Chapter 1
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Six Years Later
Familiar and mischievous emerald-green eyes greeted Emma and she felt her breath involuntarily hitch as she almost dropped her coffee. She fought to keep control in the enclosed space of the elevator, and the newspaper nearly slipped from her shaky fingers.
Her mind drifted to this man, responsible for countless orgasms, bed head, and sweaty sheets on a trip abroad.
Patrick Taylor.
The man she’d had a crush on all through high school, and well into college, stood right in front of her. Helpless to stop them, sharp, clear-as-if-it’d-been-yesterday images of their first kiss, and their first time making love on that beach, as a dizzying current of memories flooded the edges of her brain.
Seven—count them, seven—amazing nights beyond compare, changed everything.
She’d willingly gotten into a casual, ‘no strings attached’ fling with him on said trip.
Ha, no strings attached, my ass.
Even so, it had resulted in the most spectacular sex, ever, not only limited to bedrooms, but on deserted beaches while the waves lapped at their feet, under an endless canopy of stars. In forgotten, tucked-away caves, broad daylight casting a glow over their bodies. The thrill of potentially getting caught made things hotter.
Goodness gracious, he’d had her in all sorts of naughty positions, had seen every square inch of her. And likewise, as his sharp suit and tie did nothing to hide the sinful perfection she knew lay beneath. Her mouth watered. Those days and nights replayed in her brain, times locked away for years. But now, between his intoxicating scent, and that knowing, heated glance, everything poured out like melted butter.
His hands, furiously tearing at the very little clothing she’d worn, and his skillful mouth, suckling at her breasts. Before going lower, casting aside her bikini bottoms, and using his talents elsewhere and everywhere on her body.
Clearing her throat, she took a sip of her coffee and focused on the elevator numbers across the panel, mentally willing them to go faster. Errant, whispered chatter, and the hum of the elevator blended through the otherwise silent space.
Now was not the time to take a jaunt down sexy memory lane. The paper abandoned, tucked under her arm, she attempted to look anywhere other than at him, even if she felt his gaze locked on her. What could she do? They were in a crowded elevator, for God’s sake.
As she kept her eyes trained on the numbers, she felt Patrick’s penetrating stare burn through her. Hell, he could probably hear her thoughts, and damn it, the elevator needed to move quicker. She needed to get the hell out of there. Stifling air wrapped her in its heady embrace. She was entirely too self-conscious of that heated stare, still trained on her, and if he continued, her knees would surely give way.
Especially if he can read my mind.
Calmly, as if he wasn’t standing a few feet away, Emma shifted the newspaper from under her arm, staring blindly at the first page. The photos, the latest happenings, the small print were all a blur. She couldn’t focus on anything.
Needing to keep a cool head, she took a few cleansing breaths. Despite her pounding heart, Patrick didn’t need to see the effect he had on her.
First things first, she had to find out what on earth he was doing here.
Second, she had to avoid him at all costs, if possible.
The elevator pinged, and, finally, she’d arrived at her destination.
No easy feat in heels, she half-ran, half-walked until she reached the safe haven of her office, nearly spilling her still-hot coffee.
After shutting the door behind her, she set her cup, and newspaper down, and collapsed into her chair. A deep sigh of relief escaped, and she closed her eyes. Holy. Shit. After all this time, what were the odds of running into Patrick, here of all places?
She placed a hand over her heart and attempted to keep herself together. Breathe in, breathe out, Emma.
Who was she kidding? She could not keep calm, as thoughts of him, and those magical nights on Santorini overloaded her senses. How intense the sex had been. How intense he’d been, and how fantastic they’d been together. Her stomach clenched as she remembered the last time she’d seen him before today.
Upon arrival back in the States, he’d completely shut down and erected a wall. As if that week had meant absolutely nothing to him. He’d given her the cold shoulder, and acted like a total stranger, aloof, as though they had not shared the most amazing week together.
She remembered the brisk fall day as she’d made her way to his dormitory, her heart full of hope, and her mind chocked to capacity with questions. She needed to know what’d changed within these last few days. Even though she felt entirely naïve and foolish, she knew she at least had to try. Finally, she’d made her way, climbing three flights of stairs, straightened her shoulders, drew her confidence, and poised her hand to knock.
Whispered, hushed voices from behind the door gave her pause. One of the voices belonged to Patrick. The other to an unknown, but very willing and passionate female, and she’d heard enough. She stepped back as if the door had suddenly burst into flames.
