LITMIR.BIZ

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      Talisa smiled back and shook her head, her gaze sweeping over the man’s face. Her name being called pulled at her attention and she glanced from Jericho to Mya and back again. She stammered, searching for her words, lost in the sensation of her small hand lost in the soft, warm palm of his.

      “I…I was just…thinking the same…thing,” she finally managed to say, the room seeming to spin in a slow circle around her.

      The man nodded, his head slowly bobbing up and down against his broad shoulders. “You didn’t look like you were having a good time,” Jericho said, his gaze flitting toward the newscaster and back.

      Talisa smiled, a sweet bend to her mouth that made Jericho suddenly want to kiss the sugar from her lips. The sudden thought sent a chill throughout his body, a quiver of energy that set his nerve endings on fire.

      “You were watching me?” Talisa asked coyly, her own excitement shining brightly from her dark eyes. Her hand was still lost beneath the clasp of his.

      “I couldn’t help myself,” the man answered, his voice dropping into a seductive whisper.

      Talisa finally pulled the appendage back, dropping her palm to her abdomen. The deep tone of his voice seemed to swallow her whole, her control lost somewhere in the depths of his intense stare. She inhaled a quick breath, willing the oxygen to calm her nerves.

      The woman at the door flicked the lights for a second time, once again directing them back to the ballroom. Jericho nodded, his intoxicating smile still caressing every nerve ending in her body. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Miss…?”

      Talisa’s own head bobbed up and down. “London. Talisa London.”

      Jericho’s gaze brushed warmth over her. Talisa felt as if she were on fire beneath his stare. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss London. I hope we’ll get an opportunity to talk more later.”

      Talisa continued nodding, then turned on her very high heels to catch up with her friends. Behind her, she could feel Jericho still staring, his ocean-blue eyes calling her back to him.

      Back at the table, the four friends were talking over each other, concentrating more on their personal thoughts than each other’s conversations. Talisa flipped quickly through the pages of her catalog, searching for one picture in particular. The photographic image of Dr. Jericho Becton smiled up at her as she read the brief biography about the man who’d captured her total attention just minutes before.

      “He’s a surgeon,” she said, leaning to whisper toward Leila. “He was my surgeon. He operated on my appendix.”

      Her friend shook her head. “And he didn’t remember you?”

      “I don’t want him to remember me!” she exclaimed in a low whisper. “Do you know how bad I looked when they brought me into the emergency room? Besides, he wasn’t supposed to be there. There was another doctor who was supposed to be covering the emergency room but they couldn’t find him. He was the doctor who was filling in.”

      Leila grinned. “So, do you plan to bid on him?”

      Talisa grinned back. “I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

      Her friend nodded her head up and down excitedly. “It is for a good cause. You could use a man.”

      Talisa laughed, the warmth of the vibration causing her to shake in her seat.

      Mya turned to stare curiously. “What are you two whispering about?” she asked, looking from Talisa to Leila.

      “Talisa’s trying to decide whether she should go after a doctor or not. What do you think?”

      “If she doesn’t, I surely will. I’ve got my eye on John the attorney, Bradley the basketball player, and Stephan the general contractor. Any one of them will do quite nicely.”

      Benita rolled her eyes. “Do you have that kind of money?”

      Mya shrugged. “I’ve got Visa, MasterCard, and American Express. One, or the other, or all three of them will buy me a man this night.”

      The group laughed. Their chattering was interrupted by an elegant black woman who approached the microphone at the podium, gesturing for the few persons standing to take a seat. Standing prim and proper in a classic-cut, blue pinstripe suit and a white lace top, she epitomized the mood of the evening. Talisa imagined her to be as old as her own mother was, but her obvious wealth enabled her to wear her age well. This woman lacked the tired stress lines that graced Talisa’s mother’s face. The woman’s Hershey’s dark chocolate complexion was virtually blemish free. Wherein Mary London rarely bothered with manicures and had never had a pedicure, it was obvious that their hostess for the evening probably never missed her weekly appointments. With her dark hair pulled back into a neat French twist, she was sophisticated and beautiful and Talisa couldn’t help herself from wishing that time would serve her at least half as well. She leaned forward in her seat and listened intently as the woman clasped her hands in front of herself and spoke into the microphone.

      “Good evening and welcome to our first ever bachelor auction! My name is Irene Becton and I’m the president of the Center for Women’s Resources. We are absolutely thrilled to welcome you all here tonight. I’m not going to bore you with a long speech about why this evening is so important to the center and the hospital. I know all of you are here because you want to make a difference in someone else’s life. I’m also sure all those handsome, intelligent, sexy men who are standing backstage waiting to walk the runway for you had no influence whatsoever on your decision to be here.” Irene paused and smiled as the audience laughed heartily.

      “So, allow me to say thank you in advance. The donations you make tonight will make a significant impact in a child’s life and your support will make all the difference in the world. So, with no further delay, I’ll turn our program over to our guest auctioneer, local radio personality, Mr. Jarred Nelson. Please, sit back, enjoy, bid, and bid well!”

      Talisa watched as the woman made her way to the rear of the stage and disappeared behind the black velvet curtains. She wondered if the woman was any relation to Jericho—they had the same last name. His mother, perhaps. Her thoughts shifted back to the auction as the lights in the room dimmed ever so slightly and the piano player revved up his tune. A spotlight fell on the tall, mocha-toned, gray-haired man who stood in the space Mrs. Becton had just vacated.

      The maple-syrup timbre of the man’s voice filled the room, sending a chill up the spine of every woman who sat listening as he introduced the first of many men who were scheduled to make an appearance before the evening was over.

      Chapter 4

      Jericho stood against a rear wall of the large ballroom, his arms crossed evenly over his broad chest. He knew the woman from somewhere, but he couldn’t for the life of himself remember where. He’d noticed her the minute she’d walked in, his gaze following her to the buffet table, and watching as she’d engaged in conversation with the two men who’d stood like bookends beside her.

      She was full-figured, a perfectly proportioned beauty who would have easily been labeled voluptuous. The dress she wore had hugged her curves like a second skin and he’d felt his body quiver with intrigue as he’d watched her. From where he’d stood, he thought she embodied the image of the woman the Commodores had sung about on that old song, “Brick House.” The old rap song by Sir Mix-A-Lot, “Baby Got Back,” was just as fitting. Although she was a definite beauty, there was clearly nothing vain about her. Her shoulder-length hair had appeared windblown, soft brown curls billowing around her oval-shaped face. Her makeup was simple at best, just a coat of lipstick across her mouth and a touch of eyeliner beneath her eyes. Not an ounce of foundation touched her clear, copper complexion. And there had been something in her eyes when her gaze had met his that had reduced him to a weak mass, spinning heat from one end of his body to the other. His thoughts were still on the woman he’d just met when his mother came up beside him, slipping her arm beneath his.

      “Nervous?”

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