My hands are itching to do more than rest on Isabelle’s shoulder as we sit in a quiet corner outside the main ballroom. A few wait staff have passed by several times with trays filled with glasses of whiskey and flutes of white wine. We haven’t turned them down once. My guess is we’re on our fifth round since we sat here, which leaves me with a lot less interest in being in control than usual. But as I stare into Isabelle’s hazel eyes, as I allow myself to get lost in them, and as I relax and listen to her share what has filled her life since we lost touch, emotions I don’t want to feel expand within my chest. Like regret, shame, and remorse. I want to kick myself. Why did I let ten years pass?

Oh. Right. I know why.

I’m a selfish, arrogant, thoughtless, heartless fucking prick.

Instead of listening to her, I should be groveling for her forgiveness. Instead of sitting here like no time has passed and like our history is a clean slate, I should be addressing the issue. But that doesn’t happen. What’s worse is the way my thoughts are straying way outside the friend zone. Maybe I don’t want my friend back. Maybe I can keep our emotional distance intact, leave our friendship in the past where it belongs, and treat her like I treat most women I want to fuck.

That would be fucking wrong. I know it in my gut, but I still entertain the idea.

“I have a hard time believing you didn’t date much in college, Belle,” I say through the husky rasp of inebriation, calling her by the nickname I gave her all those years ago. The nickname only I get to use on her. At least I think that’s still the case. Leaning in close to her, I inhale deeply, eyes pulled shut as I breathe in her sweet, citrusy scent that reminds me of all the time we spent together as kids. Except now, instead of wanting to play punch her arm like I used to, I can’t stop imagining how amazing she must look under all these clothes.

“How come? It’s not like I had a bunch of guys chasing me in high school.” Isabelle flips her hair behind one shoulder, exposing the slender lines of her neck and collarbone. I wonder if she knows how fucking sexy she looks when she does that. I’d like to believe that she does, but it’s wishful thinking. Isabelle’s too innocent to flirt. But fuck, my dick doesn’t care whether she means to or not. It’s hard as slate, straining against the zipper of my dress slacks. One part of me, the decent part, is desperately not to cross a line here, but the other part, my beast, it wants to charge across that line and take Belle in the most sinful, vicious way.

“But the reason they stayed away was mostly because of me, remember?”

“You might have a point.” She slides her tongue along her bottom lip. What I wouldn’t give for those lips to be wrapped around my shaft, trailing along my length right this second. It’s so unfamiliar, thinking this way about the girl who knows what I’m all about and still remained friends with me. But I don’t want to stop my brain or these urges from taking us somewhere we probably shouldn’t go. Not while I gaze down from those lips, along her neck to those slender shoulders that draw my eyes to the pale flesh of her full cleavage...

“Are you really all that convinced that you scared them off?” she asks, drawing my eyes back to hers. “It’s possible they weren’t that interested, you know. It’s not as though I looked like a supermodel or anything.”

“I’m sure. I really did.”

“Like, intentionally?”

“I don’t think so, no… but I can’t imagine any of those guys having the balls to ask you out knowing I was in the picture. Even if I was only a friend. And fuck, I can’t believe you won’t admit how fucking gorgeous you are. Since the second I got to your side tonight, practically every man in here has been lusting after you with their eyes popping out of their heads and their tongue hanging out of their mouths like the dogs that they are.”

“Hmm.” Isabelle purses her lips, and my dick throbs.

I want her. And I’m used to taking what I want. Back all those years ago, I might’ve kept my hands to myself, but then again, I saw Isabelle as a kid, and I had so few people who really knew me or had my back that I wouldn’t have dared to jeopardize our friendship. But we don’t really have that closeness anymore. There’s nothing left to risk, and fuck, I’m sick of holding back. Every instinct wants to reach forward, pull her tight against me, and claim every inch of her for tonight. I don’t know or care about tomorrow. If Isabelle was just some random chick I would’ve done that hours ago, but something’s stopping me. The truth is that if we cross this line, when we do, there’s no going back. And I have no fucking doubt in my mind that when that happens, I will break her.

“There was one guy I was interested in for a while,” Isabelle slurs through her tipsiness. She’s oblivious to the lust and sexual longing that are dripping off of me. “But as it turns out, he was into a different type. Or types, rather. Let me think about how to put it…”

“He was a male slut?” I offer, pretty sure she’s referring to me. Because I was and still am. “I can imagine, with an interest in other ‘types’ as you put it, he’d have to be chasing tail solely for a quick fuck.”

