at the bridal table. Off to the side, Paige was deep in conversation with a blinged-out teenager. “It was nice seeing you, Matthew.”
“Wait,” he said, curling his fingers around her arm. She stilled, her eyes snapping up to his, and he quickly released her. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She gave a slight laugh. “We have an open bar.”
“Later.” He held her gaze pointedly.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said, her smile slowly fading.
“A dance, then.”
“Why?”
Her directness startled him for one second before he remembered that it was just one of her many appealing traits. “Because I’d like to.”
What the hell was he doing? The rational part of his brain was telling him to just let her go. But the unsatisfied, something’s-missing part that had survived his marriage’s collapse and last week’s agonizing new client contract negotiations egged him on.
AJ wasn’t a part of his reality. She was a bright memory from his past—an idealistic, purposeful past full of ambition for the future. She was the beach, short shorts, laughter and sensual lovemaking. His present was vastly different. It was endless meetings and lonely foreign countries, the occasional life-threatening situation, a deceitful ex-wife and nosy parents who just couldn’t let the past go. He couldn’t let her leave. Not yet.
“A dance,” he repeated, fixing her with a firm look.
She studied him in silence. Odd. Wasn’t this the woman who gave new meaning to impulsive? Yet now she seemed downright cautious.
“Matthew, I’m being as polite as possible, given we’re at my sister’s wedding. But let me make this clear—I do not want to drink or dance with you. Now if you’ll excuse me...”
She smiled, then turned on her heel and headed over to the bridal table, leaving him speechless and frowning in her wake.
He glared at her gently swaying backside and the swish of ice-blue skirts billowing around her ankles.
Huh. Guess she’s still pissed off with you, then.
Two long hours crawled by, one hundred and twenty agonizing minutes in which AJ wished more than once she still drank alcohol. A champagne buzz would definitely help get her past this irritating awareness of her ex.
His hair is longer, she reflected as she ate dessert. The shaggy style lent a romantic air to his bold features: the wide Roman nose, the dark eyebrows framing dreamy chocolate-brown eyes, the firm jaw shaded with stubble and the dimpled chin. Oh, he was still lean and angular, with elegant hands and expressive eyes that reminded her of chivalrous knights and romantic poets from days gone by, but in those ten years he’d broadened and matured. It suited him.
Not only was he gorgeous and hyper-smart, he was also a doctor. An actual heart surgeon, for heaven’s sake, every girl’s McDreamy with a deep, soothing English accent that made her shiver. Yet no TV character could hold a candle to the reality that was Matthew Cooper.
Maybe it was the memory of their mutual past. A past based purely on sex—they hadn’t been together long enough to crash and burn under the weight of inevitable relationship complications. Instead, Matthew had brutally cut her off at the knees.
Amazingly, she made it through her toast and then the official bridal party dance without a hitch. Her partner dutifully waltzed her around the dance floor as Zac and her sister glided by, smiling and whispering in that enviously intimate way of all newlyweds.
Eventually the DJ cranked up the music, the lights dimmed and everyone flocked to the dance floor. After refusing to dance with a chisel-jawed blond, she made her way to the bar and ordered a virgin cocktail.
“Having a good time, gorgeous?”The bartender grinned.
“Sure.” She smiled halfheartedly.
He placed the drink in front of her, but when she reached for it his hand lingered, his gaze intent. “Hey, what do you say to—”
Suddenly Matthew was there, easing onto the stool next to her, his polite smile aimed directly at the bartender. It was almost funny the way the other man yanked his hand away and quickly asked, “What can I get you, sir?” But when the bartender went to fix a coffee and Matt turned to face her, amusement was the last thing on her mind.
After the year she’d had, she was so not up to facing the man who’d dumped her nearly ten years ago.
AJ stared into her drink, watching the bubbles rise to the surface as she stirred it with the straw. She’d been good enough to have hot holiday sex with but not good enough to introduce to his parents or take out on an official date. To advertise as girlfriend material.
Ah, but it had been amazing sex.
The memories made her cheeks flush. With a small sigh she shoved the straw between her lips and took a sip, ignoring his gaze.
The bartender placed the coffee on the bar—espresso, no sugar—and her eyes were drawn to Matt’s long fingers curling around the cup. His scrutiny was beginning to unnerve her. Sure, he’d always been intense, examining things from every possible angle. It was part of what made him such a brilliant surgeon. But this...this...singular attention, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, was something different.
“Stop staring. I haven’t changed that much,” she finally said, irritated.
“You have.” He lifted the cup to his lips and took a chug, then carefully replaced the cup on the saucer.
“How?”
One eyebrow went up. “Fishing for compliments, AJ?”
“No.”
His expression changed. “Yeah, I remember that about you. You look...” He paused, and an inexplicable rush of anticipation stilled AJ’s breath. “Thirty-two suits you,” he finally said. “Very much.”
Oh. Perversely disappointed, she took another sip of her drink and smiled politely. “Thank you.”
“So how’ve you been?”
If you don’t count my surgery, my screaming biological clock and the fertility clinic appointment tomorrow? “Fine.” She eased off her chair and smiled once more, only this time it felt as if her face was about to crack. “Well. It was nice seeing you. Again. I—” When he muttered something under his breath, she frowned. “Sorry?”
“I said, crap. What the hell’s gotten into you, AJ? It wasn’t ‘nice’ seeing me again and you know it. So stop faking.”
AJ took a step back and crossed her arms, trying to rein in her irritation. “You know what? I’m not doing this with you. Not here, not now.” And she abruptly turned and stalked off.
Her heels barely made a sound on the stucco dance floor, the thumping music drowning out everything
