CHAPTER FOUR

“That answers my question. Those glasses are indeed breakable,” Brent said, tapping on his glass as he sat back down with a new drink and raised it in a toast. The waitress had just given it to him after quickly handling the spill.

James laughed and clinked their glasses. “Good thing you tested it. I was so damn worried,” he said, and Shannon faked a smile, still shaking in her skin. Blood pounded in her head, and the entire bar seemed to sway and bob, like a boat on the seas. She dug her fingernails into the leather of the armchair she’d claimed—a necessary stake in the ground because it gave her distance from that man. That man she wasn’t supposed to see tonight. Who wasn’t supposed to be there. Who had been just as surprised to see her. And who was doing a much better job at covering it up than she was, with his little jokes, and his self-deprecating humor.

Fucking bastard.

Everything was so easy for him.

The man was a master at ad-libbing, at covering up the hole in the routine.

She hated that he had the ability to patch a gaffe so quickly. But a small part of her was pleased that he’d been so shocked he’d dropped his glasses.

“In any case, now that my CEO has finished his quality control inspection of the Mandarin’s glassware, I’d like to introduce everyone,” James began, gesturing to Shannon and her brother. “This is Shay Sloan, the founder and head choreographer for Shay Productions. And her brother, Colin Sloan, a financier who advises Shay Productions. Shay and Colin, allow me to introduce Brent Nichols, who runs Edge.”

Colin rose first. “Good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, and extended a hand to the man he’d met at Christmas the year Brent had proposed. But Colin knew how to cover up the past, and knew intuitively that she’d want him to.

“All good, I hope,” Brent said, with a quirk to his lips, though he had to know it couldn’t be good. Colin, Ryan and Michael knew exactly how Brent had dumped her.

“And this is—” James began, gesturing to her, but Brent jumped in.

“Shan—”

“Shay Sloan,” she said quickly, correcting him before he said too much. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here either,” he said, and James shot Brent a strange look as if to say ‘of course you were’ but he said nothing aloud.

Brent shook her hand next, and instantly a million things zipped through her body. Memories, feelings, promises. He never once took his deep brown eyes off hers as their fingers laced together. She drew a breath and wished that she didn’t feel a slight charge in her body from the way his gaze held hers. But she did. The fluttery sensation spread through her with every breath. For a second, maybe more, they were the only ones there. The handshake went on longer than it should have.

James tilted his head to the side and gestured from Shannon to Brent. “You two know each other?”

Worry gripped her instantly, breaking the moment. She had no clue if Brent felt tricked or hoodwinked that she was behind Shay Productions. She dropped his hand, gulped, and parted her lips to answer.

Brent jumped in. “We both went to school in Boston, I believe. Isn’t that right, Shay?”

She squeaked out a yes, breathing easier. He seemed to be guiding the awkwardness out of the way so neither one had to admit how they had known each other, or how well.

“Yes. I went to the Boston Conservatory,” she said, as she shrugged off her silvery wrap.

“And I was at Boston College. We had friends in common, didn’t we, Shay?” he asked with a slight smile, keeping it casual, making it easy for her.

She nodded and wished she knew why he was knitting a fable, but she was glad he was. Their past was theirs. It didn’t need to be part of their business partnership. Clearly, he was a pro at keeping entanglements off the table.

“We did. It’s good to see you again,” she said, plastering on her best seemingly natural smile.

His eyes never strayed from her, and he lowered his voice, speaking in the barest whisper, the words hardly audible, but his lips readable. “Is it?”

Her chest rose and fell, and she didn’t know how to answer. Her skin was white hot all over. Seeing him again stirred up so many memories, not only of the cruel, callous way he’d ended their love, but also of the way she’d leaned on him so much, and how he’d been there for her every time she’d needed him. He’d been her rock.

Too bad he was as handsome as ever, and still stitched with the same mix of intensity and charm that he’d possessed more than ten years ago. She glanced down, adjusted her skirt, and reached for a glass of ice water, the cubes hitting her teeth as she knocked back half the liquid.

“Yes, it’s great to see you again,” she said, hardly knowing if she was speaking truth or lie.

“Let’s get down to business then,” James said, and for a while Colin and he did most of the talking while Brent leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and raked his eyes over her, as if he was undressing her again, as if he was drinking her in, cataloguing her hair and its new dark shade, considering her bare shoulders, roaming his eyes over her breasts, landing on her legs. She swallowed, her throat parched again, and took another drink. He’d always loved her legs.

A memory slammed into her of the way he would press his hands on her thighs, spread her open, then tell her to wrap her legs around his shoulders. She’d say yes and give herself to him. Let him take her there. Let him rain pleasure down on her.

A flash of heat tore through her body.

She had to collect herself. She stood up and grabbed her purse. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to powder my nose.”

She walked past the hostess stand and around the corner, trying to calm her quickening pulse with steady, measured breaths. She grabbed the handle of the ladies room door, and a hand came down on her shoulder.

She whirled around, coming face to face in the darkened hallway with the man she’d once planned to marry.

“Shannon,” he said. Her name sounded rough on his lips.

