The door near the back of the room opened as more guests arrived.
I stood taller, taking her in.
She had arrived.
My exception.
She was the reason I was here.
At the sight of her, the small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. It was as if she was electricity and I was the rod. My reaction was visceral, much as it had been the first time I’d seen her.
The first time wasn’t in person. It was her likeness that appeared on my computer screen and inexplicably, I was mesmerized. Her blue eyes stared at the camera, staring at me through the screen—seeing me in a way that even I was incapable of doing.
That thought was ludicrous and I knew it. Nevertheless, I was drawn.
As she accepted a glass of champagne, her head turned my direction. Instinctively, I took a step back, away from her gaze and into the shadows. I wasn’t ready to meet those blue eyes in person, not yet. From the distance, I watched as I took in each inch of her.
A natural beauty, she seemed unaware of her effect on the men around her. Unlike her usual hairstyle, currently her dark hair was pulled up on the sides, the front styled in sweeping waves as long curls cascaded to the middle of her back. The softness of the style showcased her sensual neck and the simple pearl necklace. Under the lights from above, her gaze shone and lower lip disappeared as she nervously scanned the crowd.
The long black dress she wore hugged her breasts perfectly, yet the skirt flared outward, hiding what I knew was a beautifully curved body beneath. I’d done my research, bided my time. No, I hadn’t seen her as up close as I desired; however, I’d observed. Despite the cool spring weather, at least three times a week she’d don skintight athletic apparel and run a local trail.
From my observation, Dr. Laurel Carlson wasn’t a woman who thrived on being the center of attention—not like the room of potential donors, many vying for her attention. Her unease was evident in the lines around her eyes and the straightness of her neck. And yet still she was here, a testament to her dedication to this project.
If only I’d moved faster, done my job, this would have been avoided.
I hadn’t. I’d been too enthralled in a way I found unusual yet fascinating. It was a twisted, gnawing feeling I didn’t recognize.
I wanted to understand it.
In that search for comprehension, I’d taken too long.
Now, the stage was set for this show, and it was too late to lower the curtain.
For that, I was responsible.
Now was the time to move.
I leaned against the far wall, yet my mind stayed on her—my exception, the one who fascinated me in a different way.
Maybe it was more than her outward appearance. It was her intellect along with her doctorate in pharmacology—she also had a doctorate in applied mathematics with a focus on computational neuroscience and pharmacology. The combination intrigued me. Rarely did I encounter a woman like her. Most were different, satisfied to be a physical outlet for me or other men. They concentrated on appearance, keeping their knowledge level hidden. Admittedly, my sample was skewed. I paid those women for their services, thus reducing the variables.
Laurel was different; she was unaware of her beauty and unapologetically confident with her intelligence.
Despite my obvious fascination, she was my assignment.
I’d never failed at a job.
In that regard, Dr. Laurel Carlson wouldn’t be my exception.
It was time to get this done.