“Ugh, what I wouldn’t give to have a doughnut right now,” Chloe grumbles and sips on a wheatgrass smoothie.

I watch her suck down the disgusting concoction and fight my gag reflex. “Still on the paleo diet, I see.”

She bites down on her straw as if drinking the stuff is hurting her as much as it is helping. “A few more days, and then I can work up to a twelve-hundred-calorie diet again.”

My eyes practically bug out of my head. “Work up to it? What are you eating now?”

“Five hundred,” she says while pushing papers around her desk.

I’ve just given her the designs for the new menswear line I want to start my team on.

“Sounds…er…practical,” I say, the lack of sincerity in my voice betraying how I really feel.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “We both know I’m basically starving myself so I can look incredible in the gown you’ve drawn up for Paris Fashion Week.”

I chuckle. “You could just take a couple of Bree’s yoga classes.”

“And look at that hot bitch while sweating like a pig and falling on my ass in a position God never intended a woman’s body to be in in the first place?” She stares at me, blinking rapidly.

That does it. Laughter pours out of me, and I flop back against my own chair in the master office we share. “God, you’re good for me.” I wave at my now overheated face, trying to cool down.

“Well isn’t that the truth.” She sucks on the green smoothie, grimaces, hacks, and tosses it half-full into the trash before grabbing a foil-wrapped treat off my desk. “How many calories do you think are in just one of these? Like ten, right?”

I snicker. “Try seventy-five to a hundred.”

Her eyes widen after she plops it into her mouth. “Your numbers are jacked. I’m going with ten. That means I can have nine more of these suckers.” She winks and then picks up one of the designs.

“What’s this little L-shaped thing here?” She points to a section of my work.

My penmanship with my left hand has gotten better, but actual designs don’t always fare as well. Usually, I take advantage of the super savvy voice-activated computer Chase had crafted by his tech geniuses. The software records what I speak, and with a finger I can scratch onto a tablet display to get my designs down on paper.

“It’s a pair of socks.” I smile.

Chloe nibbles on another Snickers bar. Mentally, I plan on taking out an inch on the dress I’ve designed for her without mentioning it. What are friends for, anyway?

“Socks? Since when did we get in the business of sock making?”

“Well, it’s something I wanted to chat about. I was with Chase last week and noticed he always tries to match his socks to whatever shoe color or pant color he’s wearing. What if we design socks to match our suits? We can even create an entire line of ties that can be sold with each suit and sock set to make it even easier for the customer.”

“As if being a man isn’t easy enough?” she deadpans.

I wait. Finally, a hint of a smile curves her lips at the edges.

“Clo…”

She waves a hand and opens another candy. “No, no. I’m seeing it. Totally seeing it. We could call it Men at Ease or something like that. Make it easier for the men to get dressed in a given week. Everything can be interchangeable. It’s brilliant as usual, Kat.” She smiles.

“I thought so.” I waggle my eyebrows.

“Let’s meet with the creative team about it later in the week. Sound cool?”

I nod. “Yeah, works for me.” I push the button for our shared receptionist. “Jen, can you schedule a meeting for both of us to meet with creative for a new product powwow? We’ll probably need a good two hours. Make it over lunch, and we’ll order in.”

“Nice. Good idea.” Chloe gives me a thumbs-up.

Once I hang up, Chloe lays out her new concepts for our women’s line. “I’m not feeling that strap and bodice together. Something’s not quite right.”

I focus on the design, and it reminds me of the sequined dress I wore to Carson’s father’s birthday party all those years ago. I run my scarred finger down the design. He was so handsome that night and happy to show off his new girlfriend to his dad. That was also the night Chase proposed to Gillian. Seems like forever ago…

“Earth to Kat. Hello? Cut the strap or leave it?”

I shake my head, and a few drops fall down the slope of my nose and onto the paper below. I glance away, wiping at my eyes.

Chloe gasps and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Kat, what’s the matter?”

I sniff and lift my head, trying to blink back the unwanted tears. “Nothing. Uh, the design just reminded me of a better time, that’s all.”

She sighs and leans against my desk, sitting on the edge. “Lay it on me.”

I clear my throat. “There is nothing to lay on you.”

She sits on my desk and crosses her ankles and her arms, obviously planning to hold out for the long haul. The woman is ruthless if she wants something, and right now it’s whatever has me crying over her designs.

