Portrait of desire

There’s nothing conventional about Jordan Jace, except his membership in the exclusive San Diego chapter of the Millionaire Moguls. An acclaimed artist, he’s also a rebel who resists his wealthy family’s attempts to rein him in. Until, at the opening of his latest exhibit, he meets stunning Sasha Charles, a marketing consultant hired to improve his image. He may not need her expertise, but persuading the straitlaced beauty to break some rules is an irresistible challenge.

A casual affair with a client could put Sasha’s professional reputation at risk. Yet she’s drawn to the man who’s a sexy masterpiece in his own right. With Jordan’s guidance, Sasha is living life to the fullest for the first time—enjoying glittering restaurants, colorful local dives and nights of intense pleasure. Their ardent affair may turn out to be a temporary diversion, unless they can discover the art of love—together...

REESE RYAN writes sinfully sweet romance. She challenges her characters with family and career drama and life-changing secrets while treating readers to an emotional love story filled with unexpected twists.

Past president of her local Romance Writers of America chapter and a panelist at the 2017 Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, Reese is an advocate of the romance genre and diversity in fiction.

Born and raised in the Midwest, Reese has lived in the South for nearly a decade and has an accent that confuses folks from both regions. Reese is an avid reader, a music lover and a musical soundtrack addict.

Connect with Reese via Instagram, Facebook or at reeseryan.com.

Also By Reese Ryan

Playing with DesirePlaying with TemptationPlaying with Seduction Never Christmas Without You (with Nana Malone) Seduced in San Diego

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Seduced in San Diego

Reese Ryan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08276-1

SEDUCED IN SAN DIEGO

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

They stood in silence, her hand in his, staring at the city across the bay. Her silent comfort wrapped itself around him. Warmed the chill he felt inside. Made him feel whole again, if only for as long as they stood there together in silence.

“Well, I’d better go.” She turned to him finally, slipping her hand from his. “But thank you for the coffee and the tour of your lovely home.”

“The pleasure was mine.” Jordan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Thank you for the ride and the chat.”

There was something in her eyes as they met his. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it quickly, dropping her gaze.

“Sasha, what is it?”

He should let it go. She’d decided against saying it. He should just leave it at that. But he couldn’t. He needed to know.

She inhaled a deep breath, as if gathering her nerve. When her eyes met his, she leaned in, flattened her palms against his chest and rose on her toes to kiss him.

Dear Reader,

When my son was young, he took weekly art classes at the Cleveland Museum of Art. During his class, I roamed the museum, enchanted by its art and history. Sculpture was among my favorite mediums. So I was thrilled that Jordan Jace—the hero of Seduced in San Diego—is a sculptor.

Writing Jordan and Sasha’s story allowed me to immerse myself in the fascinating world of sculpture, as I hadn’t since I was a regular at the museum.

On the surface, Jordan seems skin-deep. But peel back the layers of this complex character, and you’ll discover a big heart and the secrets weighing on it.

Seduced in San Diego is a fun, glamorous, sexy and emotional ride as Jordan and Sasha find their way to each other.

For series news, reader giveaways and more, join my VIP readers list at reeseryan.com.

Happy reading,

Reese Ryan

Dedicated to all of the remarkable readers I’ve met during my publishing journey. You support African American and multicultural romance with your hard-earned dollars, valuable time, honest reviews and enthusiastic word of mouth. We are nothing without you.

Acknowledgments

Shannon Criss and Keyla Hernandez, it has truly been a pleasure to work with you both. Thank you for your confidence in me, your patience and your enthusiastic support of my career, which has opened the door to additional opportunities within Harlequin.

Thank you to the Kimani editors, copywriters, cover artists and marketing team for your support. It has been an honor to be counted among the ranks of the remarkable Kimani Romance authors I have long admired.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Jordan Jace made a hard turn into the car park of the Prescott George headquarters. He got out, slamming the door of his black Karma Revero. Jordan glared at the stone-and-brick building.

He didn’t appreciate being summoned to HQ. Vaughn Ellicott may have been a lieutenant when he served in the navy. But as a civilian, Vaughn was the treasurer of the San Diego chapter of Prescott George, not his commanding officer.

Jordan had joined Prescott George, or the Millionaire Moguls, as they were more commonly known, as a concession to his parents. He was the outlier in a family of wealthy London bankers who also had financial interests here in San Diego. His membership in the Millionaire Moguls was his way of throwing them a bone so they’d let go of their hopes that he’d eventually join the family business.

Jordan caught a glimpse of himself in the glass as he approached the building. Overpriced, tattered jeans. A T-shirt that read Icon. An unbuttoned, blue check shirt. Black motorcycle boots. His thick, curly hair grown out in twists.

He was no bloody banker. Artist. Metal sculptor. Professional badass. Any of the above applied. But a banker?

Not in this lifetime or the next.

Jordan checked his watch. It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon. The opening for the latest exhibit of his work at his art gallery, Sorella, began in six hours.

Vaughn better make this quick.

Jordan scanned the modern, industrial space. Exposed brick. Concrete floors. Metal railings. Offices with glass walls and doors. Masculine, minimalist, modern furniture. No one was milling about the club.

He entered the building and made his way to the treasurer’s office. There was Vaughn seated behind his glass-and-steel desk.

A career military man, Vaughn carried himself with poise. Stern scowl, confident demeanor, erect posture. But the man fidgeting behind that desk looked as if his seat was littered with thumbtacks, and he couldn’t quite get comfortable.

Something is very wrong.

Whatever it was, Jordan didn’t like it. Nor did he have the time or inclination to deal with any Millionaire Moguls drama today.

His assistant had been ringing his mobile all morning about the opening at the gallery that night. If he didn’t get there soon, Lydia Dyson might need to crank up the dosage on her anxiety meds.

Jordan barged through Vaughn’s partially open office door without knocking. He dropped onto one of the leather guest chairs on the other side of the man’s desk and crossed one ankle over his knee.

“So, what is it you needed to see me about so bloody desperately that it couldn’t wait until after my show tonight?” Jordan studied the man’s reaction.

Vaughn’s face went through a rapid series of emotions. Miffed that Jordan hadn’t knocked. Unnerved about whatever it was he wanted to discuss. Annoyed with Jordan’s cockiness after he read his T-shirt.

All of which deepened Jordan’s smirk.

Vaughn returned his gaze to the paperwork he was reviewing on his desk.

“How long have you been a member of the San Diego chapter of Prescott George, Jordan?”

