Magnate by Joanna Shupe Page B

Elizabeth,” his deep voice commanded, and she gasped. Her lungs desperately dragged in air, as a shiver worked its way down her body.
    â€œMy God,” she wheezed. “How can you stand that?”
    â€œI’m used to it.” He put the crystal to his beautiful lips and, drink suddenly forgotten, her thoughts returned to kissing. The burn in her stomach spread to ignite other parts as she watched him swallow, the strong cords of his tanned throat working above his white shirt collar. The divot in his chin dipped and bobbed, mesmerizing her like a snake in a charmer’s basket.
    â€œYou should stop staring at me like that.”
    â€œLike what?” She propped her elbow on the table and put her chin in her hand, leaning toward him.
    â€œLike you want me to kiss you.”
    The gin must’ve conspired with the champagne to take hold of her tongue, because she blurted, “And you don’t want to kiss me?”
    â€œWrong.” His eyes blazed as he brushed his bare thumb gently over the seam of her lips. “I would give everything I own for the privilege. But there would be no going back.”
    Lizzie’s skin came alive, itching and crawling with restlessness at his light touch. The fervent pounding of her heart behind whalebone and cotton echoed in every pore and cell, so loud she was certain he could hear. He stared at her mouth, rough pad of his thumb continuing to trace her lips.
    He broke away first and reached for his glass, and she was pleased to see his hand shake slightly. He was so cool, so composed except for that slight tremor in his hand. Could he be pushed? Could she break a bit of the heavy-plated armor he seemed to surround himself with?
    â€œEverything you own? I’m told it’s considerable.”
    His mouth quirked, and he took another sip. “It is.”
    â€œThen I am flattered.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t be.” He set the crystal down with a thump. “You should stay away from men like me.”
    She lifted a shoulder. “I’m not certain that’s possible. I’ve never been very good at doing what I am told.”
    * * *
    Was she flirting with him? Yet another surprise when it came to Elizabeth Sloane.
    It had been a shock to find her here tonight. Clearly, Brendan had a lot to answer for. Emmett’s brother was the only explanation for Elizabeth’s presence in the private dining room. But as annoyed as Emmett was over Brendan’s interference, he was also strangely relieved. He hadn’t wanted to see Mae. No, the woman he desired was right here in front of him.
    He reached for his gin in a desperate attempt to cool his growing desire. Elizabeth was beautiful, yes. And intelligent. That had been unexpected, the quick wit. Most women of her ilk only concerned themselves with parties and gossip. Elizabeth was different, and he’d always been drawn to uniqueness, things that stood out.
    Yet she was like a package too pretty to open. Someone too fragile and pure for a man like him, a man who’d fucked more nameless women than ones he could recount.
    So why was he lusting after her like a lad? He knew better. This could go nowhere beneficial.
    â€œHow was Pittsburgh?” she asked.
    He frowned, certain he hadn’t mentioned his trip tonight. “How did you know I was in Pittsburgh?”
    â€œYour brother told me, when I called.” She wiped her immaculate mouth with the linen napkin. “He seems very nice.”
    Nice was not how Emmett would have described Brendan at the moment. “His patients certainly think so. And my trip was . . . productive.”
    â€œI’ve never been to Pittsburgh. Will goes, though.”
    â€œYou might like it. Have you ever traveled west?”
    â€œNo, though I’ve always wanted to see San Francisco. With the hills and the water, it’s supposed to be beautiful,” she said, and her eyes turned soft and dreamy, like silver clouds. Holy