Stupid men.

“Does deflecting usually work for your best friends?”

I shake my head. “Not usually, no.”

“Then what makes you think it will work on me? Kat, we’ve been partners for two years now, working together for almost three. I know when your head is not in the game. Usually, I don’t care, as long as your heart is in it. But crying over a design? If you hate it that much you could have just said so.” She holds a serious stern look until she can’t any longer, and her lips tremble with laughter.

On instinct, I elbow her thigh. “Shut up.”

“You shut up. No, actually that would be the opposite of what I requested you to do. Blonde moment.” She conks her own head.

“Stop trying to make me laugh.”

“Stop avoiding the question.”

I inhale a long, slow breath. “I’m fine. The design reminded me of a better time is all.”

“Ah, I see. My guess is something having to do with my brother?” Her eyes soften.

I shrug. “Yeah. I saw him last weekend.”

Chloe pounces and with a nudge to my shoulder spins my chair 180 degrees. Before I can right it, she spins me the rest of the way and gets in my face.

“You saw him? When? How? Why? Are you getting back together?” Her words come in a jumbled string.

I lean back in my chair, giving myself some space. “He was at Chase and Gillian’s the morning after I spent the night.”

“Fucking bastard cousin of mine. I’ll kick his ass for putting you on the spot.”

“Cut it out. He didn’t plan on having me spend the night, and he did plan on having Carson there. It was fine, actually. Nice, even. I hadn’t seen him in a full year. He looks good.”

Really. Fucking. Good.

Drop-dead gorgeous.

“So, what happened? Did you talk to him?”

I stand up and pace the room, trying to get my thoughts together. “Not much. We chatted. He kissed me. We had coffee and a quiet breakfast, nothing more.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back the truck up. Put that shit in reverse. He kissed you?” Her voice croaks as if she’s holding back her excitement the way a kid does when parents tell them they are going to Disneyland but not for another week.

“Yes. Kind of the way he used to, just after the accident. Softly, barely even anything. Still, something was definitely there.”

“My God! Oh my freaking God. Does that mean you’re going to get back together?”

I groan and let my head fall back as I look up at the ceiling. “No, it doesn’t mean anything of the sort. He’s with someone right now.”

“Not if you said you were available. The man has been pining for you for three years, Kat. If you say you’re ready to take him back, he’s going to be there with bells on.”

“Not true. He’s been living his life just as I have,” I counter.

She makes a noise that sounds like a cross between blowing air out through her mouth and spitting. “I wouldn’t call what either of you have been doing as living.”

“Really? Even after all we’ve accomplished?” I shoot back, my tone laced with a hint of acid.

“All work.” She waves her hand in the air. “Work, yes, you’ve been doing a lot of that. And very well, I might add.” Her tone softens considerably.

“Thank you.”

“But all work and no dick makes Kat a crotchety bitch,” she states plain as day.

I open my mouth and close it a couple times. “No dick?”

She nods. “You said it, sister.”

“No, I think you did.” I chuckle, the hilarity of the conversation starting to hit me.

“Okay, so what’s the end result of this meet-and-kiss between you and my insanely handsome brother?” She bats her eyes prettily.

I roll mine. She does not lie. Her brother is the most beautiful man I’ve ever known, inside and out. I can’t deny there was a hint of something there between us. Maybe we should talk about it? Ugh, I don’t know. It’s been so long. I’m still disfigured, though not nearly as badly. My work life is fantastic, so I can support myself even against all the odds and despite the nerve damage in my hand and arm. My relationships with my girlfriends are strained, but I’m working on that. Will work on that. Perhaps that’s where I should start.

“I’m not sure. We left on civil terms, and for now, I’m happy about it.”

“Will you concede there could be more?”

“Between your brother and me there will always be a history. I just can’t say if there is going to be a future.”

“How’s about while you figure it out, I’ll be hopeful for the both of you?”

“Deal.”

Chloe grabs for another candy bar. I smack her hand away. “Put down the candy and pick up an apple!” I warn.

She frowns but lets go of the candy bar. “Thanks.” She looks at the candy longingly.

“Paris Fashion Week,” I remind her.

“Paris Fashion Week.” She turns on a toe and sighs.

