He let her long curls fall through his fingers as she molded to him.

Then he showed her what else he liked. That he wasn’t soft. That he wasn’t gentle. With his fingers gripping her hair, he tugged.

Hard.

Her eyes snapped open, and they blazed at him. “That wasn’t gentlemanly.”

“I know,” he said, her hair still twisted in his fist. “And you liked it. Now, have you got any more questions about how I am in bed?”

She gulped. A touch of nervousness seemed to flicker across her eyes. “Not at the moment.” She blinked and seemed to rearrange her features as he let go of her hair, smoothing it out as it fell along her neck. “So tell me, Mr. Green Tie, what did you learn about me when you went hunting for information?”

He learned she shared DNA with the lead detective re-investigating his father’s murder. But that wasn’t exactly information that needed to be served up for small talk. “I learned you know everyone here, and can convince anyone to contribute to a worthy cause. Lots of money. Insane amounts.”

She pursed her lips together. “That does sound like one of my skills,” she said playfully.

“I learned you do it because you can. Because you made your mint already and now you give back.”

“True, true. Does that bother you?”

“That you made a mint?”

She nodded. “Yes. That can intimidate some men. When a woman is successful.”

He scoffed. “I’m not easily intimidated. And I happen to think successful women are”—he moved in closer, his lips daringly close to hers—“incredibly hot.” He skimmed his hand from her shoulder down her arm, unable to resist touching her. “But that’s what I learned from your bio, Sophie. I know other things about you, just from these last ten minutes.”

“What do you know?” she asked as the singer began a new tune, and the purple lights swooshed across the dance floor.

He ran a fingertip along her wrist, her chest rising as she drew in a quick breath. “That you like being touched.”

She nodded. “If a man knows how.”

“That you like to play games.”

She frowned. “You make that sound bad.”

“Games aren’t bad.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I bet you like to play pretend. Make believe. Role-play.”

“I have an idea,” she said in a purr, as she roped her hands around his neck then trailed her fingertips across the back of it, her touch a jolt of pleasure. “We could pretend, say, that we just met, and I’m curious about the man who has been in my thoughts. All I want is a little something. A little bit of intel to round out the picture. How about this for a simple question? Since you know what occupied my time in college, why don’t you tell me what occupied yours?”

This was easy. He could tell her his college major without giving up too much. “History.”

“Why history?”

“I like to understand what motivates people. Why they do what they do.”

“And did you learn what motivates people?”

“Usually it’s a desire for property or money.”

She smiled ruefully. “Sounds about right. What about sports? Did you play sports?”

“Yes. Hockey. Right wing.”

“Did you cause fights?” she asked, curiosity dripping from her voice.

He shook his head, his lips in a smirk, proud to be able to say no. “I was the one who stopped the fights.”

Her eyes widened. “Interesting. Why is that?”

“I like to be in control.”

She inched her hands up toward his hair, and he grasped her wrists and returned them to his shoulders. “What line of business are you in?” she asked.

“Security.”

“What do you do in security? Watch over banks? Guard the mall?” she said, lightness in her tone.

He laughed and shook his head. “No. I run a security company. Does that turn you on?”

“If you’re asking if your job turns me on, the answer is no. And that’s because I don’t find jobs a turn-on or off.” She danced her fingers down the front of his shirt. “I find men who know what they want a turn-on.”

“I know what I want.”

“You do. You want me.”

“So fucking much,” he growled. He tugged her in closer, aligning his body to hers, letting her feel how he wanted her already. A sexy sigh escaped her lips as he brought her near to him. She fit in his arms perfectly. Like that, they danced and moved under the dim lights to the next few songs, chatting about Vegas, and the event, and the silent auction, as he asked her questions about the gala and the hospital it benefitted.

“See? You are a gentleman. Asking a woman questions. Getting to know her,” she said, then touched a lock of his hair that had fallen on his forehead. He caught her arm, his fingers wrapping tightly around her flesh. He bent his head and brushed his lips against her wrist.

Their first kiss, and he was nowhere near her lips. But the skin of her arm had that same sultry, sexy scent as her neck. He let his lips linger on her wrist, then let go. “You taste fantastic,” he said, holding her eyes, letting his meaning register.

“Do I?”

“Yes. You do. I bet you taste delicious everywhere.”

She waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s getting awfully hot out here. I’m afraid I might combust if we stay on the dance floor like this.” She tipped her head to the bar. “Drink?”

He nodded and pressed his lips briefly to her neck, dusting a kiss on her collarbone. A soft moan floated to his ears. He was going to have a field day with Sophie Winston. She was a dream—every touch, every taste and she murmured, she sighed, she moaned.

He hadn’t even properly kissed her yet.

They threaded their way to the bar where he asked for two champagnes. As he reached for the flutes, a woman in a high-necked maroon dress and a severe bun zeroed in on Sophie, commanding her focus to ask her opinion on how the children’s wing should be decorated. As that woman finished, another darted in, declaring that she knew a building contractor, and she could up her donation if that would help secure the contract. Sophie was gracious with all of them, but after a few minutes she tossed Ryan a save me glance.

He stepped in next to her, handed her a glass of champagne, and flashed a smile at the two ladies. “I hope you’ll forgive me for interrupting, but I have to leave shortly, since I’ve been called to the hospital to do an unplanned surgery.”

The woman in maroon shot him a curious look. “Oh, you’re a surgeon?”

He nodded. “I am. And I need two minutes with our Sophie before I have to begin a bone graft.”

The other woman eyed his champagne. He quickly thrust it at her. “Please. Take this from me. I can’t drink on surgery nights, of course. I don’t even know why the bartender gave it to me. But I hate to be rude,” Ryan said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t bear the thought of turning down the man tending bar.

“Of course you don’t want to be rude. You’re a respected surgeon,” the second woman said in a commanding voice.

“And we don’t want to be rude either,” the maroon woman added. “Please. Go on. We don’t want to keep you from the bone graft.”

“Thank you so much,” he said and turned to leave, the beautiful bombshell by his side, her lips pressed together so she wouldn’t laugh.

“Bone graft?” she whispered from the side of her mouth as they walked off.

“I suppose bones, and the hardness of them, must be on my mind.” Then he shrugged. “Besides, I needed to come up with something or we’d never have a moment alone.”

“You want to be alone with me?”

“Isn’t it abundantly apparent?”

“From the hardness of your bones? Why yes, it does seem quite abundant,” she said with an amused expression as she cast her eyes to his pants.

He stopped at the side door, away from the crowds. He lowered his voice, and spoke in a rough, husky tone. “You turned me on from the second I laid eyes on you this afternoon. You are gorgeous and beautiful, and everything about you arouses me. Abundantly.”