My eyes dance over his face. Same mocha skin coloring, hazel eyes, and prominent nose. I don’t know how I missed it. He is the spitting image of his older brother. The strain hampering Dante’s face eases when I release him from my grip. His hand shoots across the counter, ensuring it isn’t within my reach. I swig on my beer. Dante follows my everymovement.
“Why are you in Ravenshoe?” I ask, myvoicelow.
I shift my eyes around the room, ensuring no one witnessed my small confrontation with Dante. Isaac is talking to Clara at the side, and Izzy is pacing towards the makeshift dance floor with Cormack’s younger brother, Colby, closely in pursuit. Happy no one is watching, I shift my eyes back toDante.
“Rhys is my guardian,” he mutters. “Until I finish my studies, I go wherehegoes.”
My brows stitch together. “What happened to yourparents?”
Mr. and Mrs. Tagget have been members of the Rochdale community as long as my parents. Mrs. Tagget was my fifth grade teacher and Mr. Tagget was the localobstetrician.
“They were killed in a traffic accident nearly five years ago,” Danteinformsme.
My eyes snap to Dante. The devastation of his loss still weighs heavily in his readable eyes. They are full of remorse andanguish.
“I’m sorry foryourloss.”
Although my eyes issue my sympathies for the loss of his parents, they also deliver my repentance for my earlier overreaction. Dante nods, accepting my apology before moving down the bar to serve anotherpatron.
My attention lapses from perusing the dance floor when a flurry of red catchesmyeyes.
“Hi,” Peta breathes out heavily, slipping into the spacebesideme.
“Hey,” I reply, swigging on my bottle of beer to conceal my avid assessment of her faceandbody.
Peta is Cormack’s secretary, and the second sexiest woman alive. She has flawless, rich, tan skin; unique light brownish-yellowish eyes; and a face hand-carved by sculptors. She is no doubt gorgeous, and even better than that, she is not a friendofmine.
“Did you want to dance?” she asks, her words a soft,provocativepurr.
My lips purse, shocked by her request. Although we’ve openly flirted the past year, it’s never gone any further than a few corny one-liners. That may have something to do with the fact I refuse to ask anyone out. Not to a date, to the movies, or even to dance. No one has been asked out before Ava, and no one will be asked outafterher.
When Peta runs her shaking hand over the curve of her top lip, I realize I failed to answer herquestion.
“Sure, I’d love to dance,” I say withagrin.
I guzzle down the last of my beer before guiding Peta to the dance floor by placing my hand on the small of her back. My eyes scan the area as we approach, ensuring it is clear of any encumbrances. Screening the premises is as natural as breathing to me. It is a habit that was engrained in me years ago, way before Ava and I reunited. Although I’d always done it, it became more important after Ava was nearly attacked in a dance club right under my nose. Some may see my constant surveillance as an annoying practice. To me, it isn’t. Keeping an eye out for safety means I won’t get blinded by other people’s badhabits.
After nearly an hour of dancing, my dress shirt is limp, weighed down by a mountain load of sweat, my throat is parched, and my shoulder is wailing in pain, though I’d never admit the latter to Raquel. I lean in to Peta’s side, ensuring she can hear me over the loud rumble of music booming out thespeakers.
“I’m going to grab a quick drink,” I shout in her ear. “Did you wantanything?”
She spins on her heels, revealing inches of skin on her luxurious thigh when the split in her dress gapes open. Spotting her mouth-watering legs has me wanting to reconsider what hankering I want to tackle first. My thirst, or another irrepressible hunger only a woman canquench.
“A bottle of water?” Peta replies. Her unease makes her request come out as more of a question than a demand. “Then maybe we can get out of here?” she adds on, her voicetrembling.
My heads slants to the side and I peer into her famished eyes. The unsure grin curling her lips morphs into a full smile when I nod my head. Winking at the excitement crossing her face, I pivot on my heels and make my way to the bar. Dante’s throat works hard to swallow when he notices me approaching. If I weren’t in the midst of thinking with my lower head, I'd take the time to properly apologize for my previous reaction, but for now, that will have to wait. After gathering my beer and a glass of iced water, I amble back to the dance floor. My pace is fast, eager to wash off the funk I’ve been sporting thepastweek.
My brisk strides only falter when a deep voice says, “If I squint, I can see thesimilarities.”
I crank my head to the side faster than a rocket launching into space. Rhys is standing behind a round bar table. Unlike last week, he has forgone his surgical scrubs and stethoscope, choosing the classier look of a sleek black suit with pale green dress shirt. With the air saturated with mugginess from a large gathering of people in a small space, he has removed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his vast collection of tattoos. Just like my arms, every inch of skin on Rhys’ forearms is covered in artwork. Just seeing Rhys floods my mind with memories I try to keep buried.Imagine what it would be like if I ever saw heragain?
After lifting my chin in greeting, I continue with my initialobjective.
“Poor girl. Does she even know you are looking at her as adoppelgänger?”
I grit my teeth and continue walking, choosing to ignore Rhys’ taunt. I'm not the same man I was five years ago; I’ve learned to hide myspikeswell.
“She may look like Ava, but you sure as hell know even someone as beautiful as her can’t compete with a woman of Ava’s qualities. No one can compete with Ava’ssweetness.”
