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Six years had passed since that night in the rose garden, but she’d never forgotten a single detail about his appearance. Her breath hitched in her throat, as she scanned his gorgeous face, and tuxedo-clad body. He must now have been thirty five years old, but he hadn’t changed a bit. His body still seemed to radiate with the strength and fire of a powerful warrior.
Her nipples tightened beneath her sheer dress, as she remembered how his body had felt, when pressed against hers. How her hips had clung to his, moving to bring his body into the most intimate contact with hers. She lowered her hands to her side, and forced herself to breathe naturally.
She would go and see him, but not until she had one more vodka under her belt. While Tom was still waiting to be served, she took her time studying Gael. He was talking to two men; she didn’t recognise either. They were stuffy looking, compared to her step-brother. Her lips curved at the ridiculous description. For they were no more siblings than they were friends. They were two people who’d kissed one night. He was the man who’d shamed her into seeing what a pathetic loser she was; who’d made her understand that no one would ever want her or take her seriously when she spent her days lying around eating chocolate and reading out-dated romance novels.
Max passed a vodka to her, this time doing an admirable job of keeping his eyes level with hers. “Thank you,” she murmured, drinking it as quickly as she had the first. She put the glass on the bar, and then smiled apologetically at Max. “I’m sorry, darling, there’s one thing I have to do. I’ll be back for a dance in a moment.”