---

I push open the door to my favorite pub. After spending all day going over new designs, making fabric deals with suppliers overseas, and checking in with my head seamstress on how the designs are coming together, I’m positively beat. Multicolored lighting hits my eyes as I take in the familiar surroundings of my go-to eatery on a Friday night. I had been invited to hang out with Maria and Eli, but I declined. Why, I don’t know. Tonight, I just need to be away from it all. Allow myself to get lost in my thoughts.

Thoughts of him.

Carson.

All week I toyed with the idea of calling him up, suggesting we get coffee. I don’t even know why. Just over two years ago, I pushed him so far away I would never have ever dreamed we could go back. Then I saw him, and everything rushed in like a tidal wave breaking onshore. Just the sight of him obliterated my heart and destroyed the walls I’d built up in my mind. The ones preventing me from ever going there again.

Why now?

I’ve been asking myself this same question all week. When he touched me in Gillian’s kitchen, it was as if his touch had never left me. It felt so…right. Perhaps it’s time to, at the very least, be friends again. There’s no harm there. I care about him. I know he cares for me. Hell, I still love the man, although I’m positive he’s moved on by now.

Then why did he kiss me the way he did? Touch his tongue to mine? That single touch shot a bolt of electricity so strong through me I have yet to forget the spark.

Shaking my head, I glance around the hopping pub and don’t see any open tables. Until my gaze lands on a pair of blue eyes in the very far corner. A pair I’d recognize in a sea of a hundred blond-haired, blue-eyed people. To me, they are the most unique eyes. Sky blue with a gleaming golden rim around the iris, as if the gods knew he’d need a halo surrounding him at all times.

Quickly, I glance down and away, heading toward the bar. What do I do now? Maybe he didn’t see me.

I wave to the bartender. He gives me a chin lift, knowing what I want to order without me having to yell over the crowd. I’ve been here so many times, it’s my own personal Cheers.

Before I can ascertain if there are any individual seats along the bar, I feel a warm hand land on my shoulder.

“Hey, Sweetcheeks. Thought it was you,” Carson says while urging me to turn around.

I move, matching the momentum of his pull, a smile plastered to my face. At first, I think it’s going to be forced. I’m so used to wearing the mask that keeps everyone and everything at bay. My smile stays in place as I take in his shaggy blond hair—he must have run his fingers through it too many times—and the light stubble along his strong jaw after a full workday. The polo shirt he’s wearing has his company logo positioned right over the heart.

“Hi, Carson.” That’s about all I can manage to say, my tongue having swollen, choking off my words.

Be cool, Kat. Be cool. It’s just Carson.

“Busy tonight,” he offers while pushing both of his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

“Yep. Usually is on Fridays. I’m not normally this late.” I glance down at my watch once more, taking in the hour as past seven, far later than my average five thirty Friday night, early dinner alone.

He squints. “Oh, meeting someone?” He frowns, the simple gesture piercing my psyche.

I’m quick to allay his fears by shaking my head and looking down shyly. “No. I often come here to eat on Fridays. It’s kind of become my routine since it’s so close to my apartment.”

“Kitty Kat!” The bartender yells his nickname for me over the crowd of people, obviously not caring who he bothers in the process. He’s holding up a tall, beloved Poor Man’s Stout, more commonly known as a Black Velvet. My drink of choice.

“Add it to my tab. Thanks, Robbie!” I tip the drink back and swallow a large helping. The crisp notes of raspberry cider and thick coffee bean taste of Guinness mingle into perfection in my mouth. “So good.”

“I’ll say,” Carson mumbles under his breath and looks away.

I take a few more sips of my beer, not knowing what to say or do. I’ve never been at a loss for words when it came to Carson. It’s odd, almost feeling as though we’d just met for the first time. I guess after not having seen one another for so long, it’s hard to bring back the casual banter we once lived off of.

I’m just about to say something when he gestures to his table.

“Eat with me?” His voice is hopeful with an edge of grit to it.

I weigh my options. I could pretend like I didn’t plan on eating here tonight, which would be a lie—and I’ve been trying not to lie lately, especially to people I care about. And even though Carson and I are no longer together, I still care about him a great deal.

“Um…” I glance around, looking desperately for a place to go to on my own.