The lump of disappointment tasted bitter on her tongue, landing with a painful thud in her belly. Before anyone discovered her, she quietly walked away. She’d pretty much avoided him afterward, although that hadn’t been difficult, all things considered. He’d graduated a mere few weeks later.
The week in Greece had obviously meant more to her than it had to him, and he had broken her heart.
A light rap at the door drew her attention from painful memories.
Opening her eyes, she watched her best friend and roommate, Sarah, pop her head inside. A sunny smile decorated her heart-shaped face.
Pressing a trembling hand to her chest, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. “Good morning, Sarah.”
“Hey there. Are you okay? The way you ran across the lob—”
“Get in here and shut the door.” Now wasn’t the time to give a long, drawn-out explanation.
Sarah frowned, but did as asked. “What’s going on?”
Enough of this foolishness. Emma stood, tugged her shirt down, and smoothed it out, then calmly made her way to the window. Twisting the blinds partially open, she nearly collapsed at the delicious sight of Patrick, across the lobby, standing with a small crowd gathered near a cluster of desks.
Her heart kicked up a beat when she spotted him, because damn he looked absolutely incredible in that suit, a dashing light heather-gray with a navy, striped tie, and a baby-blue shirt. His body had barely been touched by time, and the suit hugged him to perfection. His handsome face, his smile, and, dear God, everything about him, made her libido do a little jig.
She wanted him flat on his back right now.
Her hand found its way to her burning cheek, and she reined her thoughts in.
Clearing her throat, she finally found her words. “Do you see him? Over there in the gray suit?”
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and she let out a low, appreciative wolf whistle. “Who’s the stud?”
“Patrick Taylor.”
Her friend gasped, moving closer to the glass.
Emma inwardly bristled as she watched Sarah about press her nose to the window, as though admiring fresh rolls in a bakery window like a starving woman who’d not eaten in months. She scoffed because good grief, it appeared nobody was immune to this man’s charms and heady, potent sex appeal.
“The Patrick Taylor? The one you—”
Emma quickly put her hand up, uncomfortable having it voiced out loud. Uncomfortable having her best friend checking Patrick out, not that she could blame her.
An irrational stab of jealousy seeped through her, and she shoved it aside. “Yes. The one I had a fling with in college. Six years ago.”
Her best friend cocked her head, studying him further. “Is he sexy or what?”
Emma couldn’t stop staring either and she took a moment to look at him. A good, hard look. He hadn’t aged a bit, it seemed, sandy, wavy blond hair, a bit shorter now, disarming full lips that spread into a smile, piercing her in the gut, even if it wasn’t aimed at her. He was clean-shaven, and showing off a strong, dimpled, and still thoroughly adorable chin.
Her lips parted as she recalled his enticing, earthy scent filling her nostrils in the confined space of the elevator. And those captivating green eyes. Eyes that could probably see right through her, see her thoughts, very erotic, dirty, she shouldn’t be thinking in the daytime. Would-probably-burn-in-hell kinds of thoughts.
One of her co-workers, laughed, and batted her eyelashes at him, carrying on about God-knew-what. Emma gasped as the brunette grasped his arm, handling him like a juicy, ripe peach at the market, trying to decide if he should come home with her, and already deciding how she’d . . . Over her dead body!
Whoa, take it easy, she chastised herself.
“Hello? Earth to Emma?”
Her friend snapped fingers in front of her face, bringing her back to the present.
Emma shook off the mental images of Patrick and her co-worker. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“Yes, boy is this going to be fun. Because Patrick sure has you under his spell, and the feeling seems to be mutual.”
Emma looked up, finding his eyes already locked on hers from across the lobby. His expression smoldered with desire, singeing the fine hairs on her arms. As if under hypnosis, he made it impossible to look away. She broke eye contact and twisted the blinds shut again, almost regretting having opened them. Stepping away as if burned, her heart pounded, joining the lively mariachi band playing in her chest. She drew a deep, measured breath, another fruitless attempt at calm, but she had to try for sanity’s sake.
Emma bristled. “What the hell’s he doing here, anyway?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, staff meeting in ten minutes.” Sarah hesitated in the doorframe, and laughter snorted through her nose.
Alone again, Emma’s mind reeled non-stop, and her lungs heaved.
He’s just a man I had sex with. He’s just a man I had sex with, meaningless sex, and nothing more whatsoever.
She closed her eyes as she pressed her fingers into her temples. She would keep things professional or die trying.
A knock at the door jerked her back to her senses.
It was most likely Sarah, coming back to harass her. “If you came to tease me about Patrick, then you’d better think again.”
She opened the door, but it wasn’t Sarah on the other side.