Page 218 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

Her gaze comes back to me.

“I remember.”

So do I.

Too much.

The room grows quieter as another roll of thunder moves across the campus. Sophie gets up to carry her empty plate toward the counter. I watch her before I can stop myself.

The black trousers she changed into after the tour fit close through her hips, and the soft cream top she is wearing follows the shape of her body in ways I have spent the past week deliberately refusing to notice. Time has changed her without taking anything familiar away. Her body is fuller than I remember, softer in some places, more defined in others, and the realization lands low enough that I tighten my hand around the bottle.

She reaches the counter, sets down the plate, and turns. I look away before she catches me staring.

Barely.

When she comes back, she brings another beer and sets it beside my hand. Our fingers brush and the contact lasts less than a second.

My body responds as if seven years have not happened.

Her fragrance reaches me when she steps past my chair, warm and clean and familiar enough to drag Lake Como through my head with brutal clarity.

I take a slow breath as she sits again.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome.”

The lights flicker overhead.

She glances up.

“That normal?”

“No.”

“Comforting.”

“The backup system will kick in if we lose power.”

“You say that like you’re waiting for it.”

“I built half the redundancy protocols.”

Sophie looks at me. “You personally?”

“I was involved.”

“That means yes.”

I take another drink. She smiles faintly. There is something dangerous about seeing that expression again.

Not because it is seductive.

Because I remember exactly what it feels like when she stops guarding herself around me.

The thought irritates me. So does the fact that I am sitting here remembering any of this at all.

I set the bottle down harder than necessary.