Carson clasps his hand over my scarred one. I flinch but don’t remove it. My therapist encourages me to allow people to touch me platonically so I get used to human touch again. I resist the urge to remove my hand and instead squeeze his in return, sincerely wanting him to feel me. His eyes widen briefly and a smile breaks out across his face, making him impossibly handsome. I’d walk through hell and back just to see the smile on his face. I hadn’t seen it focused solely on me in so long, I’d forgotten how much I missed it.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve spent time alone together, Kat. Break bread, have some beers. We’re still friends, right?”

“Are we?” The coy note in my tone surprises me as much as I think it does him.

He smiles again, those beautiful teeth and blue eyes hitting my heart with a one-two punch. “Yes. Most definitely.”

“Okay. I did come to eat.”

“Me too. Right this way.” He lets go of my hand and guides me in front of him, his hand securely planted on my lower back the same way he used to guide me around before.

I close my eyes, imprinting the warmth. Last week at brunch was the first time I’d felt his touch in over two years. Hell, felt any man’s touch. Just as I’ve memorized the heat, it’s gone when he pulls out the chair at a table.

Once he sits across from me, he pulls my good hand up onto the tabletop and holds it with both of his. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. I want to know everything.” There’s a gleam in his eye I remember so well. When this man gives his attention to someone, he gives everything.

I laugh. I can’t help myself. Carson has always had the exuberance of a small puppy. Every moment in life to him has always been one to rejoice in and take advantage of. He’s not the type of person to ever let any bit of happiness he can glean go to waste. I’m thrilled to see this part of him has not changed.

“Well, you know I’ve been working with your sister, Chloe.”

“Yes. And I understand your clothing lines are killing it overseas and doing pretty well in the States too.”

I nod and go to lift my beer with my scarred hand. Just as I get it up, the weight of it becomes too much for my injured nerves. Carson, like last week with the coffee pot, grabs the glass and settles it into my other hand. He didn’t even flinch, make a comment, or look put out by my disability.

Huh.

“Killing it overseas…the States,” he encourages, bringing us back to the question he asked.

“Oh yeah, uh, yes. We’re doing well. Working with Chloe is a dream come true. She’s so talented.”

Carson leans back and taps the table. “If I remember correctly, so are you, Sweetcheeks.”

A noise between a huff and laugh slips from my lips when I hear that tried-and-true nickname. “Sweetcheeks. Still?” I raise one eyebrow.

He grins and leans closer. I can smell the distinct odor of the sea wafting off his skin, reminding me of far happier times splashing in the ocean off the private beach on his property. The memory and scent combined send a zip of recognition down between my legs, where I clench, staving off the impending desire. The ache that happens in my sexual organs when my brain tells my pussy its mate is close and ready for a good time is hard to ignore, especially with Carson so close. I slow my breathing, trying to bank the flames.

“Sweetest cheeks I ever had the pleasure of seeing.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “At least if my memory serves.”

I shake my head. “Not since the grafting surgeries. Not so sweet anymore.” He doesn’t know what I’ve had to deal with. The skin of my ass isn’t so perfectly smooth anymore. I can just barely feel the slight change in the topography from where the doctors removed healthy skin to cover the worst of my burns. My inner thighs suffered the same fate. As if I wasn’t scarred enough. Let’s add some more spots on her body we can damage.

“I’d like to be the judge of that.” He grabs my hand once more and runs a finger from my elbow to my palm, where he swirls that single digit around the middle of my hand. “Always so soft.”

Heat nips my hand, and electricity travels up my arm in a blazing trail. My nerve endings prickle and my pulse waits for even a hint of his next touch. My heart starts to hammer in my chest.

“Carson…”

“Yeah, honey.” He says this as if we’ve just catapulted into another time and place. More than three years ago, to be exact. The surroundings are similar, the feelings the same. Lust. Heat. Desire. All wreaking havoc on my psyche. Am I ready for this? For these feelings?

Chancing a glance at him, he must be sensing it. His eyes are heavy-lidded and at half-mast, his teeth biting into his bottom lip as if he’s preventing himself from saying something inappropriate.

Slowly I pull my hand away from his, breaking the contact and severing the insta-lust permeating the air around our little table.

Blessedly, a waiter I’ve known for years pops over to our table. “Hey, Kat. Sorry it took so long. You two want to order?”

“Yes.” I’m instantly thankful for the respite from the hammering of unexpected feelings slamming into me, all hyperfocused on the wall of man sitting two feet away who has his eyes leveled on me.