“Since I hopped across the pond. About a year ago, I guess.”

“And how long were you a member of the London chapter before that?”

“A few years, I suppose. Why does it matter?” Jordan leaned into two fingers, pressed against his temple. “You didn’t bring me down here to complete inconsequential paperwork that could have been handled just as easily via text, did you?”

“No.” Vaughn put down his pen and frowned deeply, his hands steepled over his belly. “But I need to know how you feel about Prescott George.”

Something most definitely isn’t right.

Jordan sat up, clasping his hands in his lap. “Prescott George is a storied organization steeped in history. And over the years it’s done a lot of good.”

There.

He’d told the truth, but just enough of it that he wouldn’t piss anyone off with what he really thought of the idea of an exclusive club for a bunch of wankers who thought themselves better than everyone else.

“But...?” Vaughn wasn’t prepared to accept his textbook response. And he knew enough of Jordan to realize that if he poked a little harder he’d get the unfiltered truth.

“Why is this important? And why is it important now?” Jordan fidgeted in his chair, wired by the energy required to filter his thoughts and restrain his tongue.

Neither of which he was very good at.

“Because. I need to know.” Vaughn narrowed his gaze, his jaw set.

“Fine. You want to know the truth? Then I’ll tell you. Prescott George does quite a lot of good for its members and the community, but I happen to strongly disagree with its elitist, exclusionary nature.”

“We can’t all be principled artists with the luxury of living off our trust funds, now can we?” Vaughn seethed. His words were a direct hit to Jordan’s ego, and he knew it.

It was true. When Jordan had first left college, he’d been dependent on his trust fund. However, he’d quickly made a name for himself on the London art scene and had eventually come to San Diego, purchased a studio and started to grow his brand here.

He wasn’t exactly a household name, yet. However, he had public art installations in various cities in the US and in Europe. And he certainly wasn’t dependent on his family’s money any longer.

“There are plenty of self-made men like Chris Marland here, too,” Vaughn continued, referring to the San Diego chapter president.

“And I admire such men.” Jordan forced a smile. He refused to give Vaughn the satisfaction of knowing how peeved he was by his dig about him being a trust fund baby. “But we also have a great many members whose primary reason for joining the club is to enjoy the orgasmic pleasure of having someone else stroke their egos for a change.” Jordan’s smirk deepened when Vaughn scowled at his crude reference.

“Then why join the club at all?”

“Us nonconforming, trust fund babies must find some way to keep the parents happy, now mustn’t we?” Jordan checked his watch again and frowned. He put both feet on the floor and clasped his hands between his knees. “Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about or not? I’m in no mood for a guessing game today, mate. Out with it already.”

Vaughn cleared his throat and tipped his chin, his eyes meeting Jordan’s. “Got the initial report on the recent break-in here.”

“All right.” Jordan leaned forward. “What’ve you learned about the robbery?”

Vaughn released a long sigh as he reviewed the document again. “There was evidence of a residue left behind, quite possibly by the perpetrator.”

“What kind of residue?” Jordan was losing patience with Vaughn’s deliberate evasiveness.

He met Jordan’s gaze. “It was a powder often used in metalworking. The kind of thing a metal sculptor might use.”

It took a few moments for Jordan to get his meaning. Not because he was daft, but because he was gobsmacked that the man could even think of making such an accusation.

“You can’t possibly be accusing me of having anything to do with such a pedestrian prank? No, you must surely be having a laugh at my expense.” Jordan shot to his feet. “Any other day, perhaps I’d find it amusing. But today I’ve got no time for joking, mate. Got an exhibition at the gallery tonight, or have you forgotten?”

“I’m afraid it’s no joke.” Vaughn looked pained by the entire ordeal.

“You’re mad as a bag of ferrets if you believe this bollocks.” Jordan paced the floor. He gestured around the office. “Nothing here is worth my time. If I wanted it, I’d simply purchase it for myself.”

“Since you have such a love-hate relationship with the club, perhaps you did it as a joke. Or maybe as a way to piss everyone here off.”

“Do I look the sort of tosser that would risk getting nicked for a practical joke?”

“Then how do you explain the metalworking powder residue found at the scene?” Vaughn kept his voice calm. Controlled. Rather than settling him, it only made him want to punch the man in his smug face.

“That’s not my job, now is it?” Jordan folded his arms defiantly, then blew an exasperated breath as he flopped into the chair again. “Innocent until proven guilty and all that.”

“True.” Vaughn nodded sagely, tapping a pen on the blasted investigative report. He raised his eyes to meet Jordan’s again. “But then there’s the anonymous reports received by a local gossip blog.”

“Naming me as the culprit?”

“Hinting that the heist was an inside job.” Vaughn put the pen down and studied his reaction. “Put the residue and the news that it’s an inside job together and—”

“You and the wanker who set you on to this idea are completely barmy. So what if there was residue from my metalworking? I’m in here often enough, aren’t I?”

“I agree that you’re not a very likely suspect. You may be a pompous ass, but I doubt that you’re a thief.” Vaughn seemed relieved. “Still, I had to ask.”

“I understand.” Jordan hadn’t realized his heart was racing. His breathing slowed and he nodded. “So who do you suspect?”

“That’s just it.” Vaughn shrugged. “I don’t have any idea why someone inside our club would do this. Especially now...when we’ve been nominated as Prescott George’s Chapter of the Year. The timing couldn’t be worse.”

“True. That still puts us no closer to knowing exactly who the dodgy prat is who’d do something like this.”

“I just printed out a few copies of our membership list.” Vaughn shoved some papers across his desk at Jordan. “Got a few minutes to go over it with me? I’d love a second opinion on who might be responsible.”

Jordan groaned and checked his Devon Tread watch. He honestly didn’t have time for this tosh. But perhaps he should show some gratitude for Vaughn’s confidence in him.

He picked up the stack of names and pored over them. After a half an hour of comparing notes on various members of the club, Jordan’s phone rang again. This time it was his father. His mother had rang a handful of times earlier in the day.

Jordan sent the call to voice mail. He didn’t want to hear either of their excuses about why they wouldn’t be able to make tonight’s exhibition this time.

“This round of who’s the barmy bastard has been fun.” Jordan shoved his phone back into his pocket and stood. “But I’ve got a show to put on tonight. Shall I expect you and your lovely wife to be in attendance?”

“Miranda and I have a previous engagement tonight. I’m sorry we’ll miss it.” Vaughn settled back in his seat. “And I hope there are no hard feelings about our conversation today.”