“Brent,” she said, doing her best to stay cool in her tone.

“How are you?”

After all those years, after all the pain, this was what they were? Two adults practicing benign civility outside the ladies room? She’d always imagined if she saw him again that she’d punch him. Or fuck him. Never had she thought they’d talk like this. Like they meant nothing to each other. The strained tone lit into her like a fuse.

“I’m fine,” she answered, reminding herself it was better this way. Better to be able to stand near him and manage the basics. Even though the basics were stretching her thin.

“How have you been?”

“Good.”

He stepped closer. She retreated against the wall. Her pulse pounded viciously.

“James told me he was talking to you. I’ve heard of your shows. But I never knew Shay Sloan was you. I guess that makes me a world-class idiot.” He raised his arm, as if he were going to touch her. Muscle memory maybe. The past rearing its head. But he didn’t. He kept his hands to himself, and she was both glad and angry. “But then, I think we both know I’m a world-class idiot.”

She sighed, her heart heavy with his words. Was this his way of apologizing? They were long past apologies. The fact that he was apologizing in some way for not knowing who she was now felt... meaningless.

“Is this a problem? Is it better if we step aside so you can find another company to work with?” she asked, sidestepping his comment, staying focused on the issue at hand. Business, only business. The more she zeroed in on that, the better off she’d be. The less tempted her thoughts would be to stray to days gone by. Because lord knew, with him standing inches away, his strong body so dangerously near to her, she felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a cliff. His mere presence reminded her both of how much she’d loved him, and how goddamn hard she’d had to fight to get over him. “I’d understand if you don’t want to work together given our…” She let her voice trail off.

He shook his head, his eyes still locked on hers. She wanted desperately to look away. Instead, she noticed every detail. The way he swallowed. The line of his jaw. The intensity in his gaze.

The tension that radiated from him.

Her nerves were frayed thin from the battle inside her, from the tug of war waged between heart and body. She was comprised of two opposing desires. Something soft and needy and desperate in her wanted to throw her arms around him and ask how he’d been and where the years had gone. Something hard and angry and bitter wanted to lift a knee and kick him right in the balls, then to slam her fists into his chest and tell him how everything hurt so goddamn much when he’d left her behind.

There was another side, too. A curious one. The one that still wondered what could have been.

Finally, he answered her question. “No, it’s not a problem. I want the best for my business. James tells me you’re the best.”

My business.

Everything inside her snapped. That tight line of tension was severed. Like when a tightrope is chopped in half and the acrobat tumbles wildly to the ring, she let loose. “Guess comedy worked out really well for you,” she said harshly, wanting to slice him with words. “It’s a good thing you put your career first. Since you’re not even doing what was so fucking important to you ten years ago.”

She turned and pushed hard on the ladies room door. But she felt his hand around her wrist, and he yanked her back, spinning her in one quick move, so she was chest to chest with him. She felt his breath on her.

“It did work out well for me. I’m also not the same person I was ten years ago,” he said, then did that thing again—that thing where he undressed her with his eyes, where he fucked her completely with his hot, dirty stare. “And you obviously have become a different person, too.”

He tugged her, pulled her closer. His heart pounded against her breasts. His hand gripped her lower back.

He felt so good that she didn’t resist because her stupid body was stuck in the past, was living ten years ago when he alone was the one who could help her, who could free her, who could erase all the pain in one touch. Then he took away the one pure, true thing in her life in his cruel exit. He took away himself.

She jammed a hand against the strong, firm chest that she knew intimately. The fucker. “I had reasons. Real reasons. Life and death reasons,” she said in a low hiss.

He shut his eyes briefly, then somehow his arms were around her, and this time his touch wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t lustful. It was an embrace. From someone who knew nearly everything about her.

“Are you okay? Are you safe?” he asked in a whisper into her hair.

A tear had the audacity to slip out of her eye. To slide down her cheek, and fall onto his shoulder. It was a Pavlovian reaction. Too many tears had fallen on that shoulder.

“Yes,” she said quietly, with a nod. “I am. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

He pulled back, tucked a hand under her chin, and lifted her face. She was so close to him she could trace the outline of his jaw, could run the pad of her finger over his stubble, his unbearably sexy eight-o-clock shadow. She could drag her fingernails through the soft, thick strands of his hair that belonged between her hands. She could look in his eyes as he moved in her, those deep, soulful eyes that understood her. Somehow, he was rough and gentle, he was charming and fierce, and he was funny and dirty. He was the man she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

“Are you sure?” he asked, so much tenderness and worry in his tone.

She gathered herself, and willed that obstinate organ in her chest to stop beating in double time. She ordered her traitorous body to cease trembling just from being near him. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He let her go, and tipped his forehead back to the bar. “I should get out there. They’ll start wondering. See you in a few.”

And he walked away. Like the last time she’d seen him, when he had so easily disconnected from her.

She pushed open the ladies room door, walked to the sink, dropped her hands onto the cool tile and let out the longest, hardest breath. She hoped to hell this was the only time she’d have to deal with Brent Nichols.

When she was near to him like that, she couldn’t think straight. She could only feel. And that was far too dangerous for her heart.