ONE NIGHT ONLY

Chapter 2

"Rosa." Millionaire Philip Anderson, her dead husband’s best friend and a man who took arrogance to a whole new level, stepped closer. One corner of his lush mouth turned up in a smile as disquieting as it was crooked. "You look surprised to see me."

"I am," she said. She hadn’t seen him since Jake’s funeral. "I thought you were still in Boston, ruling your software empire."

The corners of his eyes crinkled with fleeting amusement. "It was time for me to move back home, so I’m ruling my, ah, empire from here now."

"Oh."

Rosa hated, but couldn’t help, the new breathiness in her voice. Nor could she stop the tiny shivers that chased across her arms as Philip watched her with that unrelenting stare.

It didn’t help that he was so tall and imposing that he made her feel trapped inside her own too-tight skin whenever he walked in the room. The rugged perfection of his harsh features—the black curls, the slashing dark brows, the smooth olive skin, the sleek cut of his cheekbones—all made her feel tacky and inadequate, even now, when she knew she looked great. Especially now, when his black tuxedo gave him a James Bond air of danger and sophistication.

He’d always affected her this way. Every interaction they’d ever had had ended with Rosa’s belly tied in knots. From the moment Jake had introduced her to his best friend all those years ago, Rosa had felt the sharp edge of Philip’s intense dislike.

Why? She’d never known.

All she knew was that Philip hated her down to the marrow of her bones and had, with unwavering determination, systematically refused all of her many efforts to befriend him. For this unforgivable injustice—everyone else liked her, why didn’t he?—she hated him right back.

"What are you doing here?" Rosa kept her chin up and her expression blank. The Prince of Arrogance would not reduce her to a fidgeting mess of nerves.

"Raising money for charity." Philip paused long enough to give her a pointed once-over. "I see you’re out of mourning."

There it was. And it had only taken—what?—thirty seconds for him to try to make her feel bad. A new world record, even for him. Who the hell did he think he was? The sole keeper of Jake’s memory? Did he think she should hide in a darkened house and wear black clothes for the rest of her life? Jackass.

Defiant now, she let the pashmina slide away to reveal her cleavage and the gown in all its bright glory.Take that. Then she hooked Greg’s arm and reeled him in.

Angry color rose high over Philip’s cheeks.

"Dr. Greg Wood, I’d like you to meet Philip Anderson. Philip is an…old friend."

It took Philip a second or two to notice Greg’s extended hand. Finally he looked down his straight nose to Greg, who was much shorter, took his hand and cracked open his tight lips.

"Pleasure," he said, managing roughly the enthusiasm of a man about to undergo a prostate exam.

Philip’s absolute focus reverted to Rosa, who raised one eyebrow and waited, hoping she looked imperious. "Enjoy your evening," he murmured, and slipped away into the crowd.

Rosa floundered for a second, trying to follow his progress as he disappeared. She felt strangely deflated. When Greg offered to get drinks, she took the opportunity to slip through the French doors and out onto the terrace, where it was quieter, to call home and make sure Brennan had gone to bed without incident. He had, thank goodness.

She’d just returned her phone to her beaded bag when someone came up behind her. The prickle of awareness and faint delicious scent of expensive cologne—something earthy with a hint of leather, she thought—told her it was Philip, although she was unprepared for him to come so close or for her heart to skitter so frantically.

Ignoring her body’s violent reaction—God, it was everywhere: aching in her breasts, throbbing between her thighs; a primal response she’d never had for any other man, ever—she faced him with a growing and unaccountable feeling of excitement.

"We need to talk, Rosa," he said, and her senses played tricks on her because she saw heat in his dark eyes and heard desire in his low murmur.