Eve had felt the dark-haired man's gaze on her for the last few minutes.  He was six feet plus of pure male. It was the artist in her, she decided, that gave her a healthy sense of appreciation for sheer male beauty.  Easily the best looking man in the room, he looked like a young Robert Redford with a little Kevin Costner thrown in.

He looked spectacular in his tux, but, then, she imagined he'd look just as good in casual clothes.  It was more than physical attraction, though.  It was something in the way he carried himself, a self-assurance that said he knew who he was and was comfortable with it.

Their gazes caught, connected.  Her skin prickled with tension as he made no pretense of pretending not to stare at her.

The room receded around them, and, for a moment, it was just the two of them.  Muted voices, like lapping waves, ebbed and swelled around them, no more than background noise to the rapid tattoo of her heart.  Awareness arced between them, an intangible but nonetheless real force.  A rush of air signaled that she'd been holding her breath.  She inhaled sharply, hoping the influx of oxygen would clear her head.

It didn't work. 

Tension shimmered in waves so intense that she was surprised the air didn't snap and crackle with electricity.  She shifted her gaze, and the spell was broken.

She started toward the buffet table again, only to be waylaid by a husband and wife who'd just purchased a grooming service for their twin poodles and were eager to share their good fortune. 

She gave the appropriate remarks and made her escape.  Her stomach voiced its displeasure at having missed both lunch and dinner.  Intent on reaching the smorgasbord, she ran into a hard wall.  Strong hands steadied her.  She looked up into a pair of pewter gray eyes.   His.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to sidestep. 

"I'm not."  He dropped his hands, but their warmth on the bare skin of her arms remained.

His smile was so engaging that she felt her own lips curve in response.

"I'm trying to make it to the buffet table and keep getting sidetracked." 

"I saw.  How 'bout if I run interference for you?"  He cupped her elbow and steered her toward the food-laden table.

With him as her escort, she found the path suddenly clear.

"Try the shrimp," he said.  "They're delicious." 

She bit into a particularly succulent jumbo shrimp.  "Mmm."  She polished off two more shrimp and a couple of crab cakes before she tried to make conversation.  "I missed dinner," she confided.

"I would never have known," he said, straight-faced.

Unoffended, she proceeded to fill her plate.  She'd spent two hours seeing to the behind-the-scene workings of the auction and then making small talk.  Now she needed sustenance.

After working her way down the table, she headed back to where she'd left him standing.

His lips quirked as he took in the amount of food on her plate.  "I like a woman who knows how to enjoy food."

"Then you ought to love me," she said without thinking.  She didn't need to touch her cheeks to know they were hot with color.

"You could be right," he said, his eyes on her hand.

That wasn't what she'd expected to hear. 

"You bought a diaper service," he commented.

Had he been watching her during the bidding?  Well, she couldn't complain.  Not when she'd been doing the same thing.

"It's a present.  For a friend."  At his intent look, she explained, "She just had a baby.  Today."

"You aren't married."  The words held more than casual interest.

"No."  Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she popped a triangle of caviar-topped toast into her mouth, then picked another one for him.  "Here."

"Thanks."

"It's the least I could do since you saved me from a slow and painful death."  At his raised brows, she explained, "Starvation."

"My pleasure."

She liked him.  Maybe it was the way he entered into her nonsense without a qualm.  Maybe it was his serious eyes that still managed to glint with humor.

She'd always believed in going with her instincts and held out her hand.  "Eve Dalton.  I think I'm going to like you."

Her candid statement brought a smile to his lips as his hand folded around hers.  "Daniel.  Do you always say what you think?"

Gently, she tugged her hand free.  "Almost always."  Was it her imagination, or did his hand linger before sliding away from hers?

"Only almost?"

"I don't believe in absolutes."

"What do you believe in?"

"People."  Without apology, she changed the subject.  "It went well tonight."

"I've had my pockets picked in Washington and didn't lose as much as I did tonight."

She wrestled with a smile.  And lost.  "Think of the bright side. This goes to help send needy kids to college."

"You like kids?"

"Yeah.  I do."

"So do I."  An answering smile touched his mouth.  "I have a feeling we have a lot in common."

"Such as?"

"Do you like lobster?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Chocolate?"

"The richer, the better."

"Pizza?"

"Of course."

"There."  The word held a wealth of satisfaction.  "We have more in common that you thought." 

His grin was so smug that she couldn't keep back the laugh that bubbled out.  "Kids, lobster, and chocolate don't make a relationship."

"Don't forget the pizza."

She rolled her eyes.  "Like that makes a difference?"

He looked surprised.  "You're questioning the power of pizza?"

"Never.  That would be un-American."

"It's settled then.  We're soul mates.  Have dinner with me tomorrow night."