No, he hadn’t dumped her. He’d reached into her chest and dug out her heart, layer by layer, piece by piece, discarding and stomping all over them until Farrah had been sure she would die. She’d been raw, exposed, and bleeding, and he hadn’t even cared.
The memory tore at the scabs on her poor heart, so much so that Farrah had to down the rest of her drink in one gulp to ease the pain.
What the hell was she doing here?
Blake wasn’t a client. He wasn’t a friend. He was a liar and a cheater, and if she were smart, she’d leave right now and never look back. But her ass remained glued to her seat.
I’m an idiot.
“Technically.” Regret swirled in Blake’s crystal eyes. “For the record, I know I acted like a jerk in Shanghai, and I am so, so sorry about what I did. But I’m not the same person I was back then.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.” Farrah played with her glass. “When’d you guys break up?”
A tense silence. “Five years ago. A few months after we went home.”
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” The words exploded out of Farrah. “You broke up with the girl you were supposedly so in love with less than a year after you got back together?”
Blake was even more of a jerk than she’d realized.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I didn’t say I was in love with her.”
“Yes, you did. You said, quote, ‘I love her.’”
“Love and in love aren’t the same thing.”
“When you put it that way,” Farrah said sarcastically. “We’ve got the King of Semantics here.”
Her breath whooshed out of her lungs when Blake gripped her chin with one hand and leaned in, so close all she could see, smell, and feel was him. Her traitorous body went liquid even as her mind screamed at her to knee him in the balls.
Blake’s eyes glinted, as dark and fathomless as the sea at night. “I’ve only been in love with one person my entire life. She’s the one I dream of every damn night, and she’s the one who can break me with one tiny glance. I would jump off a fucking tower for that girl, and you know what? Her name sure as hell isn’t Cleo.”
Cleo. His ex had a name. Farrah filed this information away for future use—what kind, she didn’t know, because her brain had turned foggy and she couldn’t get oxygen into her lungs fast enough. She was burning, on fire from the weight of Blaze’s gaze and the heavy implication behind his words, and there wasn’t a rescue in sight.
“Aren’t you going to ask me who she is?” His question whispered across her lips like a dangerous, silken challenge. Daring her to accept the game. Daring her to say yes.
“No.” Farrah mustered every ounce of strength she had to tear herself away from Blake’s touch and kicked herself for almost falling prey to his good looks and charisma. Look where that had landed her the first time around. “I don’t care.”
“You’re lying.” His voice didn’t change, but his eyes smoldered with blue fire.
“I’m not.” Breathe. “I told you, I’m over you. I couldn’t care less about your love life.”
“Fine.” Blake went silent, tapping his fingers on the table like he was contemplating his next move. A minute passed before he stood abruptly and held out his hand. “Let’s dance.”
Talk about whiplash. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
No. His face was as grim and serious as a tombstone.
Farrah narrowed her eyes, took his hand, and followed him to the dance floor. She didn’t know what game Blake was playing, but she wouldn’t be the one who backed down first.
Of course, the DJ chose that moment to segue from the electro beats he’d been playing all night to a sultry R&B jam whose soft croons evoked images of silk sheets and entwined bodies.
But this wasn’t about the music or the dance. This was about…what? Proving to Blake, or herself, that she was over him? That he didn’t affect her anymore?
If so, it didn’t work, because the minute Farrah’s body pressed against Blake’s, and the scent and feel of him filled her senses—warm, masculine, and so damn familiar—she wanted to run. She was sinking into quicksand, but she was too damn stubborn to pull herself out even if she could, so they stood there, their hearts beating as one, their eyes locked in a silent challenge.
“It’s funny how we ran into each other after all these years,” Blake murmured. His warm breath skated over her lips. Goosebumps erupted on her skin in its wake, and she shivered.
“We didn’t run into each other. Landon introduced us.” Farrah tried not to focus on how hard and strong Blake’s body felt against hers. It made her painfully aware of how long she’d gone without sex. One year. The last time she’d been with a guy hadn’t been all that great either. She’d faked her orgasm with a few halfhearted screams, not that the guy had noticed.
She also tried not to remember the way her heart jumped when she spotted the jealousy in Blake’s eyes earlier that night. Yes, Farrah had been riling him up by flirting with Justin—though she hadn’t been lying when she said Justin was H-O-T—and she hated that she cared. Hated that she’d wanted to make Blake jealous, even though jealousy didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. Some people got jealous when their partners paid too much attention to the cat.
Still, it’d been gratifying to see Blake’s face darken when she complimented Justin. What that said about her, she didn’t want to know.
“Yeah, but out of all the interior designers in the world, he chose you.” Blake’s silky voice brushed over her, a satin cobra waiting to strike. “One might even say it’s fate.”
“It’s coincidence. I don’t believe in fate,” Farrah lied.
Another bedroom playlist-worthy song came on. Farrah grit her teeth. What was the DJ trying to do, induce another baby boom?
Blake pulled her closer; his arousal pressed against her thigh, thick and powerful, and Farrah’s mouth went dry. Her mind hazed over with both memories and fantasies—his hands tangled in her hair, his mouth pressed against her core, her body bowing beneath waves of pleasure.
Liquid heat flooded between her thighs, and she prayed her knees wouldn’t give out from under her.
“If this is making you uncomfortable, we can stop.” There it was. The challenge. She heard it in his voice, saw it in his eyes.
“I’m not uncomfortable.” They were so close her lips almost brushed his when she spoke.
“Good.” Blake tightened his grip on her hips, and her pulse jumped. “Because you’re shaking.”
Farrah pressed her pelvis against him, smiling when she saw his throat bob with a hard swallow. “I’m not the only one.”
This wasn’t them. Not the Blake and Farrah she knew. But time, heartbreak, and secrets had twisted them into darker versions of themselves, ones that resorted to playing games like this. Their banter at The Egret earlier that night seemed like a lifetime ago. By now, Farrah had lost track of how they got here or what they were doing. They sure as hell weren’t dancing.
Blake dipped his head, and she felt the faintest touch of his lips against hers. Not a peck, not even a brush, but a whisper of a promise.