Free The Tycoon by Anna Jeffrey Page B

air and expensive cologne. She had
    always loved a woodsy masculine scent on a man and was pleased that one more thing about Drake Lockhart—as if she needed any more—met her expectations.
    He summoned the bartender. “Bring me what she’s having.”
    She looked up at him, questioning with her eyes.
    He leaned on his right elbow on the bar’s black padded edge. His gaze moved down to her mouth. “The last thing I want to be at this particular moment, ma’am, is under the influence.”
    Her heartbeat raced off on a wild tangent. She turned away and set her glass on the bar.
    He braced his left boot on the rung of her stool, his thigh touching hers and sending heat rushing up her neck. “Where, um, are you driving to?” he asked.
    “Ca—” She stopped herself. Did she really want to tell him where she lived? “Home,” she said.
    The bartender reappeared and set another glass of ice water on the bar. Drake straightened, picked it up, sipped and set it down. “You were with someone earlier. Did he leave?”
    Oh, hell. He had to be talking about Jordan. “He…yes. We weren’t really together. We’re just friends.”
    The next thing she knew, Drake had stepped to her side and placed his hand under her elbow and was urging her off the stool. “Walk with me,” he said.
    As if he were Pied Piper, she offered no resistance as he steered her away from the bar.
     
    ****
    Hearing her say she wasn’t Palmer’s girlfriend sent satisfaction through Drake, but could he believe her? “Just friends” was a too-casual phrase that had no real meaning in his lexicon. “Do you have a coat?” he asked.
    “It’s in that coatroom in the corner.”
    He guided her without obstacle or interruption through the thinning crowd toward the coat storage area. She was tall, he noticed, but still inches shorter than he, even wearing high heels. Her scent wafted to him, something womanly and sexy.
    “Most of this crowd is associated with the real estate business,” he said. “You’re what? Broker? Investor?...Wait, lemme guess. A politician.”
    “Um, no. None of those things. I, uh, just came here with Jordan.”
    But she had already said she wasn’t with Palmer. Something wasn’t right, but Drake couldn’t quickly figure out what, wasn’t sure he wanted to know about it if it conflicted with his greater purpose.
    They reached the makeshift coat closet. She opened her purse, pulled out her ticket and handed it to the steward who manned the coat check. He hurried away and soon returned carrying a short black jacket. With a wide smile, he offered Drake her jacket. He took it and held it while she slipped her arms into it. It was fancy, but lightweight. “This doesn’t look very warm.”
    She smiled up at him, showing perfect white teeth. “It isn’t. It’s strictly an evening wrap.”
    He pulled his money clip out of his pocket, peeled off a twenty and handed it to the steward.  “It’s pretty,” he told her.
    She smiled again. “Thank you. It’s a vintage garment. My grandmother wore it years ago
    when she was young. It makes me feel glamorous in a nineteen forties kind of way.”
    An old fashioned girl ? She didn’t look the part, but the idea that she might be intrigued Drake all the more. He could think of none of his female acquaintances he would call “an old fashioned girl.”
    He took her elbow again and guided her out of the foyer, into the spacious hallway. He
    gestured toward an alcove almost hidden by a tall vase holding a splashy floral arrangement. “Let’s stop here for a minute.”
    She turned to face him, her back pressed against the wall, her hands behind her. Her jacket opened, showing deep cleavage. Spurred by the blatant body language, Drake placed a hand against the wall beside her head and forced his eyes up to hers. Green. Her eyes were green, but not just any green. They were the distinctive color of sage in springtime. A surge of blood shot straight to his loins, so powerful it left