Getting Even. Avril Tremayne

She’d done it, of course. A society-girl skill of hers he’d never been able to demystify. Correction—he’d never had to demystify, because she’d never used it against him before.

      Well, whatever she’d done, it had worked: he was out of earshot.

      Phillip—poor, clueless bastard—was paying the price for that, because valiantly though he tried to engage Rafael in conversation, Rafael simply didn’t give enough of a fuck to listen. The guy deserved better than monosyllabic nonresponses but that’s what he got. He had to know something was seriously awry by this point, but Rafael was too busy straining his ears toward Veronica to care.

      Rafael finally shot Felicity a look he hoped she’d interpret correctly as Get Veronica back here now.

      Felicity double-blinked at him—her way of saying she understood—and not only steered Veronica back into the circle but, like the trouper she was, engaged Phillip in a conversation about Liar, Liar.

      He saw that Veronica’s champagne flute was empty and reached out to take it—just one second too late to stop a passing waiter from stopping beside her and proffering his tray. She smiled at the waiter, swapped her empty glass for a full one, then angled her body away to say something to a nearby guest.

      Shit!

      He kept his lips curved in a slight smile, pretending to listen to Felicity and Phillip while his nerve endings zapped, his blood simmered and his scalp twitched at the proximity of Veronica’s small, slender fingers, which used to twine tightly in his hair when she came. Unbearable to have her so close after all this time and not be able to touch her.

      She timed, perfectly, the return of her attention to when there was a lull in the conversation between Felicity and Phillip, casting a sweeping glance around the marquee and saying, “Everyone’s moving in.” She made a graceful hand gesture. “See? The doors are open.” She turned to Phillip. “Shall we, Sir Galahad?”

      “We shall indeed, milady,” Phillip responded promptly, and gallantly held out his arm for her to take.

      She flashed her Stepford Wives smile somewhere between Rafael and Felicity. “Maybe we’ll run into each other on the dance floor later.”

      And that was it. She was gone.

      “Run into each other on the dance floor?” Felicity said. “That’ll be interesting!”

      “Don’t worry, it won’t happen. She’s already made her point.”

      “Which was?”

      “That she’s over me.”

      “So what are you going to do?”

      “Prove that she’s not.”