“You didn’t have much of a choice, I s’pose.” Jordan shrugged. “But I can’t promise to be so forgiving if it should ever happen again.”

Jordan put on his shades and made his way back to his car. Time to focus on tonight’s event. The only thing he really cared about.

Chapter 2

Sasha Charles read the invitation to the Jordan Jace exhibition at his gallery, Sorella, for the third time. She scanned the website for the gallery and studied his handsome face.

Smooth brown skin. Intense, mesmerizing eyes. A brilliant, mischievous smile. There was something about the man that made her want to know more about him. Then there was his art. Public installations that stood several stories high against the San Diego skyline.

Powerful. Intriguing. Enigmatic.

Much like the man himself from what she’d been able to gather.

Sasha walked through her closet in search of the perfect dress. Something that was all business, but would still capture Jordan Jace’s eye when she walked into his gallery.

She lifted a dress custom made for her by one of her clients—a local fashion designer.

Sasha had been waiting for the right occasion to wear the dress. The navy, off-shoulder dress had a mermaid silhouette. The top was made of lace and there was a lace detail on the train.

Sasha held the dress against her and nodded. A sly smile curved the corner of her mouth.

Absolutely perfect. Jordan Jace won’t know what hit him.

Sasha laid the dress out on her bed, kicked off her shoes and got ready for the night ahead.

* * *

Jordan stood on the second level of his art gallery and surveyed the space. Tried to see it as a first-time visitor or potential client would.

He loved everything about Sorella. From its name to the raw elements that comprised the site. Exposed brick walls. Restored original wood floors. An open loft and staircase constructed of black steel.

The spare feel of the showroom allowed the art to be the real star. The paintings of some of San Diego’s best upcoming artists adorned the walls of the gallery. Sculptures cast in bronze, copper, steel, marble and clay anchored the space. And today a variety of his pieces took center stage on both levels.

Jordan worked with found elements of metal and reclaimed wood to create works of art that were truly unique. Pieces each viewer interpreted differently.

It was an honor to have public art installations in San Diego and the UK. To share his art with an entire community. Yet, there was something truly intimate about a buyer falling in love with one of his sculptures and making it part of their home or office.

It was a tremendous feeling his parents would never understand. Not that they’d ever tried. Instead, they’d treated his art as if it were a teenage indulgence. Something he needed to work out of his system before he finally gave it up and took a “real” job in their family business.

“How does everything look?” Lydia shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she stood beside him.

“Brilliant. You’ve done a bang-up job, Lydia.” Arms still folded, he glanced at the woman quickly, then returned to surveying the gallery for any missed details.

“Is there anything I’ve forgotten?” She stood ready with a notebook and pen.

“Is the bar completely stocked?”

Guests would be offered complimentary champagne and hors d’oeuvres. But they could order anything they desired from the bar anchoring the center of the room.

“Yes. They have all of the top-shelf spirits you requested.”

“Did we get that wine in from—”

“The wineries you visited in Baja last month during the Prescott George tour?” Lydia finished his thought. “Yes.”

“Very good. Has the caterer arrived yet?”

“She’s setting up now.”

“You’re remarkable, as always.” Jordan turned to face the woman. Lydia’s title was assistant, but truthfully, she did it all. She handled paperwork, managed the gallery, assisted with the curation of artwork and generally kept him on track. All without complaint. “And you look smashing tonight. As always,” he added with a broad smile that made her blue eyes twinkle.

Per his parents’ voice mails and text messages filled with excuses, neither of them would be in attendance tonight, though they were both in town. But an impressive list of wealthy and well-known residents of San Diego would be on hand. Along with a few out-of-towners who’d flown in just for the event.

Tonight would be memorable—regardless of whether his parents deemed the event worthy of their presence.

* * *

Jordan flashed his biggest smile for a wealthy patron who’d bought several of his sculptures for her homes in London and Los Angeles. Vivian Avery had been the first person to purchase a major piece from him who hadn’t been connected to or referred by a member of his family or Prescott George. Ten years later, she was still one of his most ardent supporters.

Tonight the older woman was in the market for a smaller scale piece right for her lavish New York apartment.

Jordan chatted with a few other patrons milling about the gallery. He talked with two other gallery owners who’d been pressing him to collaborate on a local arts festival. They hoped the project would bring a wider range of visitors to all three galleries. Jordan wasn’t willing to commit on the project just yet. But he was personable and showed just enough interest to keep the two other gallery owners’ hopes alive.

“Phenomenal event, Jordan.” His eldest brother, Marlon, exchanged his empty champagne glass for a filled one floating by on a server’s tray.

His brothers Michael and Joseph heartily agreed.

“Thank you for coming tonight. All of you, but you especially.” Jordan indicated his brother Marlon who’d arranged a business meeting in San Diego for the sole purpose of attending his event. “I know you have to be off soon to catch your red-eye flight back home.”

“Since he’s flying the private jet, Michael and I are tagging along.” Joseph nibbled on pâté on crostini. “We’ll be back here in a week or two.”

Jordan gave his brothers a quick hug. “I really do appreciate you being here.”

“Mum and Dad really did want to be here,” Marlon said quickly. “They’ve been trying to ring you all day to tell you as much themselves.”

“You shouldn’t brush them off that way. If for no other reason than they keep ringing the three of us all day. As if that will force you to answer your mobile.”

“I love them, but I’ve heard all of their excuses before.” Jordan winced, his lips pressed into a hard line. “Wasn’t much up for such utter tosh today. Had my fill of it for the day over at the Prescott George office.”

“What happened?” Michael crooked his brow.

“Nothing worth discussing,” Jordan said quickly. “And nothing for any of you to worry about.” He caught a glimpse of Lydia waving him over. “If I don’t see you before you leave, have a safe flight.”

Jordan answered a few questions Lydia asked on behalf of a client inquiring about a custom piece. He stopped to talk to the bartenders, then mingled with a few other guests. Then he noticed...her.

He watched the woman in a long, navy dress that hugged her lush curves. The dress was incredibly sexy without being too revealing. A line she trod remarkably well. Her movements were so smooth and fluid she seemed to float across the room.

Jordan’s attention was drawn to the smooth skin of her back and shoulders. Trailed up her long, elegant neck. He usually fancied women with long hair. Enamored with the thought of winding it round his fist. But the woman’s hair was cut into a short, pixie style that perfectly suited her impish smile.

A smile that indicated she knew something the rest of the world didn’t. A secret he suddenly needed to know.

