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“What in God’s good name are you doing here, Andrew?”
Chapter Three
THE SMILE SLID off Andrew’s face the moment they were alone.
“Trust me, I’m asking myself the same thing,” he said.
“And what is all this tosh about you supplying me with buttons?” she asked.
“I’ve acquired an appreciation for notions in the last twelve years,” he said.
She wrenched the front door open. “I have a full book today, and three orders that need to be finished tonight. I have no time for facetiousness and even less patience. Leave.”
And let me be.
But instead of moving, he simply stared at her, his mouth twisted into a grimace.
“Fine.” She let the door go, and for a moment they stared at each other, at a stalemate.
As a woman, she couldn’t help but appreciate that he’d grown considerably since she’d last seen him, filling out as only a man who uses his body to make his living can. As a business owner, she couldn’t help but be annoyed that there was no possible way she could physically throw him out into the street.
“You may let yourself out,” she announced.
Her skirts swung out around her ankles and reclaimed some of the space he seemed to take up as she brushed past him. But she didn’t get far. His hand fell on her arm—not hard, but commandingly enough to make her stop, tiny jolts of awareness pricking up and over her body. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
His fingers burned her skin through the wool sleeve of her dress. His touch had always made her blood pound, and the insanity of long-buried memories set her body aching for him—a response she couldn’t control any more than she could the rising of the sun.
But then everything had changed.
How long did it take you to jump into Alistair Parkem’s bed?
She wrenched her arm away, the sting of his words as fresh as the day he’d said them. She wanted nothing to do with this brand of fire any longer.
“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it right here,” she said.
He shook his head, one of his blond curls springing loose from his water-combed hair. “Not here. Not when there’s a risk of being interrupted again.”
“We’ll be interrupted everywhere. My staff is here, I have a full day of fittings, and my brother is fond of traipsing in at all hours.”
He stilled. “Caleb is still in Edinburgh?”
“Where else would he be?” she asked, even though she knew what he must be thinking. Caleb had spoken of London for as long as she could remember, but Andrew should know that ambitions weren’t always realized.
Or perhaps that was just her experience.
“Is there anywhere else we can go?” he asked again.
Even bright and early in the morning when she was her very tallest after a night’s sleep, she barely reached his breastbone. Still, she straightened her spine, not giving an inch. “Why should I give you a moment of my time after what you said the last time I saw you?”
“Because”—he leaned close enough that she could feel his hot breath caress her cheek and smell the earthiness of his wet wool jacket—“you know that I hate you enough that if I sought you out, it must be very important.”
She glared up at him. “How fortunate that the feeling is mutual.”
He took a step back, but it wasn’t the submission of a man relenting under a woman’s angry scrutiny. His own distaste was clear on his face, and even though the last thing she wanted was to care, she could feel her heart crack where it had originally split more than a decade ago.
Damn him. Damn him for not staying away like he was supposed to. She could’ve happily gone the rest of her days without seeing him again, putting him behind her with the determination of a woman who refuses to be defined by her mistakes. By her betrayals.
Whatever guilt she held, however, was not as powerful as her desire to see the back of him. He didn’t get to torment her after all these years, passing silent judgment on her when he knew nothing of her life. He could tell her whatever he was there for, and then she could go back to her life, content to never see him again.
