10. Conrad

Ican't stop looking at her.

Brielle is a vision, dressed in a plum dress that hugs her curves and makes me wish the two of us were alone. She's breathtaking, completely unaware of the effect she has on me—or maybe she knows exactly what she's doing. The thought sends a jolt through me, my mind spinning with images of her on her knees before me, those full lips parted slightly, eyes looking up at me with that same mix of innocence and mischief.

How would those perfectly pouty lips feel wrapped around my?—

"Conrad?" Tiffany's voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp as a whipcrack, and I'm forcibly yanked back to reality. Her pencil skirt and no-nonsense blouse are the antithesis of Brielle's sultry attire. "Everything's winding down. I'd say it's time."

"Right." I straighten my tie, clearing my throat to push away the fog of desire clouding my thoughts. I can feel the weight of responsibility settle back onto my shoulders, the awareness that this night is for a cause greater than my own rampant desires.

"Did you see the final number?" Tiffany hands me a slip of paper, and I can't help but feel a twinge of pride at the figure scrawled there.

I step up to the microphone, my gaze inadvertently searching the crowd for one last glimpse of Brielle. I find her, our eyes locking for a moment too long.

"Thank you, everyone," I say, letting the room quiet down. "Your open hearts tonight have raised over ten thousand dollars for the children's medical center." A wave of applause rolls through the crowd.

"Now, what everyone has been waiting to hear, let's reveal the winner of our charity raffle." My fingers brush against the cool slip of paper as I unfold it.

"Callie Moore," I announce, smirking once I realize it's Brielle's friend who I met earlier. However, it's Brielle who starts to make her way toward me.

Our hands meet over the ceremonial check, and it's like striking a match—flame licks at my insides, igniting a hunger that demands more than these fleeting touches.

Her fingers linger against mine, soft yet unyielding, and the contact sears through my suit, branding me beneath.

"Congratulations," I manage to say, even as every fiber of my being screams to pull her close, to taste the cherry-red promise of her lips.

As she turns away, I can't help but watch the sway of her hips.

The crowd's applause fades, and people begin to get out of their chairs and walk out, complimenting me for the fun night and asking when the next one is going to be.

"Conrad?"

I barely register Tiffany's voice as I scan the dispersing sea of guests. The plum dress that haunts my every thought is nowhere in sight. My heart hammers a fierce rhythm, anticipation mingled with a tinge of frustration. Where is she?

I was sure she'd stay behind like I asked her to.

"Sir?" Tiffany tries again, but her words are white noise. My eyes, traitors to my composure, continue their feverish search.

"Conrad, everyone's leaving."

"Give me a moment," I mutter, more to myself than to anyone else.

"Alright," Tiffany says cautiously, stepping back to let me be.

With each passing second, the room empties further, and she's nowhere to be found.

How could she have vanished so easily?

"Damn it, Brielle," I curse under my breath.

Enough. I can't stand it any longer. I pivot on my heel and stride toward the tiny bar office where we store the supplies for trivia night.

The door swings open, and there she is—Brielle, perched on the edge of the desk, as if she's been waiting for this moment as much as I have. "Looking for me?" Her voice is silk over steel, knowing and confident.

"Seems you've found my weakness for games," I say, closing the door behind me with a decisive click.

"I've just learned how to play them," she teases, the corner of her mouth lifting in a knowing smirk.

I take a step closer, drawn to her like gravity. "You look…tasty tonight."

"Tasty," she repeats. "I like the sound of that."

"Careful, Brielle," I warn, my fingers firm under her chin, tilting her face toward mine. The plum fabric of her dress clings to every curve like a second skin, a siren's call to every man who lays eyes on her. "A dress like that is an invitation."

"Maybe that's exactly what I want it to be." Her voice is a low hum, vibrating through the charged air between us.

I tighten my grip ever so slightly, a silent reprimand for the fire she's stoked within me all evening. "To the whole room, or just to me?"

"Is there a difference?" She doesn't flinch beneath my touch, her eyes daring me to take what she's offering.

I lean in, our breaths mingling, the scent of her perfume wrapping around me like a spell. "You know there is."

"Then maybe," she whispers, her lips mere inches from mine, her warmth seeping into my skin, "I'm counting on you to show me."

"Oh, I'll show you, all right."

"Right here?" The question falls from her mouth like an indulgent morsel, and I'm starved for a taste.

The room's pulse fades to a murmur as I pull back just enough to lock onto her gaze. "This isn't the place," I breathe, my voice low, almost growling with restraint. "It'd be rude really, to have a taste of you and not share."

Her lips part. "Then where?" Brielle whispers, her question a silken thread pulling me taut.

"Tell me…" I start, pausing to savor the heat radiating from her. "What are you doing later tonight?"

"Nothing," she replies, a flicker of surprise in her eyes giving way to understanding. "I don't have any plans."

"Good." A smirk plays on my lips, and I lean closer, so close I can count the golden flecks in her wide, expectant eyes. "Because now you do."

The implication hangs heavy between us, thick and undeniable. Brielle's breath hitches, and I feel her pulse quicken beneath my fingers still resting possessively on her chin.

"Conrad…" The way she says my name is like velvet against bare skin—intimate, filled with want and need.

I'll make sure she's not disappointed.