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Chapter1
*IT WASN’T THAT ABIGAIL was still into Gray Fortescue. She wasn’t a total idiot. How could she be into a guy who’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with her? And he’d done that, oh so very well, with each phrase he’d uttered on the night he’d ended their whirlwind affair. Never mind that she’d fallen in love with him. Never mind that she thought she’d been living out her very own Happily Ever After.
But Abby wasn’t stupid, and she knew you couldn’t force someone to love you – not even if you wanted it with your whole, entire heart. She had plenty of experience with that, after all. So, she’d moved on, just like she had from her ex-fiancé. She’d picked up the pieces, accepting that for the second time in her life, she’d allowed herself to fall for Mr. Wrong, promising herself she’d never be so stupid again. Promising herself she’d never, ever contact Grayson-Billionaire-Fortescue, not even if her life depended on it.
And it had.
In the two years since their affair, there’d been many times when she’d hit a new rock bottom and wanted to reach out. To ask him for help. Their child was his responsibility too, after all. But whenever she’d thought of picking up the phone, she’d heard his words, as clear as if he were standing in the room with her and uttering them anew:
This was just sex, Abigail, nothing more. Great sex, sure, but not a prelude to falling in love. I live in London, you live here. There’s no future for us. This was just a rebound fling. You were upset about cancelling your wedding, I wanted to cheer you up.
To cheer her up! He’d been so resolute. So hurtful. Each sentence, uttered in his impeccable British accent, had shattered the illusion she’d been swept up in, and made her feel like a complete charity case, not to mention a fool. Shehadbeen a fool then, too willing to believe that his grand gestures and the appearance of adoration amounted to anything more than casual flirtation.
And she’d been left holding the baby, literally.
So Abigail Brenna definitely wasn’t still into Gray Fortescue, but she’d thought of him every day since their affair ended. Every time she’d looked into their daughter’s green eyes, brushed her silky brown hair, seen the dimples chiseled deep into her cheeks. Even Charlotte’s laugh reminded her of Gray, the sweet sound causing Abby’s heart to skip a beat, reminding her of the brief window of time when she’d believed everything was actually going to work out for her. She saw him whenever she held their daughter and now, surrounded by New York’s elite, carrying a tray laden with champagne flutes, she saw him in the flesh. Not their daughter’s rendition of his features, but the original version; his face, his body, all of him, across the crowded ballroom, and she was reminded, forcibly, of the first night they’d met.
Heat flushed her cheeks, panic making a ringing sound in her ears and she turned quickly—so quickly she almost lost two champagne flutes off the edge of her tray. She swore softly under her breath, making a beeline for the kitchen, her heart rushing, her skin tingling, her world crashing down around her.
She hadn’t banked on seeing him again.
He lived in England. Well, as much as Gray livedanywhere.In the brief time they’d been dating – no, not dating: sleeping together, she corrected swiftly – he’d taken her to his penthouse in Paris, Tokyo, to his yacht in the Mediterranean, and a mansion in the Greek islands. He was a well-heeled vagrant.
And now, he was here in Manhattan, a feted guest at the ball she’d been hired to work.
“OhmyGod.”Abby pushed into the kitchen and placed the tray down on the edge of the bench, ignoring the look from the chef. “I just need a minute,” she muttered, without looking up.
“No worries.”
She closed her eyes, but it didn’t help. It didn’t blot out the image of the man she’d once thought she loved. And unlike the dreams that had haunted her for two years, since their affair ended, she couldn’t simply reassure herself that he was ancient history, and move on with her day.
“I’ve got a tray of crab cakes ready to go,” another chef said, carrying the tray towards her with no idea that she was undergoing a mini breakdown.
“Oh, right.” She nodded, wishing she didn’t need the money from this job so much, wishing she could just walk out. But the tips alone from something like this would cover her rent for the week, and she needed to stay in good standing with the catering company.
She pushed a bright smile to her face, even as her heart was tripping over itself. “They smell delicious.”
The chef winked at her then swiped one off the tray, pushing it into his mouth. “They are.”
She turned and left the sanctuary of the kitchen, moving back into the party, her eyes betraying her by immediately seeking him out, even as she told herself to ignore him, avoid him.
He was locked in conversation with two other men, and a woman stood a little distance away, her pose indicating boredom, her proximity suggesting she was still somehow attached to their group. Was she with Gray? Abby’s heart flip-flopped. It wouldn’t surprise her. She was just the kind of woman Abby had tortured herself by imagining Gray with. Tall and slender with long blonde hair and bright red lips, in a silk slip dress that screamed ‘look at me’, she was the polar opposite of vertically-challenged, brunette, shy and meek Abby.
She stayed as far away from Gray as it was humanly possible to be, waitressing the edges of the party, working the fringe. And if some guests thought it was odd that she offered them shrimp a dozen times, then so be it. She just wanted the night to be over.
I don’t want the same things as you; I’m not interested in settling down, ever. Not with you, not with anyone. I’m sorry if I misled you.But he hadn’t misled her. When she’d reflected on their relationship, she realized he’d never once made her any promises, said anything that should have allowed her foolish fantasies to take hold. It was just their different expectations. For Abby, she’d always wanted the ‘happily ever after’. And for Grayson, that just wasn’t on his radar. Or perhaps it just took a different form – like sleeping on a bed of money with a different glamazon beneath him every night.
She groaned under her breath, discreetly checking the time on her wristwatch. Her shift was almost over. Relief sent a tremor of warmth through her body, but even as she experienced that emotion, her eyes sought him out, as if to indulge one final look, to let herself say goodbye, because surely they’d never meet again. Lightning might strike once, but not twice, and they moved in completely different worlds.
She scanned the crowd, finding him easily – at six and a half feet, Grayson stood inches over his companions. Unlike the rest of the men, who wore black suits or tuxedos, his was a navy blue, with a crisp white shirt. No tie. His hair, thick and brown, was brushed back from his brow. Her eyes lingered on his face, the temptation to stare at him one she indulged only because she was far, far across the room, obscured from view by the dozens of people that stood between them. She let her gaze drift downwards, to the breadth of his shoulders, lower still to his chest, which she knew to be firmly muscled and sparsely covered in dark hair. She remembered the tattoo that ran across his pec, right below his heart – his brigade from Iraq. She remembered running her finger over the cursive script reverently, then tasting it with her tongue, the way he’d sucked in a shallow breath as she’d flicked higher, catching his nipple. Now it was Abby’s breath that caught in her throat, the memory burning her, sucking her back into the past dangerously hard and fast, making it all seem real again, making her ache for him in a way she’d forbidden herself from feeling.
She had to get out of there.
Her eyes didn’t get the memo. They soaked him in, his frame, his body, every inch of him, before returning to his face for one last, long look before she cut the cord and walked away from him – again.
Slowly, her eyes raked his lips, remembering the way he’d tasted and felt as he’d tasted her, his nose – strong and confident – and finally, his eyes.
And the world stopped spinning, because those green eyes were staring right back at her, seeing her, remembering her.
