My heel snagged on the carpet, sending me flying. I landed nose-first in a charcoal gray tailored Armani suit. Momentarily stunned, I clutched onto the toned arms that were wrapped around me. As I looked up my heart nearly stopped.
Wide emerald eyes fringed with long lashes gazed down at me with guarded curiosity. His sculpted mouth twisted into a cautious smile, softening his jawline.
“Are you alright?” he asked as he loosened his grip on me. His voice was rich and smooth, like a full-bodied wine. The English accent he had could charm the pants off a nun. It made me want to fall into his arms again.
I stepped back, smoothing down my dress. He didn’t look much older than thirty, but his worn eyes betrayed his youth.
“I’m fine. I’m not usually that clumsy. Sorry.”
His brows furrowed. “I kept telling them someone was going to stumble over that patch of carpet. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Aside from my bruised ego and general lack of grace, I think I’ll be alright.” I smiled up at him in an effort to thwart the growing blush from creeping up my neck. I wasn’t the type who embarrassed easily and needed to regain some sort of composure. No luck.
His expression altered subtly as his stare intensified. Something shifted in the air between us. It was as though he’d tethered me with some freakishly strong invisible rope. My pulse quickened. I was caught smack dab in the middle of his magnetic pull without any means of escape.
Not that I wanted to get away. His tall frame filled out the suit with powerful elegance. The quiet control with which he held himself mirrored royalty. A tousled mass of thick, dark red hair framed chiseled features that would inspire Michelangelo. But it was those eyes that got me.
They were so astute, yet veiled. I wanted to know what was behind them.
“Would you like a drink?”
How he made such an innocent question sound so seductive was beyond me. His dark stare was unflinching. If I said no, he’d probably take it as a personal insult. And I did want another one of those fruity-minty drinks; I just couldn’t articulate the words.
“I hear the signature drink is rather good. Would you like that?”
“Yes, please,” I finally managed to say.
Forget my cheeks, my whole body flushed as I watched him move toward the bar. A silver cufflink glinted off his crisply pressed gray and white pinstriped shirt. I noticed he paired it with a solid gray tie before he caught me looking. A smile ghosted across his lips as his languid gaze traced my curves. I made a big deal out of inspecting the carpet for more hidden traps that my shoes could fall victim to.
He handed me the drink, my fingers brushing his when I clasped the glass. Against my better judgment I fell captive to his stare once more. Luckily, I remembered my manners and thanked him.
“My pleasure. Have you been enjoying yourself?”
“Yeah. Well, aside from making an ass of myself just now.”
A flash of white appeared revealing a dazzling smile. It was extremely sexy and charming. And dangerous. I felt myself falling deeper and deeper under his spell.
“Trust me, stumbling on a carpet is not the worst thing I’ve seen at these events.”
“No?”
“Stick around long enough and you just might see some of these well-dressed ladies toss off their shoes and throw some shapes when the band starts playing.” He grinned.
“Throw some what?”
“Dance.” His eyes flared with humor.
“You Brits and your crazy sayings,” I laughed.
“We like to keep you Americans on your toes.”
I took a long sip of my cocktail to prevent a stupid grin from spreading across my face.
“Don’t have too many of those. They’re rather potent.”
“But they’re so good. Don’t piss on my fireworks.” I smiled broadly.
A deep, throaty laugh filled the space between us.
“’Throwing shapes’ baffled you, but you know ‘piss on my fireworks?’”
“My sister only taught me the fun slang,” I laughed.
“Does she live here?”
“Not in Glasgow, no. She lives in London.”
“Well then, you’ll have to thank her for me,” he said, smoothing down his tie.
“Thank her for what?”
“Pretty Americans who know British slang are rare in these parts.”
“Interesting.” I looked up at him through my lashes.
“What?”
“Someone just warned me that you guys have a thing for American girls.”
His eyebrows arched. “And what did they say?”
“It has something to do with our accents.”
“You have an accent?” He angled toward me. “I hadn’t noticed.”
The way that he was looking at me caused me to completely forget my exhaustion. His dark eyes and sexy grin woke me up in more ways than one, pushing several of my hot buttons.
“Be careful,” he said, clasping the glass in my hand. “You don’t want to spill it all over your dress.”
Way to go. “You must think I’m a hot mess. First I take a nose-dive into your suit and now I’m dropping drinks.”
“Like I said, I’ve seen worse.”
The longer I held his gaze, the faster my heart raced. There was something…forbidden in the way he looked at me.
“I should probably get back to my friends.”
“Do you have to?”
A suffocating aura of want enveloped me. He was closer, dominating the space between us. Our quick, breezy exchange was light years away from the hazy, thick fog of desire that hung in the air. Get it together, Lia. Walk away.
“You’re rather deep in thought.”
I blinked. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I thought maybe I was boring you.”
A shrill ring sounded from his pocket. He fished out a cell phone, frowning at the screen.
“I have to take this.”
And just like that, I was pulled out of his engaging aura and plopped back into reality.
A.L. Jackson is the New York Times bestselling author of Take This Regret and Lost to You, as well as other contemporary romance titles, including If Forever Comes, Pulled and When We Collide, as well as the New Adult Romance Come To Me Quietly due out January 7, 2014. 
