The memory moved through me, heating me up. Or maybe it was just being near him now that did that.
“And now we don’t have to track it down like thieves,” he said.
“And now it turns out champagne is good for you. Did you know that?”
“I read that recently. What’s the story there?”
I tapped the side of my temple. “Supposedly, it helps improve memory.”
“Ah,” he said, holding my gaze meaningfully, his tone turning serious. “But I don’t seem to have any problem at all where that’s concerned when it comes to you.”
And just like that, I was speechless.
5
Michael
My pulse hammered, and I hoped she couldn’t tell how goddamn hard it was to stand this close to her, to be so near to her, and not talk about the things I most wanted to know. The why.
Why she was here?
What did she want?
Did she ever think of me?
And how the hell was she doing, after everything that had happened to her?
But I couldn’t go there. Not yet. I couldn’t handle that kind of conversation. It would remind me too much of why I had loved her like crazy. Because I’d talked to her about all those sorts of things once. Real things. Life and death and love and hope and dreams.
If we dared tread on that territory, I’d be lost.
But I also couldn’t help but reveal that I’d never forgotten for a second what we’d shared.
She leaned against the bar, and I stood facing her. Annalise’s green eyes seemed to know me intimately still. Her voice was the sound I’d longed to hear on those nights when I needed it most, and her lips were the ones I’d craved all the days we were apart. Now she was so close I could grab the hem of her shirt, tug her to me, and kiss her. I could run my hands along her arms and thread my fingers into her hair. I wondered if my thoughts were written on my face, or if my wishes were clear in my eyes.
I had to clench my fists to remember Mindy’s advice.
Don’t ask her if she ever thinks about you.
“So, where do you live now in the city?” she asked, and I startled, her words knocking me back to the present.
“Hmm?”
“Where do you live?” Her lips curved up, soft and naughty.
“Why do you ask? Are you planning to surprise me later?”
The question tossed me back in time to the day I met the willowy redhead from Paris. She’d just arrived at my dad’s best friend’s home to stay with them for the year. My first thought had been that I had to see more of her.
Want me to show you around town? I’d asked her the day we’d met in Becky’s kitchen.
I would love that.
Is there anything you want to see in Las Vegas?
Surprise me, she’d said, with a curve of her lips, the hint of a smile.
I will, I’d said, and that had been the beginning of the love affair of my life.
I blinked back to the present as she leaned in closer to me at the bar. “Would you like that?”
I knit my brows together, trying to stay rooted in the present instead of tripping back and forth between then and now like a time traveler caught in a slip. “Would I like what?”
“For me to surprise you?”
God, yes. So much. Surprise me. Come over. Knock on my door, dim the light, and kiss me like it’s the thing you’ve been dreaming about all day.
Before I could answer, the bartender returned with our champagne. I thanked him then raised my glass, clinking it with hers. “To . . .” I began, but I didn’t finish.
6
Annalise
A flicker of sadness passed through his blue eyes as I lifted the glass. In that bare second, everything that had unfurled between eighteen years ago and today jabbed at me, like sharp little needles prickling my skin. My fingers itched to run through his hair, to offer a reassuring touch, something that showed I understood what was unsaid. I resisted the impulse, not knowing how it would be taken, and afraid, too, of how it would feel. Good or bad.
“To the present,” I said since that was what I most wanted.
“To the present,” he repeated.
As he took a long swallow of his drink, I studied him. By nature I was an observer, and I cataloged the details—his lips on the glass, full, curved, and kissable; his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he drank; his strong, sturdy fingers on the stemware. Then, the bend of his wrist, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up twice, revealing his forearms.
Muscular and corded.
Why were forearms so delicious? But I knew the answer. They spelled strength and power, and the ability for a man to anchor himself over a woman as he took her.
I slid my eyes away from him, trying to chase off my own dirty thoughts.
He set his glass down on the counter. “You said work brought you to town, that you’re shooting the catalog all over the city. Are you enjoying it?”
“Immensely,” I said with a nod. “The models are beautiful, the locations are playful, and the lingerie is, as you say, to die for.”
His eyes flashed with mischief as he made a noise of approval. “Big fan of lingerie myself.”
“That so? Something you want to tell me?” I asked, coyness coloring my tone as we bantered, so much that it filled me with an effervescence that rivaled the champagne’s effect.
“Very funny.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I meant . . . on women.”
That buzzing intensified. This was chemistry. This was the electricity in the air before a storm. I was wrong about him being a safe choice for my first time out in years.
Now that I was centimeters rather than an ocean away, I was intensely aware of how not-safe he was.
I threw caution to the wind. “Anything in particular when it comes to lingerie? Baby dolls? Corsets? Garters? Hip-huggers? Bikinis? Cheektinis? Stockings? Bikini briefs? Boy-cut shorts? Thongs?” I asked with the speed of a freight train, rattling off anything and everything silky that hugged a woman’s bare flesh.
His lips quirked up as he took a drink. “That one,” he said dryly, tapping the air with his index finger.
“Which one, Michael?”
He made a rolling gesture with his hand. “All of them. Every. Single. One.” Then he scratched his chin. “Question though. What on earth is a cheektini?”
I lowered my arm to my hip, shifted my pose, and drew a line mid-cheek across the denim of my jeans. “They go right here.”
Heat flashed in his gaze as he stared at my ass. “Right there, you say?”
“Yes.” I traced the line once more across my rear. “The panties cut across, so your cheeks hang out.”
His eyes stayed on me the whole time, darkening. I hadn’t expected the intensity of his stare. Nor had I expected the rush it sent through me. It had been so long since I’d felt like this. “Yes. And the one I’m wearing right now is red with lace trim.”
I shocked myself when I said that. I hadn’t expected to be so bold. But it felt easy and right and so damn good.
Perhaps I’d surprised him too, because he licked his lips, then groaned softly as he uttered, “Red.”