Jane shook her head then pressed her hand to her chest and gasped out, “My pearls!”
“Wait here.” He held out his hands. “I’ll get the necklace, I’m sure it’s where you fell and—”
“No.” Jane slumped, defeated. “They broke off when my sis—” She corrected herself, not wanting to claim the crazies in the other room. “They broke apart when I fell.”
The man sighed loudly and ran his fingers through his perfect hair. “I’ll talk to the club manager and see if anyone turns them in.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to give him all the many reasons why they were irreplaceable, but instead she settled with, “That’s really not necessary. It’s not your fault I was a victim of the techno craze.”
His upper lip curled. “I hate techno.”
“Me too.”
“Is there something I can do? Anything? You promise you aren’t hurt?”
“Careful or you’re going to have me believe you got me trampled on purpose in order to trap me in a private room,” she joked as a smile tugged at her lips.
“Had I known you were willing, I wouldn’t have had to go to such extremes to orchestrate it.”
He appeared stunned by his own answer.
Her breath hitched. Was he flirting with her?
His crystal blue eyes twinkled with amusement.
“So…” Her voice was hoarse, like an old woman’s. Great. “I should probably get back to the party.” Why did she need to go back again? All the reasons seemed to disappear as he maneuvered around the couch and popped a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a nearby crystal bucket.
“Why don’t you and I have a drink first?” He peered around the table. “I’ll need to send for some shoes. It’s the least I can do.” His gaze heated. “Shoes are appropriate to purchase for a stranger. A dress, I’m afraid…” The corners of his mouth tilted into a sultry smile as his eyes slowly raked over the scraps of fabric barely covering her breasts. “Not so much.”
Did people do that these days? Just send for shoes? Who was this guy? “Really, it’s not necessary. I’ll just stick to the shadows so I don’t scare anyone with my limp and I’ll be okay.” She sounded more confident than she felt, and her lower lip trembled a bit. Next time she was going to hold her ground, stay home, read a book, and be plain boring Jane. This wasn’t her scene. Not by a long shot.
He leaned in close, so close she could smell his aftershave again. “A woman like you doesn’t belong in the shadows.”
Uncomfortable, she tried to make light of the situation again. “Wow, a hero and good with words. I bet you’re just a regular handful, aren’t you?”
“Me?” He laughed as if the thought was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “No, that would be my twin brothers. They’re the handfuls. I’m…” He seemed to think about it. “Just Brock.”
“Well, Just Brock…” Jane held out her hand. “I’m Just Jane.”
His hand completely engulfed hers as their palms pressed against one another. He was so warm. And big.
Huge.
Huge hands. That meant something, right?
Crap, she was still shaking his hand, and he was grinning at her as if it was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. And he was looking at her. At her eyes, not at the fact that she was half-naked on a couch, with a broken shoe.
With a jerk, she pulled her hand back and nervously reached to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“So, Brock.” Jane looked down at his shoes. That was safe. Shoes. Nothing sexy about a man’s feet, right? Except his were inside shoes that she ventured probably cost more than she’d ever see in a lifetime. “About those shoes.”
“Shoes.” He repeated the word and then quickly stood. “Right, just wait here.”
“But, you don’t even know my size!”
His eyes heated as he eyed her up and down. “Would it be too cheesy if I said perfect?”
“Perfect?” she repeated like an idiot. “I don’t think I understand.”
“The perfect size.” His half-lidded gaze was causing her stomach to do flip-flops while she tried to keep a calm demeanor.
With a smile he knelt down and touched her foot.
Touched it.
And then gazed up at her and said, “Eight? Am I close?”
“Eight.” She nearly stuttered. “Eight and a half.”
With a nod, he stood and disappeared, giving her the breathing room she absolutely needed, only to re-appear a few seconds later.
Without shoes.
She frowned; then again, what had she expected? That he’d bang some plastic Barbie over the head with his cell phone, steal her shoes, and then toss them to Jane?
Brock studied her. “Your shoes should be here within the next fifteen minutes. I just sent my degenerate brother across the street. Saks is still open. The night is young.”
Saks?
Shoes from Saks?
She’d never owned anything from Saks. Ever. But she knew the store; didn’t every woman? Still, the most expensive thing she’d ever owned had been the pearls.