Page 95 of The Heart You Kept

“What?” I gulp my wine and wince as I look at the glass. “What the hell is this?”

“Arsenic, I’m sure.” She fakes a smile. “He’s coming over.”

“What?” I whisper, please don’t come over…I can’t trust my slutty mouth not to say something inappropriate.

Act. Fucking. Cool.

“Alora,” his deep voice purrs from behind me. I turn and act surprised.

“Edward.” I smile calmly. “How nice to see you.” Seeing this man in the flesh brings out juxtaposed emotions. Bitchy but needy, I should get a T-shirt made with the word Nitchy across the chest. It’s my newest superpower.

“Likewise.” His dark eyes hold mine.

“You remember Helene?” I smile.

“I do, hello,” he replies but his eyes stay locked on me.

The air crackles between us, an electric current of epic proportions. From my peripheral vision I see Helene look between us. “Hi, Edward, it’s nice to see you again. Please excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom.”

Edward sips his drink and then licks his lips and I swallow the nervous lump in my throat. He steps forward and grabs the zipper of my jeans and pulls it up with a sharp snap, he puts his mouth to my ear. “Just helping you get dressed.”

His breath tickles my skin, goose bumps scatter at his close vicinity and his cologne dances around me.

“I could smell your pretty white panties from across the room.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ALORA

“I beg your pardon,” I whisper, outraged. “You could not smell my panties from across the room.”

“Oh, my mistake.” His eyes dance with mischief as he sips his drink. “I meant see…not smell.”

Okay…stop flirting with me.

You may be newly single but I already know I’m not emotionally equipped to be on your rebound roster.

I put my hand down over my zipper to check that it’s up…. Oh, the horror.

“Is that why you came all the way over here?” I act annoyed. “Just to do up my zipper?”

“I’d prefer to undo it…but it will suffice…for now.”

For now.

His words hang in the air between us, bringing with them visions of legs over shoulders and beds being broken.

Focus.

“How are you?” I change the subject.

“I’m well. And you?”

“Never better.”

A trace of a smile crosses his face, can he feel my arousal as it pumps through my veins? Who am I kidding, they can feel it downstairs in the parking lot.

“Next time you’re in Paris I want you to meet my interior designer,” he says matter-of-factly.