Braxton Richfield.

Just thinking his name had me hot, had me thinking of all kinds of things I probably shouldn’t. It had me wondering what it would be like to have the older man touch me, strip me of my clothes, and make me feel like I was flying and I’d never touch the ground again.

“Moira?”

I blinked and glanced at my father, Charles. His girlfriend of only three months sat beside him, not much older than my twenty years, and had a bored expression on her face.

“Where’d you go off to?”

I shook my head and glanced down at my napkin, which was placed over my lap. The once-a-week dinners I had with my father were usually pretty smooth, but tonight he’d informed me that his lifelong friend—Braxton—was coming in from New York and wanted to meet to catch up.

We’d come into the city, gotten a couple of suites for the night so my father and Braxton could catch up without being on a time constraint, and I was nervous as hell to see him.

It had been a couple of years since I’d seen Braxton—the man I’d been in love with for longer than I even wanted to admit to myself. He was older than me, so sophisticated, smart, and God, sexy as hell.

I didn’t care if he was this huge CEO of a billion-dollar corporation. I didn’t care if he had his own private jet, a villa in the south of France, or access to the most beautiful women in the world.

He was the only man I wanted, the only one I’d ever wanted. He was the one person I’d saved my virginity for, even if having him as my first would probably never happen. I started getting really antsy, my nerves growing higher.

I tried to focus on the appetizer in front of me, staring at the bottle of champagne my father got for him and his date and wishing I could reach across the table and take a nice long swig from it. A little liquid courage would have gone a long way in helping me feel less unraveled.

And then I saw the way my father straightened in the chair, and knew the object of my love was here.

“Braxton,” my father said, his voice raised, happy. He stood, his girlfriend not having the respect to follow suit.

I had my back to Braxton, so I took a deep breath, tried to calm myself, and stood. When I rose and turned around, my heart stalled.

He wasn’t dressed in one of those expensive three-piece suits he wore to business meetings. No, his huge body was covered in a dark gray button-down shirt and black slacks. He had the sleeves rolled up, showing off his thick, muscular forearms. I could see some of the tattoos I knew he had on his biceps.

The flash of his gold watch under the lights stunned me for a second, or maybe it was the fact my emotions were working overtime right now.

“Charles, it’s so good to see you again.”

My father and Braxton clapped hands, the happiness in their faces clear. It had been years since they’d seen each other, and I knew this had to be an incredible moment for them. Hell, it was for me.

And then Braxton was facing me, looking right into my eyes, and making me feel like my heart had dropped to my stomach. I shivered, goose bumps popping up along my bare arms.

“Moira.” He said my name in that deep, thick voice of his. I shivered again.

His hair was dark, short, and the trimmed beard he sported made him look older, but only in the best of ways.

Yeah, I was so head over heels in love with this man, flying so high I could touch the sky, and I knew I’d never be on solid ground again.

* * *

Several hours had passed since I’d met up with Charles and Moira at the restaurant. They’d gotten a suite at the hotel I was currently staying at, and although I was trying to focus on what my lifelong friend was telling me, all I could think about was how much I wanted his daughter.

That was such a dirty-bastard kind of thing to say, but it was the truth, so fucking true I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I tried concentrating on the updates Charles gave me on his business, the way his company had flourished, and the number of high-end accounts they had coming in. But my attention was on the gorgeous woman sitting off to the side.

Moira had put her long black hair up in this messy bun, and the outfit she wore was laid-back, comfortable even. I much preferred her in this state than when she’d been dressed and was dripping with jewelry at the restaurant. This was the real Moira.

I’d only seen her that once after all those years: the night of her graduation. She was the type of woman that would rather be home, relaxing, watching a movie, than going out for the post-graduation partying.

I’d cherished that memory for the last two years.

And as much as I wanted to stop Charles, admit how I felt for his daughter—tell Moira my feelings—I knew I had to tread carefully.

But I would tell her how I felt. I would make her mine. Nothing would stop me, not now that I was back and had seen her again after all these years.

My love for her had only grown, and I knew it always would.