Episode 5

How cliché, but damn, how true.

Because every instinct in him growled to capture, cover, take…bite. He wanted her. Wanted her to be his. As the strength and certainty of the thought echoed inside him, he neared her. Close enough to glimpse the delicate line of her jaw and the vulnerable nape of her neck. To inhale the heady, sensual musk that contained notes of roses, and warmer hints of cedarwood and amber…or maybe almond. Tonight's mission would be to discover which one. For yet another time this evening, he murmured, "Excuse me." But in this instance, he wasn't trying to escape someone. No, he wanted to snare her. Keep her. At least for the next few hours. Look at me. Turn around and look at me. The plea rebounded off his skull, and the seconds seemed to slow as she shifted, lifting her head and meeting his gaze. His gut clenched, desire slamming into him so hard he braced himself against the impact. But it still left him reeling. Left his body tense, hard.

A long fringe of black hair swept over her forehead and dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, but neither could hide the strong, regal lines of her face, the sharp cheekbones, the chocolate eyes or the lush siren's call of her mouth. Damn, that mouth. He dragged his fascinated gaze away from it with a strength that deserved a gold medal. But nothing, could cleanse his mind of the acts those curves elicited. Acts that left him throbbing and greedy.

She turned. "Did you need a glass of champagne?" she asked, lowering her eyes to the tray she held. No, keep your eyes on me. The order rolled up his throat and hovered on his tongue, but he locked it down. Damn, with just a few words uttered in a silk-and-midnight voice, he'd devolved into a caveman. Once more, a warning to walk away clanged inside him, but—like moments earlier—he ignored it. Nothing else mattered at the moment. Nothing but having that sex-and-sin voice stroke his ears. Having those hands slip under his clothes to caress his skin. And those oval-shaped eyes fixed on him.

"I just wanted to say hi...Again " He said

She looked up then. Recognized him and her lips formed into an "O". She looked surprised. Why she did he didn't know. Didn't care. He wanted her attention which he finally had and damn... those eyes.

"I saw you and I thought to myself. What a pleasant surprise" He said

"Hello" Emma said

There was something about him that left her completely at loss for words. She wasn't a shy person. And yet meeting his gaze was a problem.

He answered her earlier question by picking up a glass flute full of pale wine. If he hadn't been studying her so closely, he might've missed the slight stiffening of her shoulders, the minute hesitation before, head still bowed, she said, "I need to continue…"

She shifted away from him, preparing to escape into the crowd.

"Wait." He lifted his arm, instinct guiding him to grasp her elbow to prevent her departure. But at the last moment, he lowered his arm back to his side. As much as he wanted to discover how she felt under his hand, he refused to touch her without her permission. Rich assholes accosting the waitstaff was as old a story as a boss chasing his secretary around the desk. Even though his palm itched with the lack of contact, he slid his free hand into his front pocket.

The aborted motion seemed to grab her attention. She raised her head, a frown drawing her eyebrows together.

"You're staring like you don't know me" he said "It's Daniel in case you've forgotten... Daniel Rohan".

She smiled then "I know. And I haven't forgotten" how could she? He'd occupied most of her thoughts the past weeks.

"And you're Emma" he said savoring her name as if it were one of the rich chocolate desserts that would follow the dinner course.

"It's a lovely name. And it fits you."

Her eyes widened, an emotion he would've labeled panic flaring in their depths before she lowered her lashes, hiding her gaze from him. Again.

"Thank you, Mr..."

"Daniel" he corrected. "For you, it's Daniel. I told you that the first time we met "

In a distant corner of his mind, he marveled at who he'd become in this moment. Flirting, teasing, goddamn purring—they weren't him. His mouth either didn't know this information or didn't care. He wanted her. And he knew she knew exactly what was going on in his mind. He wanted her to know.

Emma sure thought he was hot and irresistible. But he didn't know anything about her. She wasn't the only waitstaff here and this probably wasn't the first time he attended this sort of parties. He probably made it a habit to flirt with anyone. Why shouldn't he?. He was rich and attractive and he certainly knew how to make a woman feel wanted. For some reason the thought of him flirting with someone else made her angry.

Daniel watched her full lips firm into a line seconds before she met his stare with one glinting in anger. How insane did it make him that he found the signs of her temper captivating…and sexy as hell?

"No offense, Mr. Roh.. "

" Daniel " he corrected again. " And in my experience, when someone starts a sentence with 'no offense,' they intend to offend," he drawled.

Once more he saw that flicker of anger, and an exhilaration that was usually reserved for fierce business negotiations surged in his chest. The exhilaration meant he was engaging with a worthy opponent.

"I'm going out on a limb and assuming your ego can take the hit," she shot back. Then, as if she realized what she'd snapped - she winced, briefly squeezing her eyes shut. "I apologize—"

"Oh, don't disappoint me now by turning meek, Emma," he purred, arching an eyebrow. "I assure you, I can take it," he added. Take whatever she wanted to give him, whether it was her gaze, her conversation or more. And God, he hungered for the more. Greedy bastard that he was, he'd claim whatever she chose to dole out.

