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Right now the only thing she was ready for was to launch herself over the twelve-foot stone wall encircling the courtyard. She would have done if she hadn’t been wandering around Europe aimlessly for the last month, only to find herself in some café in Paris, nursing a lacklustre cappuccino and the realisation that it didn’t matter how far she ran, her aching heart still lay inside her chest and the memories lingered. Peace was nowhere to be found and solitude just made the emptiness deeper. She had to face him. Prove to herself she was over him.
‘How far?’ Appalled by her serious case of the jitters, she nailed her feet to the paved slabs. ‘How far?’
An unholy glee lit up her father’s graphite eyes. ‘Thirty feet and closing.’
She stifled the urge to smooth her riotous mane, insanely grateful that she’d developed a fetish for dresses, and silently chanted an endless loop of, He will not affect me. I am completely over him. He will not affect—
‘Good evening, Miss Seraphina Scott.’
Ohh, this was not good. ‘This’ being the hellish swarm of fireflies lighting up her midriff in a mad, wild rush at the mere sound of his rich, sinful drawl.
More than a little woozy, she focused on turning gracefully, determined not to fall at his feet. She took a deep breath, raised her chin, then pivoted on her entirely too adventurous heels...
And went up in flames.
Doomed. She was totally and utterly doomed.
Dressed in a sharp black custom-fit suit and a thin silk tie, as if he’d just stepped off a movie set, Finn St George struck a stunning pose of insolent flair. All potent masculinity and devilish panache.
Confident as ever. A little arrogant. A whole lot bold.
Pure joy lapped at her senses—she’d missed him so much.
All that deliberately unkempt dirty blond hair was now long enough to curl over the collar of his crisp white shirt and that face... Oh, my life, he was so amazingly beautiful.
No depraved gleam in those cerulean blues tonight. Fantastical as the idea was, she fancied those eyes were darkly intense, savagely focused on her—a hunter stalking the ultimate prey. After weeks of living a dull, aching existence her body came alive, as if it recognised its mate, and her heart fluttered, trying to break free from the confines of her chest—
Serena slammed the cage shut and stamped on the brakes of her speeding thoughts. She would not misread those practised looks or his artful words. Not ever again.
He made her vulnerable to him with a click of his über-talented fingers, but demons would dance with angels before he stole more of her heart or her pride. So she dug out the biggest smile in her arsenal and directed her voice to super-sweet.
‘Hey, Lothario, miss me?’
* * *
He wanted her now. Now! Fiercely. Possessively. Permanently.
When Mick Scott had texted him twenty minutes ago—Guess whose girl is here?—Finn hadn’t trusted his luck but had tossed some clothes on nonetheless.
Now if he could just get over the shattering bodily impact of his first sight of her in weeks maybe he could think straight. As it was he had claws digging into his guts, demanding he haul her into his arms, delve into those fiery locks and slash his mouth over hers. But he reckoned since he’d messed up so catastrophically that winning her heart was going to require some finesse.
Mick eased by, patted Finn’s shoulder and murmured, ‘Try not to mess it up this time.’
Finn swallowed. Hard. Then told himself to forget about his boss and focus on his future. His entire life wrapped in a sensational electric-blue sheath. If she’d have him. Forgive him. Let him love her. Because that was all he had—his love.
This was it. The greatest risk of all. Because nothing came close to the potent charge of adrenaline that barrelled through his system when he was within ten feet of her. Fifty championships wouldn’t even come close.
Had he missed her?
‘I certainly have, Miss Scott. In fact I can easily say I’ve been miserable since the moment you left.’
He’d been plunged back into another hellhole, this one definitely of his own making, and he was determined to rectify that, no matter how long it took.
Granted, his admission hadn’t worked the way he’d hoped—not if the stunned flash of incredulity in her sparkling grey gaze was anything to go by. Even the two feet separating them was a hot whirlpool that snap, crackled and popped with her pique.
Aw, man, maybe he was playing this all wrong. But the truth was he was nervous. Him. The man who flirted with death and had practically invented the word reckless.
‘Yeah, okay, which is why you’ve already moved on and couldn’t even spare me a phone call.’
Finn shoved his hands into his trouser pockets in case he lost his tenuous grip and just kissed the living daylights out of her. ‘I wanted to give you some time to figure out how you feel. It hasn’t been easy for me, Serena. It’s been bloody agonising. You have no idea how many times I drove to the airport—’
