For agreeing to marry a man she’d known for barely a month. For letting him break her heart.
She blamed Alex for everything else. The cowardly way he ran off before the wedding. All the silly UFO hype that had followed. But most of all, she blamed him for the way he’d made her doubt herself.
So it was time to put him in the past once and for all. After tonight she’d never think about or cry over Alex again. Maybe her mother would even follow her example, though Paige didn’t hold out much hope.
Margo Weaver didn’t handle loss well. She’d had a mental breakdown twelve years ago when Paige’s father had been killed in a car accident, refusing to accept his death. Just like she was refusing to accept the fact that her second husband wasn’t coming back. Margo was certain Stanley would return to her some day—as soon as the aliens let him go.
Paige didn’t want to end up like her mother—clinging to a crazy fantasy instead of accepting reality. Carefully pulling the chain over her head, she undid the clasp and the diamond ring fell into her palm. The platinum band glistened in the waning sunlight. She closed her fist around it, then hurled it over the balcony. “Goodbye, Alex.”
She leaned over the railing to watch the ring fly through the air. It bounced down the sidewalk several feet before she finally lost sight of it.
Gone forever. Just like Alex.
A perfect ending to what she’d once believed was a perfect love.
Paige straightened and turned, her heart lighter than it had been for a long time. She walked over to the table, blew out the candles, then dumped the éclairs into the trash. She intended to leave all the rest behind—the dishes, the candlesticks, the champagne. A thank-you to Franco for lending her the skirt for the evening. She had no reason to ever return to this apartment.
Paige opened the door, ready to step into her new life.
And saw Alex Mack standing on the other side.
She grabbed the doorjamb to keep from falling over, his sexy smile still able to make her heart bounce in her chest.
Then he said, “Hi, honey. I’m home.”
2
ALEX KNEW he’d said the wrong thing as soon as the words came tumbling out of his mouth. His communication skills had obviously suffered from lack of exercise in the last year. That’s what happened when you found yourself confined to a ten-by-ten cell twenty hours out of every day for twelve straight months.
He was lucky he could speak at all with Paige standing there in front of him after all this time. A Paige he almost didn’t recognize.
She’d cut her beautiful long hair. Ditched her classic conservative clothes for a red halter top and a short black skirt that made him stare at her legs for far too long. Then his gaze fell lower and he saw the fire-red polish on her toenails. He blinked and looked down toward her feet again. Was that a tattoo on her ankle?
His gaze moved slowly up her lush body as his tongue struggled for something intelligent to say. She looked incredible. He’d dreamed of this moment every day for the past year. Dreamed of her. Now he stood here gaping at her like an idiot, wanting to tell her how much he’d missed her. How much he wanted to hold her again and never let her go.
But before he could say a word, Paige made her own feelings perfectly clear. She slammed the door in his face.
Alex stood staring at the solid oak in shocked disbelief. The old Paige would have given him a chance to explain. She would have listened quietly to his side of the story and tried to understand. This new Paige, judging by the homicidal sparks he’d just seen in her big blue eyes, wasn’t interested in his explanation.
Tough.
Alex put up his fist and pounded hard on the door. He hadn’t come this far—or given up this much—to turn back now. “Paige, let me in.”
“Go away!”
“We need to talk.”
“You’re three hundred and sixty-five days too late!”
He reached for the knob. “Open this door.”
“I’m warning you, Alex,” she shouted from the other side. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Alex wiggled the doorknob but it stayed firmly locked. “And I’m warning you. If you don’t open this door by the time I count to three, I’m going to knock it down.”
Silence. The door didn’t budge.
“One.” he called out, certain she’d open it before he got to three. Paige was a reasonable person. She wouldn’t call his bluff.
“Two.” Then again, he hadn’t seen her for a year. Maybe she’d changed on the inside as well as on the outside. He backed up a step, trying to gauge the thickness of the wood. He’d never actually knocked a door down before, though it always seemed easy enough in the movies. He backed up another couple of steps.
“Three!”
Alex lowered his shoulder and barreled forward at the same moment the door swung open. Paige sidestepped out of his way to avoid a collision. Alex wasn’t quite so lucky. He flew inside the room and careened into a table. The dishes and candlesticks on it went flying, crashing onto the floor. Like Alex.
For a moment he just lay there, trying to remain conscious after banging the back of his head on a chair. Shards of china and glass surrounded him. Something wet seeped through the back of his shirt.
At last he looked up to see Paige gazing down at him. “Guess you called my bluff.”
“Now it looks like I should call an ambulance.”
He shifted on the floor, wincing slightly at a sharp pain in his right shoulder. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “So what do I have to do to get you to leave? Set another wedding date?”
“Look, Paige…” Alex got up on one knee, then grew so dizzy he had to grab the leg of an overturned chair.
Paige reached out one hand to steady his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Was that concern he heard in her voice? It gave him hope and enough encouragement to rise unsteadily to his feet. “I think so.”
“Too bad.”
So much for her concern. The momentary dizziness passed and he wiped his hand across the sticky wetness on the back of his shirt. “What’s this?”
“Champagne. Dom Pérignon, 1992. A very good year.”
Too late Alex realized that Paige must be expecting someone. He’d glimpsed the intimate table setting for two just before he’d crashed into it. The candles. The champagne. Hell.
She was expecting a man.
Jealousy washed
