She watched him raise the crystal, sparking in the firelight, its ruby liquid caress his upper lip a moment before he drank.
She heard him swallow, felt her own throat tighten in response. If she leaned closer…would that potent blend of heat and wine and Luke still taste the same? Still lead her down that same dizzy, out-of-control course? Or, in this case, to that warm and tempting king size bed a few quick steps from here?
She picked up her mug, wrapped her stiff fingers around it and tried to sip the chocolate, but there was a lump in her throat and it wasn’t the marshmallow. It was resentment, hard and bitter and impossible to swallow.
Ignoring his own mug, Luke drank the rest of his wine, poured himself another. Mel started to warn him he’d pay for it in the morning but instantly bit down on her words. If he wanted to get quietly drunk that was his business. Cripes, she was almost tempted to join him, but someone needed to be alert if the storm did any more damage.
So she leaned back and let her lips caress the china. What would Carissa make of all this? Oh, she knew already what her stepsister would say and she was sick of hearing about signs and fate and soul mates. Which was why she hadn’t told Carissa about Luke’s return yet.
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