a beautiful, lush woman.”
Now her eyes had adjusted to the blanket of darkness, she could faintly discern his outline. He sat on the wide balustrade, his back to the view. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one else was watching before taking one step closer, flirting with danger. There was something about Nico being hidden in the dark that seemed deceptively safe. A dangerous illusion, she knew, and yet she took another step forward.
Simulating a casual pose, she swirled the wine in her glass. “I expected you’d be inside, working the room.”
“They don’t need me for that. I made the speech, the winemaker and other staff can take care of the rest.”
She remembered the few events she’d attended with him years ago where he’d been happy to let others get the most attention. “You don’t like the limelight, do you, Nico?”
“Come down here and I’ll tell you the answer.” It was the voice of Lucifer, tempting her with the apple.
“No,” she said simply and sipped her wine. She’d come far enough.
“I think you will.” She could hear a smile in his voice and it sent a frisson of heat across her skin.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because you don’t want to go back inside.”
That was true. As much as she wanted to avoid another scene with Nico here at Kent’s tribute, she wanted to go back into that crowd even less. She cast another look around—this was technically a public place, so nothing improper could happen. It had the added benefit of having no audience—he might have put on a show earlier, but he had no spectators for his wordplay out here. A public place that had no audience—it might seem like a contradiction, but it served as the best protection she could ask for tonight.
She moved down, to within a few feet of him. “Tell me about the limelight.”
“Closer.”
Even this close, she couldn’t see him clearly in the blackness.
“I think here is just fine.” She wrapped her free arm around her middle and lifted the wine to her lips, taking the last sip.
“For now,” he conceded and she could see the moonlight glint on his teeth as he smiled. “I don’t seek limelight the way Kent did. I don’t hate it, either. I don’t have strong feelings about it one way or another.”
“If you don’t hate it, why not stay inside tonight and make use of it for Jordan Wines?”
He held out his hand for her empty glass and placed it beside his. “I had something on my mind and wanted space.”
“Kent?” she whispered.
His eyes were strangely reflective, the predator that had lurked there earlier absent. “You.”
He reached out and snagged her hand, dragging her closer, until she stood in the vee made by his thighs. A rush of heat pooled low in her belly, goose bumps erupted across her skin.
Head cocked to the side, he looked up into her eyes, his expression pensive. “Why are you on my mind so much?”
Their gazes held for an eternity and her breathing quickened. There was an honesty in his eyes that reached out to her heart, as if in the darkness of the balcony, the world could disappear and leave them cocooned in shadows. It was that dangerous illusion at work again.
Attempting to break the spell, Beth casually shrugged a shoulder. “Because you’re here in New Zealand to see me.”
“Not just now,” he said quietly. “Always.”
How she wanted to believe it was because he’d never stopped loving her, but if that had been true, he’d have come for her. Would have at least checked on her after Kent took her out of the country. It was a senseless fantasy she’d only let herself have on dark, lonely nights—she knew if he’d come for her, her sacrifice would have been for nothing. It was far better that he’d stopped loving her when she left.
So instead she smiled and offered the only plausible reason. “Probably because I’m the only woman to walk away from you.”
His mouth hooked up at one corner. “Maybe.”
He laced his fingers in hers and tugged her closer still, into the circle of heat that surrounded his body. A shiver raced over her skin, as if her flesh recognized his was close.
“Nico, what was between us is long over,” she said, knowing it was to convince herself as much as him.
“Really?” he asked lazily, and abruptly the reflective mood morphed into an electric simmer.
Beth began to step away, but he held her hands firm. “If it’s over,” he said, “why are you standing here in the dark with me?”
She could smell his clean scent, wanted to bury her face in his strong neck, but kept her voice even. “Because we were talking.”
“Would you be standing this close to any of the men inside if you were talking to them?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Would you let them do this?” He encircled her in his arms and brought her flush against his seated body, his chest against her stomach, his face in line with her breasts. Her breath caught at the hard, erotic feel of his erection pressing against her thigh.
“I’d say no, probably slap them.” Her eyes drifted closed.
A hand crept up the back of her neck and brought her head down. “Tell me no,” he said against her lips.
“No,” she said and kissed him.
He tasted of wine and Nico and she couldn’t get anywhere near enough. For one perfect moment, she was back five years ago, kissing the boy she loved on her back porch. Then he growled and nipped on her bottom lip, and she was jolted back to the present. Kissing this dangerous Nico was a new experience, in some ways more darkly alluring. She threaded her fingers through his hair, and he arched his neck back further to deepen the kiss.
She leaned into him, over him, resting most of her weight on his broad chest as she looked down into eyes as dark as the night that hid them. A shiver ran down her spine when he broke the kiss and watched her for a beat.
“Nico,” she whispered, but wasn’t sure if she said it aloud or if it was only in her head.
He kissed down her neck, pressed his tongue into the pulse point at the base of her throat, arms still holding her tightly to him, thighs closing to hold her in place. Trying to regain her breath, Beth looked out over the top of his rumpled hair to the distant lights of the town. They looked like a fairy tale. She looked down at Nico trailing moist kisses along her dé colletage—if she was in a fairy tale, this was not the prince. The Beast, perhaps.
Gently, he slid one of the sheer sleeves down her shoulder, his lips following the path he created until he reached the top of her breast. He paused and laid his cheek against her, breathing heavily.
“Beth,” he groaned, then arched his head back.