As the woman sipped her champagne, her head tipped back slightly. Jordan found himself studying her throat. Her jawline. Her delicate cheekbones.

She walked around the sculpture she’d been assessing for the past few minutes, giving him an excellent view of her face.

Even better.

The woman was beyond fit. Even beyond stunning. Gorgeous, delicate facial features. Warm brown skin that practically glowed. Long, lean limbs.

Just cataloging her many fine attributes sent a shiver down his spine.

And she appeared to be without a companion for the evening. A dilemma he would most happily remedy.

Jordan wandered beside the woman and stared at the sculpture in silence for a moment. He sipped his champagne, then turned to her. “What do you think of it?”

“Me?” She gave him only a cursory glance, then returned her attention to the piece.

“You seemed to be making quite a study of it.” He shifted his gaze back to the piece. “Surely you’ve come to some conclusion.”

They stood silently in front of the sculpture. Two long, curved sheets of weathered steel shielded shiny steel cylinders. Hammered ribbons of steel circled the outside of the structure and appeared to float around it.

“The cylinders inside represent the status quo. The curved sheets of steel represent the artist.” She stepped forward, pointing to each section. “He desperately wants to break away from the status quo. To turn it on its ear. The floating ribbons of steel represent the possibilities that are out there, if only he can break free of limiting, status quo expectations.”

The woman turned to him. Her eyes locked with his. Slowly, her impish grin turned into a full-blown smirk. She broke into melodic laughter, her eyes twinkling.

“I’m kidding.” She drank more of her champagne as she turned back to study the piece again. “I have no idea what it means. All I know is that I really like it.”

A wide smile tightened Jordan’s cheeks.

Beautiful. A sense of humor. And she doesn’t take herself too seriously.

Jordan would be well on his way to falling in love with this woman, if he weren’t completely opposed to the notion of love at first sight. Or love in general. At least at this stage of his life.

Didn’t mean they couldn’t have a bit of fun together, if she was up for it.

“Well, it can be yours for the bargain price of one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.” He extended a hand to her. “I’m Jordan Jace, the artist. And I desperately do want to break out of the limiting status quo.”

“Sasha Charles.” She placed her warm hand in his much larger one. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jace.”

“No, Ms. Charles, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” He held her hand in his a beat or two longer than was customary. His smile widened when she didn’t pull her hand away. He reluctantly released her hand. “And call me Jordan. I insist.”

“Only if you call me Sasha.” Her smile lit her eyes. She finished her champagne, then placed the empty glass on a passing tray.

“One moment, please.” He halted the server, then turned to her. “Shall I grab another for you?”

“Why, are you one of those artists whose work is better interpreted the more you’ve had to drink?”

A deep, belly laugh erupted from him that turned the heads of several people in attendance. She joined in on the laughter.

“Not particularly,” he managed finally. “But according to my family, they find me far less puzzling once they’ve had a drink or two.”

“Then maybe I should have another.” Sasha took a glass of champagne from the server’s tray and thanked him. “Just in case.”

Jordan definitely liked this woman.

“So, Miss... Sasha, do you often attend gallery openings?” He fell in line beside her as she moved to another piece.

“Sadly, no. I appreciate art, but I’m not much of an aficionado. I simply know what I like when I see it.” She took another sip, her gaze meeting his.

“Then to what do I owe the honor of your attendance here tonight?”

“I was invited to attend tonight’s event.” She walked around the smaller sculpture, her eyes meeting his again, briefly, before returning to the piece. “By a member of Prescott George.”

“I see.”

If he had to be a member of the club, it might as well pay dividends. And if he had his membership in the Millionaire Moguls to thank for bringing this stunning woman into his gallery, well, then maybe membership in the club was worthwhile, after all.

“Which member should I thank for extending the invitation to you? And what prompted you to accept it?” He watched her reaction as she assessed the piece.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Jordan.” Lydia approached hurriedly, pushing her eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose. She clutched her ever-present notepad. “But Mrs. Avery wants to buy three of your pieces—including Opposing Forces.” She nodded toward the sculpture they’d just left. The centerpiece of the exhibition. “But she has a couple of questions she’d like to ask you first.”

“Last chance.” He winked at Sasha, who laughed, before he turned back to Lydia. “Please tell Mrs. Avery that I’ll be with her in just a moment.”

Jordan returned his attention to Sasha. “Seems you’re my good luck charm. I didn’t expect that Opposing Forces would move tonight.”

“Does that mean I’m entitled to a cut of the sale?” Sasha pursed her pouty, pink lips, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth.

“We’ll see.” He smiled. “I have to go, but I won’t be very long. I hope you’re still around when I’m done. There are a few more pieces I’d love to hear your opinion of.”

“Take your time.” Sasha’s gaze held his. “I wouldn’t think of going anywhere.”

Chapter 3

Jordan Jace’s photos hadn’t done him justice. The man was absolutely gorgeous. His brilliant smile demanded attention from halfway across the room. And there was something truly magical about his laugh and the touch of his hand.

His penetrating gaze had sent shivers down her spine. And his mouth. There was something about his full lips that made hers burn with the desire to taste them.

It was official. The slight crush she’d developed on Jordan Jace as she’d studied him was now full-blown infatuation.

Her hand curled into a fist at her side, remembering how his large hand had engulfed hers. The tingling in her palm when her skin had touched his. And the trail of electricity that had skittered down her spine and into places she’d rather not admit.

No wonder Jordan had developed a reputation as a playboy during his short time in San Diego. She’d watched as the art groupies and wealthy patrons—like Vivian Avery, a beauty product heiress—had fawned all over him.

Sasha wouldn’t have been surprised if the wealthy heiress had purchased that piece just to bring Jordan back to her side and away from Sasha.

It was just as well. She could use a moment of distance. An opportunity to get her head back on straight. She hadn’t come here to let Jordan Jace sweep her off her feet. Her job was to ensure that he understood exactly why he needed her.

Having had a taste of the challenge ahead, she had no intention of leaving the gallery without doing just that.

* * *

Sasha checked her watch. Jordan had been gone for more than an hour. His business with Vivian Avery hadn’t seemed to take very long. However, he’d been pulled into a conversation every time he’d headed in her direction again.

Jordan Jace was quickly becoming a star in the San Diego art world. He was doing exactly as he should. Courting patrons and potential buyers.

So why did she feel a desperate sense of longing as Jordan moved from one person to the next? And the tug of the green-eyed monster as he flashed that big smile and focused his penetrating gaze on the other women there?