“Okay, do you know what you want?” The waiter asks me, but Carson responds instantly.

“I abso-fuckin-lutely know exactly what I want.” He stares unwaveringly at me. “Something I’ve been craving for a long, long time,” Carson growls.

His words hit me like a wrecking ball, and I gasp. The connection, the sexual energy we’ve always had ignites in Carson’s presence, barreling to the surface.

The desire.

The need.

The ache.

The want.

All of it spears through my body, mind, and soul as if it has always been there, lying dormant, waiting until its mate came back to claim it. I am so fucked.

I know, sitting across from him, his eyes darker than normal and hyperfocused on me, things are going to change tonight. I could never have anticipated how much.

“I’ll take a shot of Patrón, please,” I mutter, needing something far stronger than a beer.

“Make that four for the table. We need to take the edge off.” Carson smirks, grabs my hand, and toys with my fingers while ordering a couple appetizers. He traces a circle on the center of my palm with his index finger.

I flush with heat, remembering just how good those fingers were against other areas of my skin. “Oh, God.” I bite my lip and glance away.

“Already calling out to God, Sweetcheeks? It’s a little early in the evening. The festivities haven’t even begun yet.” He brings my good hand up to his lips. His stare is mesmerizing as he places a soft, purposeful kiss to the top of each fingertip.

I swallow the dry lump of regrets I’ve had for the past few years. The ones scratching their way up my throat since I spotted him tonight. I’m at a loss. I have no idea what the hell to do or say. He’s got me utterly speechless and so turned on I can hardly see straight. I haven’t allowed any man to flick this switch inside me in years, and all Carson has to do is sit across from me at a table for two in a busy pub, kiss my hand, and I’m jelly.

“What the hell has gotten into me?” I whisper under my breath.

“Nothing as far as I can tell. But that’s going to change tonight.”

The waiter stops by and sets down the shots before shooting off to other thirsty patrons.

“Drink up, buttercup. You’re going to need the liquid courage.” He hands me a tequila shot and a lime wedge. “To what could be.” He lifts the glass between thumb and forefinger, the shot looking positively miniscule in his large hand.

I dumbly follow along with his movements and shoot it back. The liquor provides the scalding sensation I need to continue sitting here and not run away like a scared kitten.

Carson lifts the second shot. I grab mine and follow his lead. The willing marionette.

This time he changes his toast. “To what is meant to be.” His words are laced with promises I’m not sure either of us are ready to keep.

Nonetheless, I once again follow his lead. He raises his hand and holds up four fingers to someone behind me.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I tilt my head, bite my lip, and narrow my gaze.

He grins huge at what I’m sure he sees as a familiar gesture.

“If that’s what it takes.”

The waiter places four more shots on the table. “Food’s coming soon,” he says and is off like a rocket to the next table grappling for his attention.

“What it takes for what?” I lift the third shot, already feeling the burn of alcohol in my gut from the first two on an empty stomach. Each drop of liquor is slowly spreading out through my limbs, making me feel looser and more relaxed. Mostly just making me feel. For the first time in a long time I feel good. Alive.

Then again, the feeling could be attributed to the man smiling like a loon across from me.

“To get back in you.” He lifts the shot and tosses it back. I follow him, not exactly understanding what he said.

“Wait… What?” I blink several times. The room is starting to blur a bit around the edges. The music is pounding out a rhythmic beat, and I sway in time to it in my seat.

Carson licks his lips, and I’m fascinated by the small movement. I want nothing more than to put my lips on his and taste the tequila directly from his tongue. God, those were some good times. Drinking and fucking. But that was all before the accident. Before I lost the body he loved. Before I lost myself.

“You are so beautiful, Kathleen.” He smiles and drops his chin into his hand.

“I miss you.” I admit it under the influence of the alcoholic truth serum I just shot back times three.

He grins. “You don’t have to miss me.” His tone is coated in lust.

“Why is that?” I pick up the last shot. Where is that waiter, anyway? I need more of this awesomeness.

“Because you’ve always had me.” He lifts the glass and shoots it back.

I do the same, searching his eyes for even a hint of bullshit. I find none.

“Fuck.” I swallow around the feelings that bubble up, not knowing how to deal with them in my inebriated state.

“That’s the plan, Sweetcheeks.” One strong eyebrow rises. “I plan to fuck you all night long.”