It pained her to agree.
To not to speak to him – to not look at him and see the man he had become – would kill her. Or at the very least, it would drive her mad trying to work out why he’d strayed so far from home. Nine years was a long time. Maybe he’d have forgotten all about how she’d thrown herself at him, humiliating herself to the extent that she’d fled her hometown?
Yeah, and maybe pigs had suddenly learned to fly too.
‘Hi, Dean,’ she mumbled.
‘It is you,’ he said, his tone friendly and sounding pleased to see her. If only she could deny feeling the same. ‘I knew it.’
‘Yeah, it’s me.’ She stared down at his feet like the timid and shy teenager she’d been when her brother had first introduced Dean to the family. Except she wasn’t that person any more. No, she may quite probably be even worse these days but he didn’t know that. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, delaying the moment when their eyes would meet. ‘Long time no –’
Her jaw actually dropped and her mouth gaped open to betray her reaction. Smart brogue business shoes – well-polished – gave way to an expensive-looking grey pinstripe suit – Armani, if she wasn’t mistaken. He’d teamed it with a crisp white shirt and a deep red silk tie – the colour of blood – tied in a fancy Windsor knot, and then he’d completed the ensemble with a dark woollen overcoat. Left undone, it only served to highlight his spectacular physique.
Butterflies took flight in her belly, fluttering wildly. Where were the scruffy jeans and baggy T-shirts? Tilly committed every inch of this new Dean to memory but couldn’t bring herself to look beyond the shirt collar and tie. Sure to be her undoing, she stared at a button on his coat and swallowed, salivating over him already. She’d always had a thing for men in suits, and she’d always had a thing for Dean; putting the two together was sure to be a winning, or maybe that should be losing, combination.
Dean pocketed his phone then joined her on the bench, sitting so close he could probably hear her heart pounding ferociously against her rib cage. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘Yeah. Fancy that.’
‘Are you all set for Christmas then?’
Since when did Dean give a damn about Christmas? Ripped from her daydream – the one where Dean tracked her down to declare his undying love to her before whisking her away to a country manor – the events of the day came crashing back down on her. The shock and excitement at seeing him drained out of her, seeping out of her shoes into the concrete slabs that were as cold and harsh as the reality she faced.
‘No, not yet. Speaking of which, I really must dash, I’m afraid.’ Afraid being the operative word. Tilly stood, fighting the urge to flinch at the pain lancing through her leg. ‘Bye, then.’ She did her best to saunter off casually, rather than obviously running away. From Dean. Again!
‘Hey, are you okay?’ Damn it, he must have spotted her limp. He caught up with her in a matter of strides, the crowds parting for him whereas she struggled to swim against the tide.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Fine?’ He gripped her shoulders then spun her around to inspect her. She didn’t want to contemplate how bad she looked. ‘Pull the other one.’
Stunned by her body’s reaction to his slight touch, she staggered back a step. ‘I said I’m fine.’ She sounded sullen and brattish even to her own ears. ‘I also said I have to go.’
‘What happened to your shoe?’
She could easily picture the way his brows would be knotted together, frowning down at her, but she didn’t want his concern. She wanted him to leave her alone. Didn’t she? In reality, she was pitifully torn between pushing him away or throwing herself into his arms and clinging on like a frightened child. ‘It doesn’t matter, just forget it.’
Dean either missed the hint and the dangerous edge to her voice or he chose to ignore it. ‘It does matter, and I can’t just forget it. Are you injured?’
Now Tilly really glared at him. ‘For Pete’s sake! I said I’m fine. Just let it go.’ Argh! She’d been right to avoid looking above the shirt collar. The poor light did nothing to hide the transformation he’d gone through. She couldn’t hold the glare; she’d already seen too much. Heat built in her core and merged with the fire that had erupted inside her at his touch.
‘No.’ A hint of menace crept into his voice. It couldn’t possibly be protective; he had no reason to be protective of her. Well, he’d been warned –
‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Tilly jabbed her index finger into his chest and knocked him off balance. ‘It’s not like you care or anything, we’re practically strangers,’ she said, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she unleashed her temper on him. ‘You made your choice a long time ago, Dean, and I bet you had a good laugh at my expense. You must have celebrated for days after I left town.’
‘Bullshit!’ Dean grabbed her hand. The sudden zap sent a shudder through her bones powerful enough to paralyse her entire arm. He pinned it to her side anyway and then reached for the other one but she didn’t have the physical strength to attack him any more.
‘Swearing really doesn’t mesh with your new image.’ She made a point of looking him up and down. ‘What the hell happened to you anyway? Did you get dragged kicking and screaming onto one of those makeover shows?’
‘This isn’t about me. What’s going on?’
‘None of your business. Now let go of me.’ The heat from his hands warmed her skin through her winter coat and muddled her brain. Tilly tugged her arms up to try to get free but Dean held on.
‘No.’
‘You can be such a bastard.’ She tried again, twisting and pulling at the same time but it didn’t get her anywhere. If anything his grip tightened. ‘Let go of me right now, or I swear I’ll scream my head off.’
‘No, you won’t.’
‘I will.’ She met his stare with defiance.
‘You seem to forget I know you far too well.’
‘Like hell you do. You don’t know me at all. Not any more. Maybe not even back then.’ Except he did, and the arrogant son of a bitch knew she’d been calling his bluff.
Well, she’d show him.
Tilly didn’t give a damn about her dignity or about causing a scene any more. Her need to wipe the smug look off Dean’s face outweighed all of that – not that she’d actually seen it, she didn’t dare look at him again, but it had to be there. What was one more humiliating memory to add to the collection?
***
Dean waited, trying not to smirk. Tilly would never do it. No way. But then she took in a deep breath, opened her mouth, and tried to deafen him. Shocked into action, he swooped down and covered her mouth with his, absorbing the sound into himself to muffle it.
The scream stopped with a squeak and Tilly’s knees gave way so he was the only thing keeping her upright. He tried not to notice how delicate she felt in his arms, small and petite; he could probably still wrap his hands around her waist. And he absolutely did not notice how soft and pliable her lips were under his, or how warm they were despite the cold air, or how perfectly they fitted against his.
It wasn’t like he was kissing her – hell, no – this was nothing but damage limitation. Now he just had to convince the rest of him. In startling 4D clarity, he could imagine exactly what it would be like to kiss her and he wanted it badly. No, it went deeper than ‘want’: he needed to kiss her like he needed air to breathe.
But he couldn’t… he’d made a promise.
Dean pulled back abruptly