The Rival's Heir. Joss WoodЧитать онлайн книгу.
for the past year or so had been all work and very little play... Actually, that pretty much summed up her life in total. She didn’t play much at all, she never had.
After a lifetime of school and college success, she’d recently been named one of the most exciting 40 Architects Under 40 in the latest edition of a well-known design publication. She was a partner in what was described as the most successful design house in Boston, possibly on all the East Coast. She was reasonably attractive, wealthy and healthy. Well, except for her annoying reproductive system.
And she was single...
So very, very single.
She felt panic tickle her throat. What if she were incapable of loving someone, of being in a have-it-all partnership? What if she was too independent, too strong willed, too competitive to build her life with a man?
As for a solo attempt at motherhood...could she do this?
Darby shifted in her seat. She refused to give negative thoughts space in her brain. She wanted a child and she could be a single mom. It was okay that she’d yet to meet her special someone. She was glad she hadn’t wasted her valuable time on a he’ll-do guy.
If she was going to settle down, she wanted someone who wanted what she did...everything. Kids, a kick-ass career, a stable, respectful relationship.
World peace, an end to famine...
Darby frowned when she realized that the organization’s director was no longer speaking. She looked around the ballroom, seeing that the attendees had shifted their focus to the back of the room. Turning in her seat, her brows lifted when she saw the lone figure leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other.
Oh...
Oh...wow.
Judah Huntley was better looking in person than the pictures she’d seen of him online. Taller, too. Being tall herself, she guesstimated he was six-two or six-three, and under his charcoal, obviously designer Italian suit, his body was tougher, harder, more muscular than she would have expected. Broad chest, long legs, thick arms and a masculine face. Stubble covered his cheeks and jaw, his nose looked like it had been broken once, maybe twice and his thick wavy espresso-colored hair looked like he routinely combed it with his fingers.
Sexy, built and the brightest architectural mind of his generation.
Darby swallowed, conscious that her mouth was dry and her heart was banging against her chest. There was an unfamiliar heat between her legs—welcome back, libido! Damn, she wouldn’t mind taking Judah Huntley out for a spin.
Whoa, Brogan, not like you.
The men she dated and—very rarely—slept with had to work damn hard to get her to that point but Darby knew Judah Huntley would just have to crook his finger and she’d come running.
Maybe it was her kooky state of mind, yet here she was, panting over a man across the room.
Darby couldn’t pull her eyes from Huntley’s fallen-angel face. Be sensible, Brogan. This scorched-earth attraction was an aberration, nothing to be concerned about. She was only intrigued by Judah Huntley because he was such a phenomenal architect, because he’d designed that ecohouse in Denmark that was a brilliant piece of art, as was that ski lodge in Davos and the new headquarters for one of the world’s leading software companies in Austin. He was creative and innovative, throwing together contrasting materials and techniques and making them work.
And he was sexy enough to make her soul ache.
Dark eyes—black? blue?—under strong brows met hers.
And Darby felt the world shift beneath her.
A small smile pulled the corners of his mouth upward and she placed her hand to her heart. God, the way he looked at her, like he was imagining her naked...
He straightened, pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and she saw that his stomach was flat. She remembered a photo of him running on a beach in Cyprus... That muscled, ridged stomach. Just looking at him was more pleasure than she’d had in a while.
Unbidden, the image of her eggs and his sperm colliding in a petri dish, creating a baby in the lab, jumped into her head. If she imagined them in bed together, practicing the art of making babies the old-fashioned way, her panties might explode.
Darby fought the temptation to get up, walk over to him, hold out her hand and lead him away. She didn’t think he’d say no. Damn, she was tempted.
“Miss Brogan? Miss! Brogan!”
Darby turned her head at the irritated voice of the director at the front of the room. What was his problem? Frowning, she looked around and saw the amused faces of her colleagues.
“May I continue?”
Darby quickly nodded, her face flaming. She heard the muffled snickers. Dammit, the entire room had caught her looking at Judah Huntley. Since, as her family frequently told her, she had the most expressive face in the history of the world, they all knew she’d been imagining Huntley naked.
Darby slid down in her seat, only just resisting the urge to cover her face with her hands. Even if she found the guts to proposition him—a very big if—sleeping with Judah Huntley wasn’t an option. Especially since she was now embarrassed beyond all belief.
Darby kept her eyes on the speaker while she fought the urge to look back and take just one more peek. Yeah, good plan, just embarrass yourself further, Brogan, add some fuel to the fire.
It took all her willpower to keep her eyes forward and when the presentation finally ended—the longest ten minutes in the world—Darby stood up and oh-so casually looked across the room.
Judah Huntley was gone.
Six weeks later
Judah Huntley took a sip of overly sweet champagne from the glass in his hand and tried not to wince. God, he hated these functions. He strongly believed in the power of an old-fashioned email, quietly stating whether he’d been awarded the commission or not. Putting on a suit and noose and making small talk was his level of hell.
But Jonathan, his business manager, had RSVP’d on Judah’s behalf, saying that he’d be glad to attend the foundation’s cocktail party. He’d also promised that if Huntley and Associates was commissioned to design the new art museum, Judah would hire a local architect to be the firm’s local liaison.
It made sense to hire someone local to do the grunt work of visiting the planning offices, research, smoothing the way. The Boston-based architect wouldn’t do any drafting or design work; Judah had an experienced team back in New York to implement his ideas. They were the best and brightest of the bunch and routinely met his high standards.
As a winner of two of the world’s most prestigious architecture awards, Judah knew his interest in designing the art museum was unexpected. It wasn’t a big project or even a lucrative one. Since the project was being funded by a nonprofit, his design fees would be laughable. But thanks to international businessmen with very deep pockets who wanted his name attached to their buildings, Judah had a fat bank account and could afford to take on a project at cost.
He had buildings all over the world but had yet to design one in Boston, his hometown. He wanted to create something that was beautiful and functional, something Bostonians would enjoy. He was renowned for his innovative corporate buildings and envelope-pushing mansions but there was something special, something intoxicating, about designing a building to hold art and treasures. The box had to be as exciting, as electrifying as the contents...
And that was why he was standing in a stuffy ballroom waiting for someone to announce what everyone already knew: Judah would be awarded the project.
Upsides to being in Boston were a gorgeous site and an interesting project. Downside? Being in Boston. The smells, the air, the buildings all made him remember how his life used to be. Stifling. Demanding. Claustrophobic. Long on responsibility and short on fun.
Judah