“Something like that.” As Isabelle laughs, I’m sure she’s still as much of a good girl as she clearly was back then. That’s a relief. She has so much more to offer than just warming someone’s bed for a couple of hours. But the problem is exactly that. She’s a good girl. Which makes my idea of what I’d like to have happen next feel that much worse. I shouldn’t be thinking of my friend like this. I should be protecting her from someone like me. The truth is I’m not the guy for Isabelle. Settling down and cozying up to one woman isn’t the life I’d ever choose willingly. So why should she give a prick like me the time of day?

“What about you?” Isabelle asks me with some hesitation. “Are you seeing anyone special?”

Unfortunately, I can’t give her a reassuring answer. Not unless I lie. “I’m the same guy I was back then.” I shrug. “You know how it is.”

“I didn’t want to assume. Everyone can change.” She smirks and adds, “I figured you’d be married to some society girl by now. I wouldn’t doubt that they’re still coming out of the woodwork to throw themselves at you every chance they get.”

“That’s possible,” I say with a smile. “But the secret about those girls who think they’re the elite is they’re all batshit crazy. Not my scene. At least, not anymore.”

Isabelle is eerily silent at that, and a thick tension fills the air between us. If there was ever a moment for me to kiss this woman, it’s right fucking now. I don’t deserve anyone like her, but if I don’t take this chance to get to the bottom of all this chemistry between us, I’ll want to kick myself later. Chances are it’ll never come back around. Hell, I may never see her again. The thing is, I have a choice. This chance meeting could be a fleeting passing of ships in the night, one where we stop long enough to fuck each other’s brains out just one time and keep sailing on afterward, never to see each other again. It can also turn into something good, a rekindling of our deeply honest and authentic friendship.

Fuck it.

I lean in.

Living with regret or hesitating, it isn’t like me. I act on impulse. Always have. I have no desire to hold back. This magnetic force drawing me to her is too intense to ignore anyway. Plus Isabelle’s full lips are fucking intoxicating, and I absolutely need to get a taste of them. She’s uncharted territory for me. The anticipation’s too appealing for words.

Shutting off my brain completely, I let lust and need take over. Isabelle draws in a shaky breath as I close in. Her chest rises and falls as though she knows what’s coming but isn’t too sure what to do about it. At this point, she doesn’t need to do a thing. This part, I can handle all by myself.

My lips crash into hers and Isabelle stiffens for a second, but soon her shoulders relax and she relaxes into my insistent kiss. Tasting her lips sends an urgent need through me. This won’t end with just a kiss, or an innocent makeout session.

I’m taking all of her.

Tonight.

My hand slides up her arm and I let my fingers curve over the front of her neck. I won’t hurt her, but she needs to know I’m rough through and through. I’m not a gentle kind of guy and that won’t ever change. Her hands lift to press hot palms on my chest in response, warm and inviting. I take it to mean she enjoys a little rough play as her lips part for me to kiss her more deeply. We’re panting breathlessly and I’m wanting more by the time I pull from the kiss. Taking her hand again, I get to my feet.

“Come with me.”

She seems to hold her breath as we walk toward a closed door I saw as we left the banquet area earlier. It isn’t right of me to act without asking her if this is what she wants, but at the same time, she can stop me whenever she wants to. If Isabelle says no, it won’t be the end of the world. We can try being friends again. Maybe.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

I test the doorknob and find that it’s locked. “We’ll have more privacy in one of these smaller rooms.” I know how suggestive it sounds, but hell, why else would we sneak away? She has to understand that our kiss was a prelude to more.

Isabelle’s eyes widen and she bites down on her bottom lip as I wait for her to say something. “We probably shouldn’t. I admit, yes, I feel something strong between us, something undeniable that might not have been there before. But…can we talk?”

“Sure,” I answer but that’s a lie. I don’t want to rehash what I did wrong. Not right now. “But I’m game for whatever the moment brings us, young lady.”

With a smile, I lead her up a flight of stairs to the mezzanine level. Yes. Much better. The area’s lined with open doors to smaller banquet rooms, and no one’s around. Taking a glance back at Isabelle, I see her hesitation. She’s probably conflicted, not ready to throw in the towel that is our friendship. Not yet. Either that or she doesn’t do this type of thing very often. Or it could be both.

Her face is awash with uncertainty. There’s a glint of excitement in her eyes too, probably at the idea of being a naughty girl, which only serves to encourage me that much more. Who wouldn’t want to corrupt this stunning beauty? Particularly as this will likely be a one-time thing. I want to see her face when I make her come. That’s not too much to ask. For sure, it’ll be memorable for Isabelle. Judging by the pent-up craziness that’s rapidly coursing through my veins, I’m sure it’ll be memorable. Even if it is for just one night and will come at a huge cost: a future friendship with my best friend.