‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
Her pupils dilated as if she was surprised but, again, she said nothing.
‘I think I’ll call you “Blue”,’ he said leisurely.
Her chin lifted fractionally. ‘Because of my hair?’
He had to stop his jaw from dropping at the sound of her husky tones. That sultriness was at complete odds with her innocent demeanour. She was as raspy as a kitten’s tongue. The prospect of making her purr tightened his interest.
‘Because of the longing in your eyes.’ And because of the pout of her pretty mouth.
‘What do you think I’m longing for?’
Now there was a question. One he chose not to answer, knowing his silence would speak for itself. He just looked at her—feeling the awareness between them snap.
‘What should I call you?’ she asked after a beat.
He lifted his eyebrows. ‘You don’t know who I am?’
Her lips parted as she shook her head. ‘Should I?’
He studied her for a moment—there had been no flash of recognition in her eyes when he’d first spoken to her, and there was none now. How...refreshing. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m no one of importance. No prince, that’s for sure.’
Something flickered in her eyes then, but it was gone before he could pick it up.
‘I’m visiting Palisades for a few days,’ he drawled. ‘And I’m single.’
Her lips parted. ‘Why do I need to know that?’
That sultry voice pulled, setting off a small ache deep in his bones. He didn’t much like aches. He preferred action.
‘No reason.’ He shrugged carelessly, but smiled.
Her lips twitched, then almost curved. Satisfaction seeped into his gut, followed hard by something far hotter. Pleasure. It pressed him closer.
‘Why are you all alone in here?’ He offered her the second glass of champagne.
She accepted it but took such a small sip he wasn’t sure that the liquid even hit her lips. A careful woman. Intriguing.
‘Are you hiding?’ he queried.
She licked her lips and glanced down at her dress before tugging at the strap that was straining to hold her curves.
Definitely nervous.
‘You look beautiful,’ he added. ‘You don’t need to worry about that.’
That wave of colour swept her cheeks again but she lifted her head. There was an assuredness in her gaze now that surprised him. ‘I’m not worried about that.’
Oh? So she held a touch more confidence than had first appeared. Another shot of satisfaction rushed. His fingers itched with the urge to tug the wig from her head and find out what colour her hair really was. While this façade was beautiful, it was a fantasy he wanted to pierce so he could see the real treasure beneath.
‘Then why aren’t you out there?’ he asked.
‘Why aren’t you?’ Alert, she watched for his response.
‘Sometimes attendance at these things is necessary rather than desired.’
‘These “things”?’ she mocked his tone.
‘It depends who’s here.’
‘No doubt you desire these “things” more when there are plenty of pretty women.’ She was breathless beneath that rasp.
But he knew she was enjoying this slight spar and parry. He’d play along.
‘Naturally.’ Damon coolly watched her over the rim of his glass as he sipped his drink, deliberately hiding his delight. ‘I am merely a man, after all.’ He shrugged helplessly.
Her gaze narrowed on him, twin sparks shooting from that impossible blue. ‘You mean you’re a boy who likes playing with toys. A doll here, a doll there...’
‘Of course,’ he followed her smoothly. ‘Toying with dolls can be quite an amusing pastime. As can collecting them.’
‘I’ll bet.’
He leaned forward, deliberately intruding into intimate space to whisper conspiratorially, ‘I never break my toys though,’ he promised. ‘I take very good care when I’m playing.’
‘Oh?’ Her gaze lanced straight through his veneer, striking at a weak spot he didn’t know he had. ‘If you say it, it must be true.’
Appreciating her little flash of spirit, he was instantly determined to take very great care...to torture her delightfully.
‘And you?’ he asked, though he already suspected the answer. ‘Do you often attend nights like this?’ Did she play with toys of her own?
She shrugged her shoulders in an echo of his.
He leaned closer again, rewarded as he heard the hitch in her breathing. ‘Do you work at the hospital?’
Tonight’s ball was the annual fundraiser and, while he knew huge amounts were raised, it was also the chance for hospital staff to be celebrated.
‘I...do some stuff there.’ Her lashes lowered.
Wasn’t she just Ms Mysterious? ‘So why aren’t you with your friends?’
‘I don’t know them all that well.’
Perhaps she was a new recruit who’d won an invitation for this ball in the ballot they held for the hospital staff. Perhaps that was why she didn’t have any friends with her. It wouldn’t take long for her to find a few. Some surgeon would snap her up if he had any sense. Then it wouldn’t be long before she lost that arousing ability to blush.
A spear of possessiveness shafted through him at the thought of some other guy pulling her close. Surprising him into taking another step nearer to her. Too near.
‘Do you want to dance?’ He gave up on subtlety altogether.
She glanced beyond him. ‘No one is dancing yet.’
‘We could start the trend.’
She quickly shook her head, leaning back into the shadows so his body hid her from those in the ballroom. Damon guessed she didn’t want to stand out. Too late, to him she already did.
‘Don’t be intimidated by any of that lot.’ He jerked his head towards the crowds. ‘They might have the wealth but they don’t always have the manners. Or the kindness.’
‘You’re saying you don’t fit in either?’ The scepticism in her gaze as she looked him over was unmissable.
He resisted the urge to preen in front of her like some damn peacock. Instead he offered a platitude. ‘Does anyone truly fit in?’
Her gaze flashed up to his and held it a long moment. Her irises were such a vibrant blue he knew they had to be covered with contacts. The pretence of polite small talk fell away. The desire to reach for her—to strip her—almost overwhelmed him. Now that was inappropriate. He tensed, pushing back the base instinct. Damn, he wanted to touch her. Wanted her to touch him. That look in her eyes? Pure invitation. Except he had the feeling she was too inexperienced to even be aware of it.
But he couldn’t stop the question spilling roughly from his lips. ‘Are you going to do it?’
* * *
Eleni Nicolaides didn’t know what or how to answer him. This man wasn’t like anyone she’d met