Butterfly Read Free Page B

highest-scoring point guard.
    She didn’t move as the tall, lanky ballplayer wove his way through the small crowd that had gathered in Booth’s enormous condominium, her gaze watching the fluid motion ofhis approach. He was even more breathtakingly beautiful in person. Olive-skinned, with chiseled cheekbones and defined features he’d inherited from his African-American father and Korean-American mother, Phillip Kingston had become the sports world’s latest heartthrob.
    “I know who you are,” Seneca said when he offered her his hand.
    Phillip smiled, exhibiting a wide mouth filled with straight white teeth. “Then we must even the odds, because I know nothing about you. May I get you something to drink?”
    She exhaled in an audible breath. It was refreshing to have to tilt her head to look up at a man who towered over her when she wore heels. “No, thank you.”
    He went completely still. “You don’t drink?”
    A beat passed. “I don’t drink because I’m not old enough to drink,” Seneca explained.
    There came another pause before Phillip asked, “How old are you?”
    “Twenty.”
    “What about a soft drink?”
    Seneca smiled. “I’ll have sparkling water.”
    She wanted to tell the ballplayer that soda drinks were loaded with sugar and that she’d made it a practice not to drink them. Even the low-calorie drinks were not a part of her diet. She didn’t starve herself like some models, but monitored any and everything that she ate or drank.
    Phillip leaned closer, inhaling the subtle fragrance clinging to the exposed flesh of the woman who stirred emotions he didn’t want to feel. Since being signed to the NBA he’d found himself somewhat indifferent to women who literally threw themselves and their underwear at him. It was the ones like Seneca Houston, who were caught up with their own sense of self-importance, that intrigued him. And if Boothhad announced her as the next supermodel, then that meant the crafty agent had signed on to represent her.
    He hadn’t wanted to attend the agent’s party because he’d wanted to return to Los Angeles to reconnect with his family after his team had lost their bid for the play-offs by one point. But Booth had insisted he come. To refuse the Barracuda was like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
    Phillip thought of the agent as a legitimate mobster. A single telephone call from Booth would find a former client either blacklisted or the victim of an assault that made one pray for a quick death. Whenever Booth called, he came. Now he was glad he had come to the boring gathering.
    “Don’t run away, Miss Almost Legal. I’ll be back with your water.”
    Seneca stared up through her lashes at the most delicious man she’d ever seen. His skin was nearly poreless, and she wondered whether he had to shave every day. There was enough of a slant in his large eyes to verify his Asian heritage. However, it was his chiseled jaw and strong square chin that held her enthralled. Her gaze moved up his coarse, close-cropped straight black hair before moving slowly over a pair of broad shoulders under a chocolate-brown silk jacket, matching shirt and linen slacks. Phillip Kingston was more than eye candy. He was comparable to the confections found in Jacques Torres Chocolate Haven. In other words, he was a visual feast.
    “I won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Seneca said.
    She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until Phillip walked over to the portable bar to get her drink. Luis had wished her luck, and apparently it was with her. Booth Gordon had promised to represent her, and Phillip Kingston appeared to be as attracted to her as she was to him. No doubt it was going to be a remarkable evening.
     
    Seneca glanced around the expansive living room. Dimmed recessed lights, dozens of flickering tapers in silver holders, votives in tiny glass vases on every flat surface and baskets of white flowers in every variety added a festive touch to the