"Daniel " she began, defiance clipping his name, "I don't know if approaching the staff and toying with them is one of your usual forms of entertainment. But since you've invited me not to be meek, let me tell you this might be a game to you, but the waitstaff aren't toys to alleviate your boredom. This is a livelihood for workers who depend on a paycheck and not getting fired for fraternizing with the guests."

Shock vibrated through him. Shock and…delight. Excitement—something he hadn't experienced in so long he couldn't remember the last occurrence— tripped and stumbled down his spine. "I don't play games," he said. "They're a waste of time. Why be coy when being honest achieves the goal faster?"

"And what's your goal here, Daniel" she challenged, not hiding her sneer. If she understood how his pulse jumped and his body throbbed every time she stated his name with a haughtiness worthy of royalty, she would probably swear a vow of silence.

"Cop a feel in a dark hallway? A little slap and tickle in a broom closet?" she asked.

"I'm too old to cop a feel. And I don't 'slap and tickle' either, whatever that is. I fuck."

Her head jerked back at his blunt statement, her eyes widening behind the dark frames. Even with the din of chatter and laughter flowing around them, he caught her sharp gasp. A voice sounding suspiciously like that of Frank's, hissed a curse at him. How many times had Frank warned him to temper his brusque, straightforward manner? Well, to be more accurate, Frank described him as tactless. Pretty words weren't his forte; honesty was.

Normally, he didn't regret his abruptness. Like he'd told her, he didn't indulge in games. But in this moment, he almost regretted it. Especially if she walked away from him.

"Is that why you stopped me? To proposition me?" She dropped her gaze to the champagne glass in his hand, and with just that glance let him know she didn't buy his pretense of wanting the wine. He shrugged, setting it behind him on one of the high tables scattered around the ballroom. "Why single me out?" she continued. "Because I'm so beautiful you couldn't help yourself?" she mocked. "Or because I'm a server, and you're a guest in a position of power?. Do you single out every waitstaff when ever you are in one of these parties? "

Emma knew she was way out of line. She didn't even actually work here. And she was probably overreacting out of jealously. Jealousy over what? - she didn't know. Actually she did. She just wasn't going to admit it to herself. A part of her kept telling her she had to fight him. Fight the attraction she felt for him. And so she continued. "What happens if I say no?. Will I suddenly find myself relieved of my job?"

Disgust and the first flicker of anger wormed its way through his veins. "Do I want to spend time with you.. a night with you?. Yes," he stated, and again her eyes flared wide at his frankness before narrowing. "I told you, I don't lie. I don't play games. But if you decline, then no, you would still have a check and employment at the end of the evening. I don't need to blackmail women into my bed, Emma. Besides, a willing woman, a woman who wants my hands on her body, who pleads for what she knows I can give her, is far more arousing, more pleasurable. And any man worth his dick would value that over a woman who's coerced or forced into handing over something that should be offered or surrendered of her own free will."

She silently studied him, the fire fading from her stare, but something else flicked in those dark eyes. And that "something" had him easing a step closer, yet stopping short of invading her personal space. "To answer your other question," he murmured. "Why did I single you out? Your first guess was correct. Because you are so beautiful I couldn't help it. And you've kinda been on my mind since we met. And I didn't want to loose the opportunity to speak to you again.

Silence swelled around them like a bubble, muting the din of the gala. His words seemed to echo in the cocoon, and he marveled at them. Hadn't he sworn he didn't do pretty words? What was she doing to him? Even as the question echoed in his mind, her head tilted back and she stared at him, her lovely eyes darker…hotter. In that moment, he'd stand under a damn balcony and serenade her if she continued looking at him like that. He curled his fingers into his palm, reminding himself with the pain that he couldn't touch her. Still, the only sound that reached his ears was the quick, soft pants breaking on her pretty lips. As ridiculous as it seemed, he swore each breath slid under his clothes, swept over his skin. He ached to have each moist puff dampen his shoulders, his chest as her fingernails twisted in his hair, dug into his muscles, clinging to him as he drove them both to the point of carnal madness.

"I—I need to go," she whispered, already shifting back and away from him. "I—" She didn't finish the thought, but turned and waded into the crowd, distancing herself from him.

He didn't follow; she hadn't said no, but she hadn't said yes, either. And though he'd caught the desire in her gaze—his stomach still ached from the gut punch of it—she had to come to him. Or ask him to come for her. Rooted where she'd left him, he tracked her movements. Saw the moment she cleared the mass of people and strode in the direction of the double doors where more tray-bearing staff emerged and exited. Saw when she paused, palm pressed to one of the panels. Saw when she glanced over her shoulder in his direction. Even across the distance of the ballroom, the electric shock of that look whipped through him, sizzled in his veins. Moments later, she disappeared from view.