This is business, not The Dating Game. Stay focused and stop acting like a jealous girlfriend.

Sasha heaved a sigh and passed on another glass of champagne. She checked her watch one last time.

She’d come here tonight to observe Jordan. She hadn’t intended to engage him in conversation. Not yet, anyway. He was busy tonight. It would be better if she made an appointment to meet with him in his office. In a situation that felt a lot less...flirtatious.

Sasha grabbed a brochure and headed toward the exit.

“You’re not leaving.” Jordan caught her elbow before she reached the door. “I know I’ve been away a lot longer than I expected, but I’d love it if you’d stay a bit longer.”

“You’re obviously quite busy tonight. Which is exactly what you want.” She forced a smile to hide the disappointment she felt at leaving his company.

“If you stay, I’ll make it worth your while.” His eyes lit up as a smile slid across his handsome face. The kind of smile it was hard to say no to.

She leaned in closer, her voice low. “And exactly how do you plan to make it worth my while?”

“With a private tour.” His intense gaze felt like a laser peering into her soul. Dissolving her will like copper in a hot, smelting furnace.

“The gallery is quite lovely, but I do believe I’ve seen just about all of it during the course of the evening. Except, of course, the men’s room.”

Jordan’s laughter rang through the gallery and her cheeks heated in response.

“I think it’s better if that particular space remains a mystery. However, I’d love to give you a behind-the-scenes tour of the gallery, including my studio next door.”

Sasha’s pulse sped up, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his.

What is it about this man that is so...mesmerizing?

Jordan Jace certainly wasn’t the first handsome man with a great smile she’d encountered. So why was he so damn intriguing?

Perhaps too intriguing for someone she hoped to work with.

Saying yes to his flirtatious overture was a bad idea. And yet...she couldn’t say no.

“I don’t suppose I could turn down an opportunity like that.” She stepped away to create some space. He released her arm with a knowing smile. “How exactly did I merit such a high honor?”

His eyes twinkled. “Because, Sasha Charles, there is something about you that I find inspiring. And I can’t rest until I know exactly what that is.”

Jordan was gone before she could respond.

Sasha exhaled, her eyes pressed closed momentarily. She’d hoped that Jordan’s attraction to her would make her job easier. But her attraction to him would surely make the situation more challenging.

Still, this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. So she’d have to put on her big-girl panties, keep Jordan Jace out of them and pull herself together.

* * *

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the gallery is closed now.” Jordan’s assistant, a pretty woman with mousy brown hair, sparkling blue eyes and oversize glasses, approached Sasha.

She stood from the red sofa where she’d been seated. The glittery heels she’d chosen to wear were gorgeous, but her feet were killing her.

“I’m waiting. For Jordan.” Sasha suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious. How many art groupies had sat in the same seat spouting the same line?

The woman frowned. “Did Jordan ask you to wait for him?” The question felt accusatory.

“Yes, I did.” Jordan walked over to the woman and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Sasha Charles is my guest this evening.” He turned to Sasha. “Sasha, meet Lydia Dyson, my right hand here at the gallery. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Nice to meet you,” the woman said, though her tone indicated otherwise. She squinted at Sasha as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. When her eyes met Jordan’s briefly, she smiled. “He’s being too kind, of course. I’m incredibly lucky that I get to work with the great Jordan Jace.” Lydia gazed at him adoringly. A fact that seemed to go right over Jordan’s head. “But I appreciate the compliment, anyway.”

“I’ll lock up tonight. You head on home. And come in a few hours late tomorrow. I insist,” he added, before Lydia could object. Jordan broadened his smile. “Take a couple of bottles of champagne on your way out. You’ve earned them. Tonight was magnificent.”

Lydia perked up and nodded. The woman turned and walked away, tossing a good-night over her shoulder.

“Hey.” Jordan shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that sparked something inside her.

“Hey.” Sasha tightened her grip on her clutch. Heat filled her cheeks.

“I’m glad you stayed.” He indicated a doorway at the back of the studio and they both walked toward it. “Can I get you a glass of wine or a bite to eat?”

“I’ve had quite enough tonight already, thank you.” Sasha held up a hand. There was no way she could pull off this encounter successfully if she wasn’t completely sober. Not with electricity dancing up her spine as she walked beside this man.

“As you wish.” He opened the door, which led down a narrow corridor.

Sasha halted in her tracks and took a deep breath. Her eyes met his. “Look, Jordan, I appreciate the chance to tour your studio. But if the invitation is really just the modern-day equivalent of offering to ‘show me your etchings’...”

Jordan’s deep belly laugh made her cheeks burn, but she couldn’t help chuckling, too. He raised his hands, his palms facing her.

“I have every intention of being a gentleman tonight. I assure you.” He grinned. “I just thought you might like to see the method behind my madness, so to speak. Of course, after tonight...well that, love, is up to you.”

Sasha exhaled and headed down the brick corridor. Her heels clicked against the concrete floor as Jordan walked beside her.

Finally, he opened another door and turned on the light. The unfinished brick walls, stained concrete floor and steel beams overhead gave the cavernous space the same spare, raw feel as the gallery.

“My assistant hosed down the floor this morning, but it is still a working studio. So perhaps you should be careful with that lovely dress.” Jordan held the door open.

“Lydia hosed down the floor?” Sasha gathered the hem of her dress in one hand and followed Jordan into the studio.

“No, Lydia is my gallery assistant,” Jordan clarified. “A young man named Marcus Whitten is my studio assistant.”

“I see.” Sasha surveyed the space. It smelled of welded metal, but it was surprisingly clean for a studio that housed rolls of sheet metal and industrial shelving bearing metal pipes, buckets of nuts, bolts, chains and a variety of other cast-off pieces of metal. “And what does a sculptor’s assistant do? Besides hose down the floor?”

“Thankfully, quite a bit.” Jordan beckoned her farther into the space. “When I started out, I did everything myself. The salvaging, the cutting and prepping and all of the welding. Sometimes I worked on more than one piece at a time, but it could take weeks or even months to complete them.”

“And now?”

“Now I have Marcus. Quite the promising sculptor in his own right. But for now, he helps me out with the grunt work around here. Frees me up to focus on the artistic bits.”

“He’s paying his dues, I suppose.” Sasha strolled along the space with Jordan. Past heavy tools and stockpiles of salvaged metals and reclaimed wood.

“As did I.”

