Those luscious lips curl into a crooked smile without a trace of humor in it.
“Twenty-year-olds aren’t known for their smarts. Back in the day, I survived on frozen pizza, donuts, diet soda and five hours of sleep most nights.”
“Don’t expect me to apologize for the sleep deprivation,” I say, sweet memories making my voice husky. “We had better things to do in bed, as I vividly recall.”
The bright patches of color in her cheeks intensify.
“Maybe, but I’m trying to stay away from stupid now that I’m older. If there’s nothing else? I want to mingle with the people I actually want to see. Have a great night.”
She turns to go, but I’m not done here. Not by a long shot. Not when being in Mia’s presence again makes me feel this buzzed and alive. I don’t know what I’ve been doing with my life this whole time, but it wasn’t this. And this is something I need a lot more of.
“I understand you’re designing for one of the big houses these days,” I say quickly, before she can take off. I try to recall which one it was, but my overstimulated brain can’t call up the information at the moment. Ralph Lauren, maybe. “I’m impressed.”
She makes a derisive sound. “Sure you are.”
“I’m dead serious,” I say, feeling a surge of the hate again, along with the sour taste of bile in the back of my mouth. “I know exactly how much your career in fashion means to you. Although I could have sworn you said you wanted to design wedding dresses. Or am I remembering that wrong?”
I realize my arrow hit home by the way she stiffens.
“Oh, so that’s why you’re here.” She says it with the grim triumph of Sherlock Holmes when he slides that last clue into place and discovers who the murderer is. “Career advice.”
Wrong. I want to remind her that I still exist. That while she may be living her Oprah-sanctioned best life, some of us aren’t so lucky. That she still has her nasty claw marks all over my life.
“Well, that’s why you ran off to Milan after graduation, right? To learn to make wedding dresses? So you could start your own atelier one day?”
“There was no running away involved,” she says, the thinning of her lips belying her sweet tone and evident determination not to let me ruffle her feathers. “I got an apprenticeship in Milan and moved there.”
“What about your dream of making wedding dresses?”
“Not all dreams go the distance,” she says, her expression stony now. “But since you’re so curious, you should know that I periodically make custom dresses for people through word of mouth. Matter of fact, I have a wedding this weekend.”
I know that already, but now is not the time to mention it. Not when she’s raised such an interesting topic.
“Any other dreams in particular?”
“Not at all,” she says smoothly.
“Glad to hear it, Starlight,” I say, adding a nice layer of mockery to my voice because I know it will infuriate her. And because I want to punish her for acting like the two of us didn’t have joint dreams that died an ugly death. “I’m glad you have everything you ever wanted. And that there are no lingering hard feelings. No need for things to be awkward between old friends.”
“We’re not old friends.” She can barely get the last two words out. For one thrilling second, I wonder if she actually wants to take a swing at me. I find my ongoing ability to push her buttons fascinating, I must say. “And don’t call me Starlight.”
“Why not? Nova is still your middle name, right? It means star, doesn’t it?” I keep my voice silky. “Starlight is a perfectly good nickname even if you’re not my star anymore. Why change things up at this late date? You’re free to call me by my nickname if you want.”
“Asshole? You don’t mind me using that to your face?”
“No,” I say with a startled laugh. “Brad Pitt.”
“I’ll pass on that. If there’s nothing else…?”
She takes another step away, eager to leave me.
I hastily catch her warm arm and press my thumb to the thumping pulse in her wrist, twice as eager to keep her here. The reaction is instantaneous. Her eyes widen. Heat flares between us, exactly the way you get a whoosh of a flame when you light a gas grill.
“Are you here with someone?” I ask.
I hate myself for the sudden urgency in my voice, which reveals my eternal weakness for her. But not as much as I hate her for bringing it out in me when I’ve done my best—for years I’ve done my best—to hide it if I can’t overcome it.
“My personal life hasn’t been any of your business for years, Liam,” she says. “As you know.”
She manages a lot of vehemence, but I’m fixated on the flickering heat between us. And the way she doesn’t pull away. My gaze drops to her dewy lips. My mouth actually waters, which is what happens when you’re dying for a taste of something.
I have a tough time hoisting my attention back to her glittering eyes, but I manage eventually.
“I’m not so sure about that. Have a drink with me. Let’s see where the night takes us.”
That does it.
“There’s no us,” she says, finally pulling free and using that same hand to give my cheek a sharp and condescending pat. “I know there’s no other woman in the world like me, but I’m sure there are several here who’d be happy to hook up with you tonight if you twinkle those hazel eyes at them.”
“What if I twinkle them at you? Will that work?”
Crooked smile from Mia. She takes a step back toward me. Eases closer. Tips her chin up as though she wants to kiss me. I ease closer and dip my head, planning to let her.
“Poor Liam. You need to understand that I would go back to my studio, find a needle and thread and sew my pussy shut before I ever gave you the pleasure again.”
I bark out a laugh, riveted by this woman who surely knows that nothing makes my blood race like a challenge.
“We’ll see about that. Starlight.”
She looks murderous as she pivots and stalks off in those killer heels, giving me the distinct pleasure of watching her hips and ass work in perfect synchronicity as she goes.
2
Mia
“What are you doing way down here at the bar by yourself?” comes a male voice a few minutes later, startling me out of my whirring thoughts. “This is a cocktail party. You’re supposed to mingle.”
It’s Eric Carson. Handsome and auburn-haired, he’s a work colleague, one of my best friends and my plus-one for tonight. On the one hand, I don’t appreciate the interruption when I’m trying to get my shit together here. On the other hand, I’m going to need some help getting myself off this dangerous ledge where I suddenly find myself. God knows I’m not going to talk myself down.
“I just need a minute,” I say, accepting a flute of champagne from the bartender with a grateful smile. “I need to catch my breath.”
He gets a closer look at me and frowns, taking my elbow to steer me way down to the end of the bar. “You okay? You look funny. Like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” I say darkly.