She turned around, prepared to give Mr. Potential Donor the full benefit of her charm, and froze.
It couldn’t be.
Her practiced smile slipped as she gaped at him in disbelief. He was older, obviously, and dressed in an Armani tux instead of faded Levi’s. His dark, wavy hair was shorter than it had been and his once wiry frame was replaced with the muscular build of a man well acquainted with the gym. He was taller, his shoulders broader, and even his stance had changed. The boy she’d once known was now a man who exuded an overwhelming sense of masculine power.
So much about him was different and yet his eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes, were exactly the same as she remembered.
“That would be us,” a voice to her right offered. She could barely make out the words over the sound of blood rushing through her ears. “I’m Harper Hayes and this is the event’s chair, Alessandra Sinclair.”
“Alessandra,” the man said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he offered his hand. “Hudson Chase.”
For a moment her gaze lingered on his full, sensual lips. His strong, rugged jaw. The designer stubble he wore now made him look even darker and more mysterious than he had when she’d first met him. She wondered how it would feel beneath her fingertips, against her cheek, between her thighs . . .
Harper’s elbow nudged her arm, pulling her from her errant thoughts.
Holy hell, where did that come from?
Alessandra looked up to find Hudson watching her, one brow quirked, and a warm flush crossed her face. She placed her hand in his, hoping he didn’t notice the way her fingers trembled.
“So what’s this you were saying about a donation?” Harper asked.
Hudson held Alessandra’s hand, his eyes locked on hers, as he answered. “Perhaps this is a matter I can discuss with Miss Sinclair over a dance?”
For a moment the atmosphere between them seemed to shift, becoming charged with anticipation as his question hung unanswered in the air. Then the woman on Hudson’s arm interrupted with an exaggerated sigh. She feigned disinterest, inspecting her perfect manicure as she shifted her weight from one stiletto to the other. Alessandra studied her. Curvy in all the right places with legs that went on forever. Lush red lips matched her barely there dress and dark, cascading curls framed a face worthy of a magazine cover. Granted, the magazine would likely be Maxim. But still, she was stunning.
Alessandra quickly withdrew her hand but Hudson’s gaze was steady. “I’m considering writing a large check this evening,” he said. “The least you can do is dance with me.”
“She’d love to,” Harper volunteered.
Alessandra whipped her head around, her narrowed glare meeting Harper’s broad grin.
“Work it,” Harper mouthed as she nudged her forward.
Hudson waited, his blue eyes fixed on her. She knew she should politely decline. She could turn him down and no one would be the wiser. After all, she was the event chair. Any number of responsibilities or pressing issues could be deemed a plausible excuse. But at that moment, she couldn’t think of a single one.
“After you.” He waved her toward the parquet dance floor as his date beat a hasty retreat to the bar. The orchestra began to play Frank Sinatra’s “Summer Wind.” Hudson slid his hand around her waist, pulling her against him with a gentle pressure. “You look lovely as ever,” he said, his breath hot against her ear as he spun her slowly into the crowd.
Alessandra felt a shiver run down her spine. She pulled back to meet his piercing stare and a spark passed between them, so potent it was nearly tangible. She swallowed hard to find her voice, and when she did, blurted out the one question that had been on her mind since she’d discovered him standing behind her. “What are you doing in Chicago?”
His brow creased. “Exercising my right as an American citizen to move about this country.”
She blinked up at him, his cold reply taking her by surprise.
“My business is here.” Hudson stopped dancing and nodded to a photographer poised to snap their photo. “Smile pretty for the camera, Alessandra.”
Flashes fired in rapid succession. “Thank you, Mr. Chase,” the photographer said before scurrying off the dance floor.
She used the brief interruption to regain her composure. “What type of business are you in?”
“I acquire things.” His tone lacked any trace of humor.
So much for making small talk. She stared over his shoulder, watching the other couples sway and turn as they moved around the dance floor. Ms. Maxim Cover Girl was standing under the giant T. rex, scowling from behind her flute of champagne.
Jeez, if looks could kill.
“You’re not doing a very good job convincing me to part with my cash, Ms. Sinclair.”
She reared back to look at him. “You were serious about that?”
He leveled his stare at her and the intensity was almost too much to bear. “I take a million dollars incredibly serious.”
“A million dollars?” Her words came out in a high-pitched squeak. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “You want to donate a million dollars?”
“Yes,” he answered matter-of-factly.
Confused, Alessandra stared at him blankly. He’d just pledged a million dollars with no more fanfare than if he’d told her he’d bought a bottle of wine from the silent auction. A million dollars was more than a “sizable” donation. It was four times the highest amount she’d ever received from a single donor. Surely he was joking. How could he not be?
As if reading her mind, Hudson offered a vague explanation. “A lot can change in ten years, Alessandra. Though I see you’re still using your formal name.”
“You’re the only one who ever called me Allie,” she whispered. Her eyes met his, searching for any sign of the boy she once knew. His gaze softened, and for a moment she felt it, the connection that made her knees go weak even now.
Their dance slowed to nothing more than a gentle sway as so much passed unspoken between them. Allie hadn’t even realized she’d stopped breathing until a hand touched her shoulder and she jumped.
Look for the second book in the Chasing Fire series
RELEASE ME
Available now from InterMix
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Though thousands of miles apart, Ann Marie Walker and Amy K. Rogers are in constant contact, plotting story lines and chatting about their love of alpha males, lemon drop martinis, and British supermodel David Gandy. You can find them on twitter as @AnnMarie_Walker and @Amy_KRogers.
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