“You? Doing grunt work?” Sasha stopped and turned to him, barely holding back an incredulous grin. “Why do I find that so difficult to believe?”

“Doesn’t fit the millionaire playboy narrative, I know.” He chuckled. “But it’s true. I studied studio art in university for a couple of years. University life and rules didn’t quite agree with me. So I left.”

“Now that, I can believe.” Sasha tried not to allow herself to be drawn in by those glittering eyes and that infinite charm, enhanced by a very sexy British accent. It was a losing battle. “I doubt your parents were very happy with that decision.”

“They weren’t.” For the first time, there was a flash of darkness in his expression. “I’m the black sheep in the Jace family. The sole artist in a family full of bankers. My mum and dad thought I’d gone mad when I left university and went to work as a studio assistant for a mere pittance. Truthfully, they still think me a bit bonkers.”

Sasha’s heart ached for Jordan. He behaved as if he was unconcerned about the opinions of others. Though clearly, he was wounded by his parents’ rejection of his career choice.

The topic of his parents was a subject best avoided for as long as possible.

“Did you work for a sculptor?”

“Eventually.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his confident smile fixed firmly in place again. “But first I was assistant to a painter and then a multimedia artist. Then I went to work for a remarkable sculptor who worked with clay.”

“Your apprenticeships served you well. I can see the influence of all three mediums in your work.” Sasha turned her attention to an assemblage of scrap metal laid out on the floor. “Is this what you’re working on now?”

“It is. Commissioned for a corporate office headquartered in LA.” He gripped his chin, studying the metal fragments, as if seeing them for the first time.

Sasha walked carefully around the collection of metal scraps until she stood opposite him. When she looked up, he was no longer studying the metal pieces on the floor. He was studying her.

Electricity trailed down her spine and the room suddenly felt warm. She dropped her gaze to the assemblage of scraps arranged on the floor again.

“So a commissioned piece like this. How does it work? Does the client tell you what they want?”

“This isn’t color by numbers, love.” His smile widened. He was clearly amused by the very suggestion that he’d execute someone else’s design. “I don’t have anything against anyone who does work that way, mind you. It simply doesn’t work for me. Black sheep who has an uneasy relationship with rules, remember?” He poked a thumb to his chest.

“Good point.” She nodded sagely, her cheeks tightening in a smile. “So, what is your process? Do you sketch out your designs, then find the materials you need?”

“Only when an idea begins in my head. Perhaps I’m inspired by something I’ve seen, there’s a concept I want to express or I have a persistent vision I can’t let go of.” Jordan stooped, rearranging a few of the metal scraps. “Other times, I select salvaged pieces like these and play around with them. Try out different configurations until a design speaks to me.”

Jordan scrutinized the pieces intently, and Sasha assessed him.

“So how did you come by your remarkable studio assistant Marcus?”

“I met him during a workshop I gave for local high school students.” Jordan stood, dusting off his hands. He retrieved a clean rag from a nearby metal table and cleaned them. “Marcus was bright and incredibly talented. Eager to learn about art. But he was struggling with the rest of his schoolwork and he’d become a fixture in the headmaster’s office.”

“Then why’d you take a chance on him?”

Jordan shrugged, still focused on the configuration of items laid out on the concrete floor. “I see a little of myself in him, I suppose.” He raised his gaze to hers, then laughed. “And that is why I don’t normally tell people stories like this.”

“Why? What did I do?”

“You’ve got that face...as if you’ve just seen a baby take its first steps or something.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. And I don’t work with kids like Marcus for recognition. Neither is it a wholly selfless act.” He gestured toward another metal table where a smaller piece was taking shape. “The boy’s got a good eye. And he’s a very hard worker.”

“Obviously.” Sasha surveyed the piece. An assemblage of metal pipes and fittings were arranged in the shape of legs and feet. “But if he was already struggling with school...won’t a demanding job make things worse?”

Jordan stuffed his hands in his pockets and assessed Sasha, as if debating whether he should tell her the rest.

“I pay him a decent hourly wage, but the rest goes toward a tutor. Like I said, he’s quite bright. He just learns a bit differently.”

“And he agreed to the deal?”

“He’s never missed a tutoring session and his grades have improved dramatically.” Jordan’s eyes twinkled with pride. He indicated the various machines along one wall. “And he’s learned to work all of the machinery here. Skills that would serve him well if he needed to go into a trade, for a time, at least.”

“It’s all a facade, isn’t it?” Sasha couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face or the fluttering in her chest.

“Sorry?” Jordan crooked a brow, puzzled.

“You behave as if you don’t care about anything or anyone but your art, but you do. You care about the environment—that’s why you use discarded wood and metal. You care about underprivileged youth—that’s why you do the workshops. And you obviously care deeply about both of your assistants.”

“I never purported to be a monster. And if you thought as much, I doubt you’d be here now.”

“Actually... I have a very particular reason for being here.” Sasha was reluctant to bring their lovely evening together to what would likely be an abrupt end.

“If the answer is anything other than you being taken with the art or the artist, I’ll be terribly disappointed.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“You’re a brilliant artist, Jordan. And far more fascinating than I would’ve suspected.” Sasha’s heart beat faster. She reached into her small clutch, pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “But the reason I came tonight is because I’m a brand strategist, and I’d love to work with you.”

Jordan accepted the card and reviewed it. One eyebrow shifted upward. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Ms. Charles, but tonight’s event was packed. We cleared a half million dollars in sales and commissions tonight alone.”

“Impressive indeed.” Sasha nodded. “But I believe you’re capable of even more. I can help you double or triple what you made tonight. More importantly, I’ll work tirelessly to help raise your visibility internationally and smooth over some of the issues you’ve had in the past with bad press.”

“And exactly how do you plan to do that, Ms. Charles?” He’d reverted to formal address since they were talking business. Yet, there was unmistakable flirtatiousness in his tone.

“I can’t give all my trade secrets away for free, now can I?” She smiled. “But I would begin by honing your online presence. Currently, your social media real estate is either absent or lacking the brilliance and creativity worthy of a true creative genius.”

“I’m a creative genius, am I?”

“I don’t think anyone at the gallery this evening would dispute that.”

Jordan stepped closer, his heat enveloping her. “Including you?”

Sasha swallowed hard, her knees quivering slightly as she inhaled his delicious scent. “Me, especially.”

