GIVEN TO THE PRINCE

Part 3

Victoria retrieved the report she'd scattered. Moving back to the front of the desk, she positioned the folder on its surface and faced her father. To her surprise, she was not the focus of his interest. By the direction of his steady gaze, something behind her had preempted his attention.

An intense, itchy sensation skimmed along the surface of her arms. Icy fingers of intuition crawled down her spine. Something dangerous lurked behind her. "Ridiculous," she whispered, then turned to prove her assertion. 

An icon of masculinity leaned against the marble column framing her father's office door. At first impression, he appeared as hard as the stone he complimented. Dressed completely in black, his suit, shirt, tie, and shoes cast him as an illusion of darkness silhouetted against the cold, white marble supporting him. Only the nut-brown color of his skin and the whites of his eyes softened the vignette. 

He was definitely the source of energy abrading her nerves. His self-assured pose indicated she'd intruded on his domain instead of the opposite. The tingling sensation moved from her arms to her neck as he took an overlong length of time scrutinizing her. That he found her lacking in some way was obvious from the angle of his condescending brow. Any other man, having garnered her attention, would have the good manners to introduce himself--not this one. 

She knew his type. Wall Street certainly had more than its fair share of them. Men who were not satisfied with just making money but relied on their good looks and gender to set themselves a notch above every female in their hallowed domain. 

When his inventorying gaze began to map her body, ignoring him was no longer an option. For the millionth time, she deplored her 5'3" stature. Why couldn't her fickle genes have made her a tall brunette with battle-brown, gladiator eyes? Men never challenged women with gladiator eyes. 

She lifted her chin and used her boardroom voice. "I'm sorry, but we're not quite through here. If you'll step back into the reception area, Miss Temple, our receptionist, will make you comfortable until Mr. Ballard is free." 

Her father cleared his throat and shot her a look questioning her sanity. Getting to his feet, he came around his desk and stepped between her and the intruder. 

"Victoria, this is Rashid Davar. Rashid, this is my daughter, Victoria. Rashid was just leaving when you came through the door. In your haste you didn't see him." 

Victoria trained her eyes on the inky-black tie at the man's throat. She didn't want to see the smug satisfaction she knew would be in his eyes. However, she could not just stare at his throat for the next hour; she needed to do something to salvage the absurd situation. 

Deciding on her course of action, she crossed the space between them, extended her fingers for the customary handshake and pasted an obligatory smile on her frosted pink lips. "Please excuse my rudeness, Mr. Davar. I am, of course, pleased to meet you," she said in a tone her etiquette teacher would have approved. 

An awkward silence prevailed as she waited for a reply which was not forthcoming. When he pulled away from the marble column and straightened his stance, she realized she'd moved too close. Six foot plus of dominant male towered over her, forcing her to bend her head further and further back to make eye contact. She ordered her feet to stay put and returned his implacable look with one of her own. 

Embarrassing heat crawled up her neck. The extension of his rudeness seemed to have no end as his unending silence threatened to swallow her. Without further thought, she shoved her tongue into action. "For some reason, Mr. Davar, you seem to have a problem talking with me. Therefore, to end this impolite silence, I'll leave you to talk with Mr. Ballard."