’t as used to flirting as she pretended to be. A niggling suspicion, but one he made a mental note to look at more closely. His gut feelings usually served him well with the opposite sex, because he made a point of paying attention.

Retrieving more champagne from a passing waiter, he offered the flute to Dale, forcing him to relinquish his death grip on Jules’s hand. Dale shot him a grimace that revealed he knew exactly what Nick was doing. But he forged ahead anyway.

“What did you think of the performance tonight, gorgeous?”

“I was just telling Nick I found it rather exciting.”

Ah, that breathy little sound again. It set his blood on fire, and when she cast her sparkling gaze his way, reserving the sound just for him, he experienced a surge of pure male satisfaction.

“Jules was also telling me how clever she thought the different sets were tonight, because each mirrored the architectural evolution of the theater’s renovations.”

If Nick hadn’t noticed the sets’ unique designs, he knew Dale hadn’t. Not that he’d have admitted the oversight. Dale didn’t, either. Instead, he segued neatly right back to the only topic that seemed to interest him at the moment—the beautiful woman standing between them.