“Sounds tempting.” Jordan’s heated gaze left Sasha unsure whether he was referring to her or her proposal. Surprisingly, the former was more tempting than the latter. “But I confess myself nostalgic for simpler times. When one needn’t manage their brand or monitor their online presence. Life is too short to be consumed by the opinion of the faceless masses. Or even those much closer to home, for that matter.”

“Times change, and this is the reality of doing business now,” she stated firmly. “I know it seems like a hassle to manage your brand. But handled properly, it’s the key to achieving everything you want.”

“You presume to know what that is?” Jordan cocked a brow.

He was testing her.

“Yes.” Sasha raised her chin. “Money and notoriety are important to you. That’s obvious from the eye-catching cars and the occasional ‘wild child’ antics. But there’s so much more to Jordan Jace than you let on.”

Jordan folded his arms. “Such as?”

Sasha smiled, her confidence rising. “You use recycled and found materials in your work, and though you drive very pricey cars, they’re all eco-friendly. So obviously caring for the environment is a huge issue for you.”

“That one was easy.” Jordan narrowed his gaze. “You’ll have to do better than that to convince me.”

“All right.” Sasha nodded. If Jordan Jace needed convincing, she could handle that. “Your work with underprivileged kids is as important to you as bringing beauty into the world through your art.” When he didn’t reply, she indicated the table where Marcus’s sculpture stood. “This is the legacy you want to leave, isn’t it? A man who left the world, and the people in it, in a much better state than he found them.”

Jordan rubbed his chin and cleared his throat. She’d touched a nerve and it made him uncomfortable.

Good.

He had to be willing to get uncomfortable if they were going to work together. Evidently, she’d have to accept operating outside of her comfort zone, too.

“Well, Miss Charles, why don’t you let me think about your request and get back to you?” Jordan headed for the door.

Panic spread through Sasha’s chest. She’d pushed him too hard. Now she needed to play the card she’d been holding on to.

“You never did get an answer to your question.” She remained rooted in her spot, though her pulse raced.

Jordan turned back to her. “About?”

“Which member of Prescott George invited me here tonight?”

“No, I didn’t, did I?” He folded his arms, one brow raised. She’d gotten his attention. “Who do I have to thank for the lovely sales pitch?”

Sasha inhaled deeply. Tried to keep her limbs from trembling. “Jonathan Jace.”

“My father invited you here? Why? He doesn’t give one whit whether or not the gallery is successful.”

“I doubt that’s true.” She stepped closer, shrinking the gap between them. “But your mother obviously does. She’s the person who hired me.”

“Exactly when did you plan to tell me all this?” Jordan scowled.

“When it became relevant.” Sasha maintained his gaze and shrugged. “It just did.”

“So this entire performance tonight was an elaborate ruse at my expense?”

“No, it was a test.” She stepped even closer, forcing her gaze to meet his. “For both of us. I needed to know that you were someone I could work with. That your art and what you stand for are things I believe in. Without that foundation, there’s no way I can sell your brand to the world.”

“And what’s the verdict?” He folded his arms and stared down his nose at her.

“I was already a fan of the art. But now I’m infinitely impressed with the artist.” Sasha smiled, invoking his earlier statement.

Jordan shook his head and seemed to chuckle, in spite of himself. “Okay, Sasha.” He put emphasis on the use of her given name again. “I’ll make you a deal.”

She folded her arms and tipped her chin upward. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’ll listen to your proposal for expanding my brand...over dinner. My treat.”

Sasha inhaled deeply. Tried not to let him see her blink or how her knees were trembling. She gripped her clutch tightly with both hands and exhaled slowly. “A working dinner?”

“If it makes you feel better to call it that.”

“What would you call it?” The brooch on her silk clutch dug into her skin.

“A date, of course.” Jordan chuckled in response to her opened mouth and widened eyes. His nostrils flared and a sexy-as-sin smirk curved one side of his sensuous mouth. “Careful, love. Now I can see you a bit more clearly.”

“What do you mean?” Heat crawled up her spine and the space between them seemed to evaporate.

“You’re Miss Prim and Proper. The one who can’t bear the thought of breaking the rules.” He walked around her, studying her as if she were a museum piece. He leaned in closer. His warm breath tickled her skin. His tone was teasing. “I doubt you’ve ever knowingly broken a single rule.”

Heat filled her cheeks and a knot tightened in her belly. Yes, he was definitely testing her.

If Jordan Jace thought she’d be run off by a little teasing and a lot of flirtation, he had no idea whom he was dealing with. Unlike Jordan, Sasha hadn’t come from money. But she knew how to play the game, and she wasn’t easily intimidated. And dealing with a difficult client? That was just her average Tuesday.

Sasha lengthened her spine, her eyes meeting his. “Just tell me when and where.”

Chapter 4

Jordan pushed in Sasha’s chair, then settled in the seat across from her. The woman was even more mesmerizing than he remembered. A remarkable feat, since he hadn’t been able to get her face and memorable curves out of his head for the past three days.

Sasha Charles had been all he could think of. He’d even taken out his charcoal pencils and sketched the face and form that had kept him awake late at night. Tossing and turning with the desire to have her in his bed.

Tonight, he’d pulled out all the stops to impress her.

Secured reservations at the hottest French restaurant in town, despite their customary thirty-day waiting list. He’d insisted on picking her up in his Porsche Panamera Sport Turismo. And he’d placed their orders in perfect French.

Still, Sasha seemed unaffected. As if it were a run-of-the-mill Friday night.

She pulled out two black folders with gold lettering on them and handed him one. “You asked to see my plan for growing your brand? Well, here it is.”

“You want to do this right now?” Jordan opened the folder emblazoned with the name of the marketing agency Sasha worked for.

“I appreciate the lovely gesture, of course. I’ve been wanting to try this place since they opened six months ago.” Sasha glanced around the elegant restaurant. “However, I thought it best to establish the tone at the outset. Whatever you might call it, for me, this is very much a business dinner.”

“Point taken.” Jordan nodded sagely. “And maybe you’re right. Best to get all of the business out of the way so we can move on to more...fun aspects of the evening.”

Sasha’s eyes widened and she blinked several times. “Jordan, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea about tonight. I want to work with you, of course. But not if that means you expect me to—”

“Oh God, no.” Jordan held his hands up. “I know that I made this dinner a requirement for me to consider working with you, but I’d never...” He couldn’t even say the words. “That isn’t even remotely my style. I assure you. However, I am quite taken with you, Sasha. I’d like to get to know you better. I don’t see anything wrong with that, do you?”

