if she was very lucky, the elevator’s dim lighting and the mask would be enough to keep him from recognizing her, although she knew the likelihood of that happening was about nil. How humiliating to be caught attending a fan festival for your ex-husband …current husband. Whatever.
With any luck, he wouldn’t realize who she was, and he’d think she was merely playing out her role of submissive slave by keeping her head down. Her heart still thudded hard against her ribs and her palms were slick with moisture.
She’d wanted to see Graeme, but not like this, and especially not in a state of near undress! Everything about this first encounter was wrong. She’d wanted to be on solid footing, suitably garbed in her best business suit so that he’d have no doubts that she’d both grown up and moved on. She’d wanted to be self-assured and emotionally distant, not a pile of quivering nerve endings and heightened awareness.
He eased himself away from the doors and leaned negligently against the opposite wall. “That was a close one. Especially since the weight capacity on this lift canna exceed two thousand pounds.”
His voice sank into her bones, heating her from the inside out. Slowly, Lara raised her gaze to his and felt the shock of it all the way to her toes. And just like the first time she’d seen him, everything else seemed to vanish.
She was no longer aware of being in a tiny elevator.
She didn’t care that she wore next to nothing.
She was only aware of Graeme, and the sight of him, so incredibly sexy and masculine, caused her brain to misfire so that instead of saying something smart and sophisticated, the only thing that came out of her mouth was a stuttered, “Huh?”
He didn’t smile, just continued to watch her intently. “I hate to be the one to break this to ye, princess,” he murmured, his Scottish burr turning her insides to mush, “but the Star Wars convention isn’t for another two months.”
Distressed, Lara felt her stomach do a sick flip. Was it her imagination, or had he placed a subtle emphasis on the word princess? He’d always called her his princess; it had been his pet name for her back when they’d first met. Did he recognize her, or was it just her overactive imagination playing tricks on her?
She’d been so certain that he had recognized her, that he’d come barreling after her because he knew who she was and wanted retribution. She’d expected a bitter confrontation, but Graeme was looking at her without a trace of shock or anger or recrimination in his eyes.
In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, his expression was one of pure, male appreciation, and the heat in his eyes sparked an answering flame. The panic in her chest eased up a bit, and Lara didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
As impossible as it seemed, Graeme Hamilton didn’t have a clue who she was.
Lara dragged her gaze away from his, her mind racing.
He didn’t know it was her.
A part of her knew she should feel hurt that he didn’t recognize her, but another part of her thrilled at the knowledge that he still found her attractive. She reminded herself she’d changed in five years, just as Valerie had said. She’d filled out in some places and slimmed down in others. Combined with the mask and costume, it was no wonder he didn’t know who she was. The thought actually gave her a little courage, and her earlier embarrassment at being caught wearing such a flagrantly sexy outfit vanished. Seeing Graeme’s eyes darken with desire was like an aphrodisiac. Warm, honeyed tendrils of pleasure snaked through her. She shifted her weight and a sharp burst of desire speared through her.
It seemed that some things never changed. Graeme still had the ability to arouse her with no more than a look. Two minutes ago, she’d been desperate to get away from him. Now, in close quarters with him, all she could think about was getting even closer.
She felt reckless.
Irresponsible.
Knowing that her identity was safe only amped up the naughty thoughts that were chasing themselves through her head. Less than an hour ago, she’d stood in front of her mirror and fantasized about how Graeme might react if he saw her in this getup. Now she wondered how he would react if she indicated she’d be willing to play the role of a true pleasure slave.
Tomorrow, she would don her safe, staid business suit, arm herself with her briefcase of legal documents and demand that he sign the divorce papers she had with her. She would wish him all the best in his career and his life, and then she would leave.
But for tonight, she would cater to her inner seductress, secure in the knowledge that nobody would ever find out, not even Graeme. She acknowledged that she wanted—no, she needed—to know if sex with Graeme was as good as she remembered, or if girlish memories had blown it out of proportion over the years. She had no illusions of trying to recapture the love of her youth; rather, she’d finally be able to put it firmly in her past and move on with her future. She’d been so young back then, so easily impressed. Not that she’d had much hands-on experience in the years since they’d been apart, but she’d done a lot of reading …and writing …about sex. In her fan fiction stories, Kip Corrigan was the ultimate lover, and most of what she wrote was based on her own experiences with Graeme during the two nights they’d shared.
But nobody could be that good, right?
3
RECOGNITION punched Graeme in the gut like a sledgehammer.
He’d thought about this moment more times than he cared to admit over the past five years, and in his mind their reunion had played out in all kinds of different ways. But his fantasies always ended the same way—with Lara in his bed, promising that she’d never leave again.
But now that she was here, he didn’t have a fucking clue what to say. So he took a deep breath and turned to look at her, but was so completely blown away by the erotic vision she made that all he could manage was some ignorant remark about the weight capacity of the lift.
Because never, even in his most outrageous fantasies, could he have envisioned Lara looking like the woman who stared at him now from the opposite side of the elevator. For just a moment, his confidence faltered and he wondered if he might be mistaken. After all, he hadn’t seen her in several years. Even in his most lurid and explicit imaginings, she looked perpetually the way she had that summer in London.
Sweet.
Shy.
Conservative.
For a moment, his chest clenched hard and tight, and his hands fisted at his sides in recalled frustration. He’d been a struggling actor, just out of drama school, trying desperately to make a name for himself in the London theater scene where actors were ten a penny. His strong Scots accent and his strapping, blue-collar physique had worked against him, however, and the best he’d been able to manage had been amateur productions in second-rate theaters.
He’d been performing in a stage presentation of Blood Brothers, in front of a nearly empty theater, when she had walked in and sat in the back row. She’d come back every day until the last performance, when she’d chosen to sit in the front row.
After the show had ended, he’d sprinted out of the theater to intercept her, because meeting her had been
