Arcanum by Kelly O’Hearn

All of a sudden she felt an invisible ripple along her spine, a jolt of something. Her eyes flew open, and she saw a man standing about five feet in front of her.

“Holy shit,” she blurted. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

“Other than the two hundred people hobnobbing in the Temple of Dendur?”

“Yeah, other than those jerks.”

His smile was a knockout. If she weren’t happily married…scratch that. Tall, dark, probably of Middle Eastern descent? Gorgeous tux. Crooked smile. She’d have to be dead not to find him…attractive.

That was one word for it. Hot-as-fuck might be another.

“Harry Aiken.” He held out his hand.

Was her mouth agape? Sarah settled herself. “Of course you are…”

She took his hand in hers, and the two of them stood there for way too long. Maybe it was only a second or two, but she felt—well, she felt everything. The power of his grip, the warmth of his skin, the clean smell of him, the slight bristle of the hairs on the back of his hand, his eyes—but beyond all of those sensory, well, pleasures, really, she felt like he was definitely part of whatever gut-roiling recalibration or transformation was going on inside her today. He was somehow in on it.

She released his hand and backed away a step, as if he had burned her.

Or could.

And then she started breathing again.

“Weird day.” She shook her head and started walking slowly around the atrium.

“Do you want to be alone?” he asked.

“Not necessarily. I just didn’t want to be in a room with hundreds of people.”

Harry put his hands in his pockets and walked alongside her. “Same. I left right before the guest of honor arrived. Just all a bit too much for me, you know.”

Sarah realized his clean, buttoned-up smell was just a top note. Sandalwood, tobacco, myrrh: this man was into expensive fragrance of some sort or another, and their heat had brought it to life. A deep, masculine scent. Her mortal weakness.

“You’ve never met her?”

“No. I’m not really even sure why I’m here. I met this hilarious guy named Max—”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, I know him.”

“Right? I met him last week. Turns out he’s best friends with the CEO of this company I do business with whom I’ve been trying to meet for years. She’s got a firewall of assistants around her. Max is a great guy and all, but he was like, ‘You should totally come meet Sarah and learn more about her new foundation, yadda yadda…’ and I was like, ‘Great, I’d really appreciate the introduction.’ and then he’s like, ‘I got you on the list to her surprise party Saturday night’ and I’m like, ‘Well, that’s a little weird to show up at someone’s fortieth birthday party uninvited, if I’ve never even met them, don’t you think?’ But he’s kind of persuasive and funny, and it all seemed like a good idea last week. But now I’m just like a fish out of water…and now I’m babbling—”

When he turned to face her, their eyes caught again, and held, like they had when they’d shaken hands. “I’m not usually nervous, but you’ve caught me off guard,” he said.

Sarah just gave herself permission to stare at him. Why not? It was her birthday, wasn’t it? And maybe he was her gift. Her lip must have lifted slightly on one side when she thought that, because his glance darted to her mouth and his pupils dilated.

Then, as if realizing that what he was doing could be construed as creepy, his eyes flew back up to hers.

Her smile widened.

You can look at my mouth anytime you like, she almost said—but caught herself before she did something…regrettable.

“So, is this going to be like some Cinderella story?” he asked, his voice deeper, stronger, if that was even possible. “Are you going to introduce yourself, or am I going to have to enlist the cavalry and ride my steed throughout the kingdom tomorrow to find out your true identity?”

Harry Aiken on horseback, commanding an army. Wheeling his horse around with perfect control. Mastery. Smoke and leather and the clang of ancient weapons and still, always, his eyes on her, always on her. Tracking her, minding her, loving her.

“I could see that,” she whispered, then turned to walk back toward the party. “I guess it is a bit of a Cinderella story,” she continued, forcing her voice to take on a more carefree tone. “Because I’ll definitely turn into a pumpkin if I don’t get back to hobnobbing.”