And when they’d parted…
Setting her jaw, she reached for her cold glass.
Well, when they’d parted, she’d picked up the pieces and had never looked back.
After a directive tip of the maître d’s head, Devlin wove between the tables. The flanking walls warped and shrank until he stood before her, a human tower, in more ways than one.
His features were both classically balanced yet hauntingly unique—a high forehead denoting intelligence, long straight nose suggesting inherent pride, squared-off jaw showing more than a hint of a sexy afternoon shadow. The word beautiful sprang to mind, in a mesmerising, purely masculine sense. His aura of strength and authority was so tangible, the female heads angled this way weren’t likely to resume normal viewing any time soon.
Clearly Devlin Stone was dangerous.
Hell, that was half the attraction.
‘Eden. Good to see you.’
Eden’s nerve-endings reached out and purred at the familiar cadence of his rumbling low voice. Although her heart hammered against her ribs, she managed an unaffected smile.
‘Hello, Devlin.’
‘Sorry to keep you.’He retracted his chair. ‘I was held up.’
Held up was right. Seemed women were still losing their minds over Devlin Stone—literally. The lesser part of her wanted to know the details—curiosity was, after all, a universal emotion. But Eden took the safer option: aloof good manners.
‘That looked like quite an ordeal. I’m surprised the media didn’t show up.’
His lip curling, Devlin shucked out of his jacket.
Well, well. Seemed he still disliked the paparazzi. Odd, when his brother seemed so fond of their attention.
‘If you’d rather make this another time,’ she offered. ‘Tomorrow, perhaps—’
‘Frankly, after that episode, I’m looking forward to unwinding with some pleasant company.’ Above the tug of a lazy grin, his twilight gaze darkened. ‘I’m glad you called.’
She felt her eyes widen as her insides squeezed and looped.
Hadn’t he listened when she’d called yesterday? This meeting was not about them. ‘Them’ was dead and buried. No curtain call. No for old time’s sake. He could work his charm all he liked, but she wasn’t that naïve bright-eyed young thing any more. She wasn’t here to flirt.
Devlin tipped his deeply cleft chin, beckoning a waiter who hurried over. ‘Do you have Louis Roederer Cristal?’
The shorter man’s eyes rounded in respect. ‘We do indeed, sir.’
‘Excellent. Chilled glasses, please.’
As Devlin surrendered his jacket for the cloakroom, Eden nibbled her lip. Exactly how much cloth did a tailor need to accommodate a set of shoulders like that?
‘At last.’ Devlin folded into his chair, clasped his big bronzed hands on the table and leant forward. ‘I’m all yours.’
Her grin was wry.
As if.
‘I appreciate your time, Devlin. I’d hoped we could discuss—’ Cutting herself off, she frowned and touched her cheek. He was staring. ‘Is something on my face?’
‘On your lip.’ He reached then stopped, his all-too-kissable mouth slanted at an amiable angle. ‘May I?’
Eden’s cheeks burned. Worse, so too did the tips of her breasts. She wanted to tell him to keep his hands to himself. But he’d already leaned over two sets of silverware…his thumb was already grazing the sensitive sweep of her lip…his hot fingers were already cupping her jaw…
And suddenly she was transported back to that fairy-tale summer long ago. She could hear his deep-throated laugh and her shrieks as they bumped around Luna Park’s ghost-train tracks. She could feel the butterflies brushing her tummy the first time his warm giving mouth had tasted her in his bed. Three lost years faded and melted into now…
Then his hand drew away and her eyelids drifted open. The tinkling of cutlery and aroma of sautéed greens then chocolate soufflé hauled her back the rest of the way.
‘Lime pulp,’ he explained, nodding at the slice wedged on her glass before gesturing for her to continue. ‘You were saying?’
I was saying something?
She set two fingers against her giddy forehead.
Sabrina. Nathan Stone. Heartache.
Oh, yes.
Although she cleared her throat, her voice sounded tellingly deep. ‘I wanted to talk to you about our siblings’ situation.’
‘You mean the fact they’re dating?’ Sexy creases—not quite brackets, not quite dimples—cut either side of his mouth. ‘Have you seen them together?’
‘Nathan’s collected Sabrina from the lobby of our apartment a few times, but…no, she hasn’t brought him up to meet me.’
No doubt Sabrina was worried about big sister’s reaction. Sabrina knew all about Eden’s ill-fated affair with Devlin. She’d listened to her lectures on staying away from heartless ‘love’em and leave ‘em’ types, the Stone brothers a classic case in point.
As though recalling something both wistful and amusing, Devlin chuckled and sat back. ‘From what I can gather, they’re hopelessly in love. I’ve never seen Nate like this before.’
‘They’ve only been dating for six weeks,’ she pointed out.
‘I suppose,’ he agreed. ‘How long did we date? Fourteen, fifteen weeks?’
A hot chill dropped through her centre. Sixteen weeks, two days, eleven hours, if he really wanted to know. Long enough for Devlin to fall out of love rather than into it.
She fastened her hands together on the tabletop, her knuckles turning as white as the centrepiece roses. ‘Can we please keep on track? We’re talking about my sister—an impressionable girl in her final important year of university, spending time with a man who is best known for his rave parties on Mykonos.’
‘One rave party.’ His rumbling voice held a reproving note. ‘And that was a year ago.’
‘And twelve months is such a long time.’
‘People mature.’
‘Not everyone.’ When his brow furrowed, she exhaled heavily. ‘I didn’t come here to insult you, Devlin.’
‘Of course not.’ His gaze gleamed with unadorned mischief. ‘I’d hoped it might be to confess that you’d missed me.’
Her heartbeat skipped and she coughed out a bitter laugh. He was incorrigible. Conceited. And so frighteningly close to irresistible…
She knotted her arms over her chest and studied him through narrowed eyes. ‘You really are an arrogant son of a—’
‘And you’re just as gorgeous as I remember.’
His gaze brushed her face, as intimate and thrilling as a lover’s touch. Needing to make believe the flames licking her belly were shards of ice, she sat further back in the Glastonbury chair and crossed her legs. ‘Are you going to help me or not?’
One big shoulder rolled up, then down. ‘I’m not sure I know what you want.’
Fine. She’d spell it out. ‘I want you to speak with your brother. Tell him to back off and leave Sabrina alone. She’s delicate, Devlin. Easily hurt.’ The couple at the next table slid over an enquiring glance.