1
HE started with her ankles, which were the most delicious ankles he had ever seen, then his eyes traveled slowly to her knees, and beyond.
From across the room, he made a leisurely appraisal of slim hips and a tiny waist, exquisite breasts and hair the color of fire. He saved the face until last, and when at last his gaze reached the huge emerald eyes and pouty pink lips, he almost choked on his glass of champagne.
“Josephine?” he silently mouthed in incredulous question, and because she hadn’t moved, he walked over to where she stood. “Josephine?”
Josephine’s heart was racing and her hands felt clammy, but not just because he was the most devastating man in the room—he had always had precisely that effect on her.
“Of course it’s me, Blake,” she remonstrated. “Surely you recognized me?”
There was a pause. “Not really.” Last time he’d seen her, she’d had braces on her teeth and freckles. The little girl next door. In the tiny village they’d lived in he had watched her grow from toddler to teenager. And now? He swallowed, even though he was no longer drinking. “You’ve … you’ve grown up all of a sudden.”
“But I’m 23 years old now, Blake,” she said softly.
“And you live in London now?” he guessed.
“That’s right. You, too?”
“Mmm.” God, she was beautiful! More than beautiful. “How long since we’ve seen each other?”
She stared into the ice-blue eyes. She could have told him to the exact minute. “Oh, must be about seven years,” she said casually. “Not since you moved away.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “What kind of work do you do?” he questioned casually.
“I’m a model.”
A model. Yes. That would explain the sudden transformation from duckling to dazzling swan.
“A successful model?” he questioned.
She gave a modest smile. “Kind of.” She sipped her drink and smiled at him. “How about you?”
The smile beguiled him. “I’m a venture capitalist.”
“Sounds like a bandit!”
He laughed. “Does it?” A bandit might have carried her straight off to bed with him, something he—uncharacteristically—felt just like doing.
“Do I look like a bandit?”
Kind of, she thought, but shook her head. “No, you look like a venture capitalist!”
“How about another drink?” His lips curved in a smile. “Or would you rather dance?”
There was no choice! But she managed to shrug her shoulders, as if she didn’t mind either way. “I love dancing,” she admitted.
Normally, he could take it or leave it, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had danced with a woman who wasn’t Kim. But the opportunity to hold her was too much to miss. “Me, too. Come on, then.”
The gods must have been looking down on her, because at that moment the music slowed, and he took her in his arms and she felt almost dizzy, achingly aware of the hard, lean strength of his body.
“I—I like this song,” she said, rather shakily.
“Mmm.” He liked the drift of her scent even more.
He absently pulled her closer and buried his lips in her hair and Josephine was unprepared for the shimmering of heat that skittered such debilitating sensations across her skin.
Blake felt the sudden jackknifing of desire as her slender curves melted against his flesh like butter, and he had to stifle a moan.
Maybe he’d better just take her home and say good-night.
Sooner, rather than later.
But he was seduced by the moonlight and the way she walked, the way she made him laugh. And a shared past could produce nostalgia … and nostalgia could be pretty potent stuff.
He accepted coffee. And then another, and her eyes mesmerized him with their dazzling green fire.
“Guess I’d better think about leaving,” he said reluctantly.
“I guess so. It’s been … fun.”
“Yeah.”
She was lost in the light of his eyes. “Goodbye, Blake.”
“Goodbye, Josephine.”
She wondered if she would ever see him again, and when she reached up on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye, her lips somehow collided with the faint rasp of his jaw, and it felt so earthy that she shivered against him in unstoppable response.
Something inexplicable exploded inside him and he turned his head and captured her mouth with his, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this was heading for the bedroom.
“I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” he groaned, as the kiss got hotter and harder.
Neither did she, but once again his mouth had hungrily covered hers and her words somehow got lost on his lips.
It was the best night of Josephine’s life, but in the morning he had left without asking to see her again, and much later she heard that he had gone back to Kim and that they had become engaged.
And soon after that she had met his cousin Luke, and within three months they were married.
LUKE had gone.
He hadn’t even taken his toothbrush, but she knew he had gone. That fact hit her with a certainty even more intense than the blade of lightning that illuminated the bathroom with its harsh blue-white light. Josephine momentarily shrank from its impact, and winced.
The toothbrush was still there, yes, but further investigation showed that her husband of just one year had cleared the rest of the house like a locust.
Gone were the rows of designer suits and the handmade Italian shoes. Gone, too, were the priceless objets d’art which he had always insisted they buy.
Or rather, that she buy, Josephine reminded herself bitterly.
The lightning was followed by a thunderbolt that could have deafened the hounds of hell. And then the rain began—a rain so heavy and remorseless that the loud banging on the front door didn’t register straight away.
And when it did, she froze with a sinking feeling that felt almost like disappointment.
Had he left,
