Practice Makes Pregnant

She turned away, facing the lecturer, and the movement shifted her dress, exposing the length of her thigh and calf, pale against the shimmering black of her skirt.

Who the hell is she? Jorge knew most of the people in the room, if not by sight, then by reputation. He was sure he’d never seen the beautiful redhead before. He would have remembered.

The crowd shifted yet again, cutting off his view of her.

Come on. Come on. He stared at the slice of auburn hair and black dress still visible and willed the chattering throng to move apart.

The laughing, gossiping crowd moved again, groups splitting apart and reforming, the floor of the ballroom reflecting the ebb and flow of the sea the decorator had sought to replicate.

She came into view again. Muscles tense with anticipation, he waited for her to turn and look at him. She glanced over her shoulder, a tiny frown between her brows as her gaze swept the crowd as if searching for someone.

Her gaze met his. Jorge felt the connection as surely as if an electrical current surged between them. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were from this distance, but he saw them widen, saw her body go still.

He bit off a curse as the crowd shifted, blocking his view of her, and he pushed away from the pillar to make his way across the crowded floor. Closer now, he realized that she’d left the group clustered around the lecturer. Swiftly he scanned the crowd, catching a glimpse of auburn hair as she slipped through the French doors onto the terrace. He quickly altered direction, moving around the perimeter of the room, briefly pausing to collect a nearly full bottle of champagne and two flutes from a friendly waiter before stepping out onto the terrace.

He saw her immediately. She leaned against the balustrade, head tilted back, gazing up at the night sky. Standing just outside the soft circle of light cast by the French doors, the black of her gown nearly blended into the shadows. The fair skin of throat, shoulder, arms and face, however, gleamed pale against the darker night.

Jorge moved slowly toward her, taking the opportunity to observe before being seen.

“It’s too bad we can’t see the stars.”

She went still. Then she turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him.

Her eyes were amber, smoky as well-aged scotch, and filled with a wariness that belied the sophistication of the black lace gown and upswept hair.

Jorge immediately abandoned any thought of glib pickup lines.

Even before she looked over her shoulder and met his dark gaze, instinct told Allison that the deep drawl belonged to the man from the ballroom. For one moment, sheer panic threatened to engulf her. But then he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, the nearly black irises reflecting the warmth of his smile, and the grip of fear that often accompanied her dealings with men eased.

He moved closer, halting a decorous four feet away, and looked up at the sky.

“Air pollution,” he commented.

“Air pollution?”

His gaze met hers briefly before returning to the dome of hazy, not-quite-dark sky. He gestured at the city below and around them, the soft glow of lamplight from inside the ballroom glinting briefly off the crystal flutes in his hand.

“Maybe it’s more accurate to call it light pollution.” He took a step nearer, leaned one hip against the balustrade and handed her a flute, then filled it. “Did you know that the astronauts only see the darkness of night in the less populated sections of the United States, like North Dakota or Montana? On the east and west coasts the population is so dense and the use of electricity so high that astronauts see them lit up at night, not dark.”

“Really?” Allison sipped her champagne, tense muscles slowly relaxing as he continued to lean casually against the low stone edge and made no attempt to close the distance between them. He was tall, well over six feet, his shoulders wide beneath the black jacket of his tuxedo.

“Really.” He grinned, the corners of his mouth curving upward, his eyes laughing at her. “Are you interested in astronomy?”

“Um…” Allison realized that she was staring in fascination at the curve of his lips and had no clue what he’d said. “I beg your pardon?”

“Astronomy,” he said gently. “Are you an astronomy fan?”

“I was as a child, but I haven’t had time for star-gazing since I moved to New York,” she responded absentmindedly, wondering if the golden tone of his skin was natural or if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

“And how long ago was that?”

“Several years.” Allison suddenly realized that he was asking questions and she was answering without thought because she was so fascinated by him. Each time he smiled at her, she was more aware of the slow, heavy throb of her pulse and the swift kick of sexual attraction. For the first time in her life, she found herself physically attracted to a man. Even more startling was her complete lack of fear. She felt oddly safe with him. He’s the perfect man to flirt with, she realized, remembering her earlier promise to the woman in the mirror. Tonight I’m going to flirt and have fun.

She smiled in anticipation. He smiled back, his gaze narrowing, growing more intense.

“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to introduce myself,” she said politely, holding out her hand. “I’m Allison Baker.”

“Pleased to meet you, Allison.” He took her hand in his and stepped closer. “I’m Jorge.”

His hand engulfed hers, the fingers and palm faintly rough, his warmth and the touch of skin against skin sending prickles of awareness zinging through her body.

“Hello.” Her voice was throaty, husky with the force of her emotions.

His eyes darkened, his fingers tightening over hers.

“So, tell me, Allison Baker.” He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

He quirked a dark eyebrow, his teeth flashing in a teasing grin, and Allison laughed.

“You mean on this particular terrace, or at a save-the-whales fund-raiser?”

“Whichever. Mostly, I’m just wondering if you have a particular affinity for whales.”

“Ah, you’re wondering if I’m attracted to large mammals?”

He chuckled, the sound a deep growl of amusement. Before he could respond, the French doors flew open behind them and a wave of chattering party guests spilled out onto the terrace. The orchestra music followed them, and several couples began to dance.

Jorge glanced over his shoulder at the noisy crowd and the whirling couples. “I think the party has found us.” He took the flute from her hand and set both hers and his next to the nearly empty bottle of champagne on the balustrade. “It’s a shame to waste the music. Shall we?”

Allison nodded, and he slipped an arm around her waist to tug her body gently against his. He folded his fingers around her right hand and swept her into the rhythm.

She felt the same jolt of startled recognition that she’d felt in the ballroom earlier, when she’d looked up and found him watching her. The black silk of her bodice brushed against his pleated white shirt, her left hand lay against the black tux jacket covering his broad shoulder and only inches from the thick dark hair that gleamed in the light from the ballroom behind them. Each time she drew breath, she pulled in the subtle scent of his aftershave. Spicy and masculine, it mingled with an underlying hint of clean soap, starched shirt and a uniquely male scent in a potent, heady mix that went straight to her blood, making it race more swiftly through her veins.

“Tell me, Allison Baker, what do you do when you’re not dazzling men at fund-raisers for large mammals?”

She tilted her head back, her lips curving in response to his teasing smile. Should she tell him about her job at Manhattan Multiples? No, she decided, not tonight. Tonight, I’m not my everyday self. So she compromised. “I’m a student.”

“Really? And what are you studying?”

“Law.”

“Yet another thing we have in common.” The music changed, switching to a slower tune. They swayed in time to the music, and he lifted her right hand to his shoulder so he could clasp her waist and draw her nearer.

“You’re studying law, also?”

“No. I did study law, now I practice law.”

She beamed at him, delighted. “You’re an attorney? How lovely. What field do you specialize in?”