“So how is your sister?”
Her gaze jerked to his. “She’s good. At university now.”
He chuckled. “That was a fast eight years.”
She glanced away as the barista called her name and handed her coffee and scone to her. “Yes. It was.”
“And what about you?”
Her nerve endings quivered. She’d let him leave her so he could become successful. The last thing she wanted to admit was what a failure she’d been. “What about me?”
“How have you been?”
He motioned to an empty table and her heart stuttered. He was going to sit with her?
She sighed at her own stupidity. Of course, he was. Eight years had gone by. Those eight years had been very good to him. She was the one with the past she wanted to hide. And if she made a big deal of this, he’d probe until he discovered the things that would humiliate her. Even if she told him she’d enrolled at university with Melony but had stayed behind the first semester to give her sister a taste of freedom, it would just prove it had taken her almost eight years to get her life together.
She led them to the table, slid out of her coat and sat, pretending that being so close to him didn’t set off a firestorm of flutters in her stomach. “I’ve been fine. Busy. How about you?”
“I’m actually between jobs. I’ve been offered a partnership in a restaurant in Paris. I’m probably going to take it but I have a few weeks to think it through.”
She smiled. “It’s nice that you have options.”
His blue eyes twinkled with the joy of his success. “It is. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t appreciate how lucky I am.”
He shifted a little closer, not something the old Mic would have done, and Lily’s nerves prickled. Even in his expensive jacket and designer jeans and shirt, she’d been seeing him as the Mic she’d loved. But as he had said, eight years had gone by. He had money now and fame.
She looked deeper into his shiny blue eyes, and saw an edginess that hadn’t been there before.
“And it’s the fact that I’ve always been lucky that makes it all the more puzzling that you dumped me.”
“I didn’t dump you. I just didn’t accept your marriage proposal.”
“Why?” He moved closer and ran his thumb along her jaw. “You certainly couldn’t complain about our chemistry. So what happened?”
Oh, she was tempted to tell him. To admit that she’d loved him too much to risk the success he was working so hard to achieve. But that glimmer in his eyes scared her silly. Her Mic had been proud but sweet. This Mic was strong. Sophisticated. If she told him she’d worried that she and her troubles would drag him down, God knows how he’d react. Would he see her sacrifice for what it had been? Or would he see her act of love as a slur against his manhood? The great Michele Patruno could make kings putty with his fine food, but he couldn’t support the woman he loved?
She rose from her seat. “It’s over now. Water under the bridge. No point in talking about it.”
He sat back, bracing his arms on the chairs on either side of him, looking so sexy and male she could have swooned. “Interesting. I would have thought you’d simply remind me that you didn’t love me.”
Her face reddened. Why hadn’t she just said that? “Why make me repeat it?”
“Why not? If it’s a simple fact, it should be easy to say.”
“After eight years, it shouldn’t matter.”
“After eight years, you shouldn’t stumble over it.”
She shook her head, furious with him for pushing. “Don’t criticize me for not wanting to say something that was hard enough the first time.”
He rose in a movement so swift and fluid she didn’t realize what he was about to do until he caught her wrist. They stood so close she could almost feel his chest rising and falling and the heat coming from his muscled body.
“Is that what you think I’m doing? Criticizing you?”
She lifted her chin, met his gaze. “Aren’t you?”
He shifted a millimeter closer. Everything feminine in her trembled with longing. Reality combined with memories and she had fight not to fall into his arms and beg for another chance. But she’d lost her chance with the Mic she’d loved, and this Mic—Oh, this Mic—might be a little too much for her.
“I’m not criticizing you. I’m just curious. Interested.”
The shimmer that came to his blue eyes scared her silly. Eight years of working in some of Europe’s finest restaurants, meeting some of the world’s most sophisticated people, showed in the way he looked at her, the way he moved, the things he said. This was not her Mic.
“Well, I’m not interested in you.”
“Really?” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper that skimmed across her skin and raised goose flesh. “I can see in your eyes that that’s a lie.”
“You flatter yourself.”
He laughed, but his head began to lower. “Then you won’t mind a little test.”
Her breath shivered. Her heart stalled. He was going to kiss her, but she couldn’t seem to step away. She was interested and she was curious. She knew nothing could ever come of this. He’d hate her if she told him her real reasons for letting him leave. But she wanted one more kiss. One more taste of the man she hadn’t been able to forget in eight long years.
His lips met hers softly, surely. Her eyes drifted shut, as common sense melted away and sensation took over. He expertly guided them on a slow, sensual journey, using his lips and tongue, deepening the kiss until her bones softened and her blood heated.
When he pulled away, his eyes shone. “So no more telling me you’re not interested.”
She blinked. Common sense returned in a dizzying wave. Why the hell had she kissed him?
She grabbed her coat, her coffee and her scone and raced toward the door.
“Lily!”
She stopped.
“This isn’t over.”
But it was. It had to be. The old Mic was gone. She’d chased him away. There was no going back now.
The next day, Mic arrived at Mancini’s early with Rafe to get a jump on the day’s cooking. But he couldn’t have spent another minute in his aunt and uncle’s empty condo, wondering about that kiss, about Lily’s eager response to him. He’d expected her to slap him. Instead, she’d melted. He was glad for the distraction of cooking and reminiscing with Rafe.
Lunchtime approached. He knew the second Lily arrived for her shift. His senses went on heightened alert. The day before, he’d lowered his head slowly enough that she could have stopped his kiss, but she hadn’t. And then she’d kissed him back, like someone who’d been waiting forever to kiss him again.
Even as it warmed his blood, it made no sense.
She walked out into the kitchen tying an apron around her waist. Their gazes met, her dark brown eyes soft, wary. Then she quickly looked away.
Emory, Rafe’s short, bald sous chef, burst into the kitchen. “Have