Feed your #contemporaryromance addiction #Valentines | Most Eligible Bachelor @EmpiBaryeh

On day three of our Valentines' Week feature we have Most Eligible Bachelor by Empi Baryeh. 

Feed your contemporary romance addiction right here.

Magazine columnist Chantelle Sah doesn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day—not since her fiancé’s betrayal three years ago. After botching her first assignment as a feature writer, she’s more than willing to put in a hard day’s work this Valentine’s Day; even if it means going on a date with gorgeous construction Tycoon, Lord McKenzie, and opening herself to an onslaught of all things love.

When Lord—his given name, not a title—sets his sights on Chantelle, it isn’t just work he has on his mind. But even he couldn’t have predicted the magnetic attraction between them when they meet, nor the evening ending with more than an interview. Now he has to convince Chantelle that their one-night stand wasn’t a mistake. Can he win her love without revealing a secret from their night of passion, which could prove fatal for both their hearts?

EXCERPT

Lord took her straight to the dance floor and fell in step with the beat. Seeing no other option, Chantelle followed suit. He was an amazing dancer, his movements fluid and magical. She had to force herself not to stop and watch.

After a while, he leaned in. “I thought you said you didn’t know how to dance.”

So he’d been testing her? “I said I didn’t dance, not that I didn’t know how.”

“What’s the story?”

“None,” she said. “I’m too busy.”

 He looked doubtful, and for a second she feared he’d probe. Instead, he laughed. “What a shame. You’re a good dancer.”

His compliment shouldn’t have made an impression, but, against reason, her insides turned to mush, affected by his generous flow of laughter. Easy to see how a woman could be charmed by all the attention, what with the way he trained his entire focus on her. As they danced, she decided he had to be the most handsome man she’d ever met.

She’d barely registered the thought when the music turned to salsa, the latest fad in town, and Lord proved a pro. In his arms, she felt she could have won any competition. Though concerns for when she could start the interview lingered, she found herself connecting with the music. Her insides bubbled with exhilaration. She’d forgotten how recklessly free dancing made her feel. A laugh tumbled out as he led her through a double spin. She was actually having fun. Who’d have thought?

A few songs later, he asked, “Want to sit down for a moment?”

She nodded through a smile, trying to catch her breath. Amazing how she could hear him clearly over the music even though he didn’t seem to be shouting.

He led her off the dance floor to a section where the music was less intrusive; a lounge with comfortable upholstered seating.

Loveseats, she noted, lowering herself onto one.

“What would you like to drink?” Lord asked.

“Amarula, if they have it. If not—”

“Of course, they do.” Before she decided whether to ask how he could be so sure, he said, “It’s my party.”

Wearing a self-satisfied grin, he disappeared, returning moments later with her drink in one hand and a scotch in the other. The ice clinked against glass as he handed her the drink.  He placed his glass on the table before taking a seat next to her.

“Red,” he noted with an obvious glance at her top.

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to be a party pooper.”

Amusement glinted in his eyes as he took a sip of his drink. “So you’re not available and looking?”

In other words, dateless and desperate? She shifted in her seat, wondering why his question made her uncomfortable. So what if she was single? It didn’t amount to “looking.” She had, after all, worn white jeans to balance out the dress code requirement. In any case, her personal life didn’t concern him.

A chuckle rumbled out of him. “I’ll let that slide, but tell me this. You say you don’t dance, but not only are you good at it, you clearly love it. What—” His eyes narrowed. “Or who made you stop?”

Despite the smile, his eyes looked serious. Did he actually expect an answer? She couldn’t give one, because the last thing she wanted to do was talk about Martin. She’d enjoyed herself too much on the dance floor to tarnish it with thoughts of her past.

“I’m supposed to be interviewing you, not the other way around,” she said.

He chuckled. “It’s too loud in here for an interview, isn’t it?”

You’re not getting off so easily. Melodious laughter or not, she wouldn’t leave without what she came for. “I can hear you just fine.”

“Tell you what. Let’s finish the drinks, dance some more, and I promise to give you my full attention. The owner’s office is upstairs and it’s much less noisy there. In the meantime…” He let his voice trail off and edged closer.

Too close.

Chantelle made a discreet shift backwards. Even so, the heat radiating from his body was inescapable. It sent a shiver snaking down her spine. His intoxicating essence filled her senses. Of their own volition it seemed, her eyes dropped to his juicy-looking lips. They seemed like the kind that could kiss you ‘til you cried out his name. She didn’t expect him to be stupid enough to kiss her, but with a playboy, one could never tell. When was the last time she’d been kissed?

She snapped her head up, blinking. She was not going there.

When Lord smiled, her heart jumped into her throat. Had he caught her looking? God help her, but the pleased look in his eyes clearly said he had.

“Tell me about you.” He had one of those voices, deep and rich, that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cold evening.

But it wasn’t cold. Thanks to the hot and dry mid-February weather, she had no need for blankets, warm or otherwise. “Lord, this is strictly business.”

He sipped his drink before speaking again. “So this beautiful woman wants me to bare my soul to her, but I can’t learn a little bit about her?”

She swallowed. The way he called her beautiful, you’d think he’d never said it to another woman. The guilt trip would get him nowhere, but the charm had begun to sneak under her skin.

“I’m not asking you to bare your soul.” She smiled sweetly. “Just your life. What makes you tick?”

His easy laughter filled her ears. “What makes me tick? You don’t mince words, do you?” He considered the question, his eyes looking pointedly into hers. “Women like you.”

Oh, puleez. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. After that pause, she’d expected something profound not some uninspired, beaten-to-death line, which made her want to puke. Women like her. What did that even mean?

Lord studied her awhile then spoke quietly. “A woman who’s smart, strong, independent, knows what she wants…beautiful.”

She’d been gearing up to object to whatever he had to say, but she couldn’t exactly argue with smart and beautiful, even if she knew such compliments came naturally to playboy types. How many women had he used the same lines on?

He furrowed his brows. “It isn’t often that I meet people, men and woman alike, who are genuine. Most people would do or say anything if they think it’s what I want to hear.”

“Translation, you like your women to play hard to get.”

“No, but I want them to act like they have a mind of their own.” He gave a little smile as if he had an ace up his sleeve.

“Like you.”

“You barely know me.”

“Ah, but I know about you. Your articles seem to be about love and relationships on the surface, but are double-entendres. Every one of them.”

  

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