Sasha sank her teeth into her luscious lower lip, the wheels turning in her lovely head. She didn’t respond to his question. Instead, she took a sip of the mineral water she’d ordered instead of wine.

Finally, she raised her eyes to his. “In that case, I should tell you that you don’t need to try so hard to impress me.”

Jordan leaned forward. “And why is that?”

“I’m already impressed. You’re a brilliant artist, Jordan. I know that your pieces will be in museums all over the world within five or ten years. Kids will be studying them in art classes in twenty.”

Sasha paused as the server put their appetizers on the table. A warm puff pastry filled with Camembert cheese and served with a side of fruit chutney. She asked for her water glass to be refilled, repeating her insistence that she wouldn’t be drinking.

That affirmed two things. One: Sasha felt it imperative that she remain stone-cold sober. Two: she didn’t trust what she might do if she wasn’t.

All the better.

That way there’d be no question of impropriety when they tumbled into his bed.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence.” Jordan put a piece of the warm, flaky pastry oozing with cheese on each of their plates and handed her one. “But I know bloody well you didn’t come to that conclusion from speaking to my parents.”

Her gaze dropped to her plate for a moment. When it returned to his there was an unmistakable pity that made his cheeks burn.

“Your mother wouldn’t have invested in my services if she didn’t think your work worthy.” Sasha skillfully avoided mention of Jonathan Jace’s feelings about his art.

Add kindness and compassion to the woman’s growing list of virtues.

“And as to my conclusions about you...well, I always make a point of arriving at those on my own. And what sealed it for me wasn’t Jordan Jace, the artist. It was Jordan Jace, the man.”

Jordan paused, a forkful of cheesy deliciousness inches from his lips, and cocked an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“I mean I’m impressed with your commitment to the environment and to helping disadvantaged young artists.” She shrugged, breaking and spearing a piece of the pastry with her fork. “I’ve always been a sucker for a man with a cause.” She nearly said the words under her breath.

Jordan chuckled. “Ahh...you were that girl. The one who wears her heart on her sleeve and has a ‘Save The’ sticker for every cause known to man.”

“Am I that transparent?” Sasha laughed, then took a bite of the pastry. Her murmur of appreciation went straight below his belt.

Jordan groaned internally, painfully aware of the need to adjust his trousers.

“I admit I’m a proud, card-carrying member of several organizations. Organizations and causes I care deeply about. The environment and funding arts education in public schools happen to be two of the causes I hold dear.” She smiled. “So this isn’t just a routine client job for me. It’s important that I help you succeed.”

There was something about the warmth of her words and the sincerity with which she uttered them that tugged at a string in his chest. The unexpected feeling temporarily rendered him speechless.

“All right, Sasha Charles. You win. I’d be a fool to turn down an offer like that.” Jordan smiled. “So where exactly do we begin?”

“Two areas.” Sasha opened the folder. “First, we make your social media accounts more dynamic and engaging. More reflective of you and your art.”

“Sounds good.” He nodded. “I’m sure Lydia will be glad to have that off her plate. Call my office during the week and she’ll give you the log-in information for all of the accounts.”

“My team will generate the posts, but I’ll run everything past you. Get your approval first. Especially in the beginning while we’re learning each other.”

“Learning each other,” he repeated her words, fondly. If that would require more evenings spent in the company of this gorgeous, compassionate woman, Jordan was all in. “I like the sound of that even better. Only I’m at quite the disadvantage. Aside from what you do for a living, I know very little about you.”

“There’s not much to tell.” Sasha shrugged. “I’m an average girl from an average, working-class family. I grew up in a neighborhood where nothing was given, and everything was earned. I’ve been driven by that motto my entire life.” She took another bite of the pastry. “End of story.”

“That’s a good start.” Jordan couldn’t help the admiration that rose in his chest as he surveyed the woman. “But somehow I feel you’re being extremely modest. That there’s a lot more than you’re letting on.”

“Can’t give up all of my secrets right away.” Sasha pulled another piece of the pastry off, creating a long, gooey string of cheese.

Jordan was enthralled with watching her place a morsel in her mouth and chew. He gulped water from his glass and set it on the table again. “So, what does an average girl from an average, working-class family like to do for fun?”

Her brown eyes danced with amusement. “When I’m not working or volunteering for a youth mentoring organization run by a friend, I’m usually hanging out with friends or visiting my family. Though, there haven’t been many girls’ nights out since my best friend, Miranda, married Vaughn Ellicott—a friend of yours, I believe.”

Jordan’s jaw tightened as he recalled his most recent encounter with Vaughn when he’d suspected him of being a vandal and thief.

“He’s the treasurer of our local Prescott George chapter.” There was no need to say more than that.

“You don’t like him.” Sasha tilted her head as she assessed him. It wasn’t a question. “I wasn’t sure I did either, at first. But when I realized he really, truly loved Miranda...well, then I gave him a fair chance. The better I know him, the more I like him.”

“Perhaps I don’t know him well enough yet.” Jordan smiled politely, eager to move on from discussing Vaughn Ellicott. “My fault entirely, I’m sure. I’m not the most social member of the club.”

“Being a member of Prescott George is quite an investment. And your membership there offers you the opportunity to make incredible connections locally and abroad. So as your brand strategist, I’d recommend that you become a more social member.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled as the server brought their meals and set them on the table. After they’d both had a chance to dig in to their meals, he returned his attention to her. “So, it’s a Friday night. You aren’t working or volunteering and your best friend is spending time with her new husband. What would be your ideal way to spend the evening?”

“I’m a jeans and flip-flops kind of girl at heart.” She looked up from her coq au vin for a moment. “So while I do like to dress up on occasion, I’m just as content to sit on my sofa and watch TV while drinking a light beer and eating takeout from a really good chicken shack. The kind you find in only the sketchiest of neighborhoods.”

Jordan couldn’t help the genuine laughter her statement evoked. “You’re simply full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I could say the same of you.” She smiled. “You’re not just the rebellious wild child everyone thinks you are. You’re a brilliant artist, well versed in your craft. You have a huge heart and a soft spot for kids who want to be artists, too. Kids who remind you of yourself.”

When he didn’t respond, she continued. “You pretend to be this perennial bad boy. And perhaps at some point you were. But that isn’t the person I see.”

Jordan shifted in his seat beneath her warm brown eyes. There was something about those eyes. They had the uncanny ability to peer beyond the surface. To bore a hole in the hardened exterior he was willing to show the world. To dig into the soft, vulnerable center he worked so hard to conceal.

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