She’d been polite but hadn’t fallen all over him when he’d introduced himself. And oh man, had he liked that. A lot. Surprisingly, a lot. Especially when she’d walked away from him. Women tended to latch onto him like he was the Holy Grail, and once they did, they never let go. That, he didn’t like. But Tara actually seemed more interested in doing her job than in being with him. It was damned refreshing.
So he’d stood back and watched. She was good at her work. Efficient. He’d noticed she had a couple assistants working with her, and she treated them like equals. No browbeating, no talking down to them like they were ants under her feet. But when she gave instructions, people moved and moved fast. And she seemed more than willing to get in there to do whatever needed to be handled to get the job done. She’d opened bottles of wine with efficiency, folded table napkins, directed a new waitress on what tables were hers, and calmed down a very agitated bartender with quiet words and more patience than Mick could have ever come up with.
He liked to watch her move in her high heels, her swishing skirt giving him glimpses of what must be spectacular thighs. She was slender, but not too much. She looked like she actually ate three meals a day, unlike a lot of the women he’d been forced to spend time with. She curved in all the right places, and he was fascinated by her neck, which was nicely visible, since her blonde hair was pulled up in a fancy hairstyle that didn’t suit her at all. He’d bet she usually wore her hair down or in a ponytail or in one of those messy hair clip things. She didn’t seem the type of woman who messed with her hair so that it had to be perfect. She had full lips and a narrow face and the prettiest brown eyes he’d ever seen.
But what he’d liked best about tonight was talking to her. She was a real person, not interested in furthering her career by being seen on his arm, but an actual, honest-to-God real woman. Funny and warm, with her own career. She hadn’t once searched out the media so they could take pictures of Mick and her. In fact, she’d done her best to avoid having the media see the two of them together.
It felt good to just be in this room with her. He wasn’t in any hurry, had no place to be for the rest of the weekend. It had been a long time since he’d really wanted to be with a woman—hell, had he ever really wanted to be in the company of a particular woman? He couldn’t think of any. As a release, yeah. To kill time, definitely. Someone thrust on his arm by Elizabeth for PR—all the damn time. But no woman had captured him enough for him to really want to be with her. They’d all been in and out of his life like some damn revolving door. Faces and names all blurred together, and he couldn’t remember a single one of them other than he’d met them and fucked some of them. He’d forgotten them as easily as they’d forgotten him.
Now Tara, he’d definitely remember.
There was something about her that made him want to do more than just fuck her.
Except right now he really wanted to kiss her and touch her and get her naked so he could explore the rest of her skin and see if it was as soft as the parts he’d already touched.
Easy, man. Not too fast. He didn’t want to scare her away. She wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to run the clock down too fast. He wanted this night to go into overtime.
MICK HADN’T SAID MUCH FOR THE PAST FEW MINUTES, just seemed content to stare out the window with her. Tara waited for discomfort to set in, but it hadn’t. There was something special about him, something she’d noticed from the start, and it had nothing to do with his career and everything to do with who he was as a man. She liked Mick, liked him more than she had any other man in a very long time. Since she had the entire weekend to herself, why not indulge?
“Would you like some champagne?” He motioned to the bucket sitting on ice. “They delivered it earlier. I think we all got one as a thanks from the owners.”
“I’d love a glass.”
He popped the top and poured some into a glass, handed it to her. She took a sip, the bubbles tickling her nose. “It’s very good. Aren’t you going to have any?”
“I’m more of a beer kind of guy.”
She laughed. “Me, too.”
“Yeah? You’re dressed like a champagne kind of woman. Your sparkly dress even matches.”
She looked down at her cocktail dress. Admittedly, she loved it. Tiny straps hung on her shoulders, the bodice dipped across the swell of her breasts, hugging them tight. It fit her well and was her favorite. “Only when I work events like this. Believe me, there’s no champagne stocked in my refrigerator at home. Only beer and soda.”
“Chips and hot dogs?”
She laughed. “Two of my favorites. I’m sorry to say the elegance only comes out as part of my job. You’ll typically find me barefoot, wearing jeans, with my hair up in a ponytail.”
He examined her near-perfect updo. “So that doo-dah hairstyle isn’t the norm for you?”
“Hardly. It’ll be hell getting all these pins out.”
“Want me to help?”
Heat swirled around her. “And shatter my Cinderella image? I don’t think so.”