Chapter 2 #3
At the last stop on Fourth Avenue, she emerged into the rain. If her memory was correct, Tasha’s bar was after Market Street. Or was it before?
After. Definitely after.
She nestled her bag close to her side and kept her gaze on her feet as she navigated the street.
Water sloshed up her bare legs. The promise of warmth and a stiff drink made her steps that much quicker.
Maybe he wasn’t there anymore. It’d been almost two hours since she scrolled past Tasha’s photo on Facebook.
A door with an upside-down goat painted on it filled her vision. The lining of her throat swelled, restricting her airway. She closed her eyes and prayed he was still there.
She yanked open the door and stepped inside.
The warm scent of pub food tickled her nostrils and instantly made her stomach grumble.
Voices cheered at a game on one of the dozen TVs assaulting her stunned senses.
She slipped into a vacant seat at the bar and blinked to clear the ache behind her eyes.
The second her butt touched the wooden stool, the tremors took over again.
Her shoulders shivered and her teeth clanked together.
She needed liquor. She lifted her shaking hand to the bartender, who nodded and held up his index finger.
“Serena,” drawled a deep voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She turned in her seat and swallowed. She’d know that voice anywhere.
Its cadence was so permanently etched into her consciousness that some of her muscles loosened at the sound.
And others tightened. Milo’s six-foot-three frame stood inches away.
Heat radiated from his warm, dry body to her freezing, wet one.
She worked her tongue over the inside of her mouth but couldn’t form a single word.
Her gaze traveled from the hard, T-shirt-clad abdomen in front of her to his rugged, bristly stubble.
His sharp green eyes, the shade of freshly cut grass, bore into her.
His dark eyebrows crinkled, and not a single flash of delight crossed his face.
Well, tough.
She wet her lips. “Milo,” she said, her voice way too weak.
He dragged his stare down her body. He felt the familiar tug on his heart. The same one he felt every damn time he saw her. “Why are you so wet?”
Dumb question. She was wet because it was pouring outside, which was the same reason he was hanging out at the bar longer than he normally would.
After a falling out with her business partner, his sister had been in a sticky situation.
She’d wanted to keep The Fainting Goat but didn’t have enough funds to buy out her partner.
Milo had stepped up and bought the partner’s share but had very little to do with the business end of things.
That was Tasha’s area, and he never wanted to step on her toes or make her feel indebted.
He helped with the books and anything else she needed, including bouncing on weekends, but he much preferred to be at home working on his house.
He studied the dark blue of Serena’s irises, but for the life of him, he couldn’t dissect her emotions. His attention shifted to her drenched hair. When they were together, she’d been blonde, but now it was a dark brown. She looked as if she’d just stepped out of a shower.
Christ, don’t start picturing her in the shower.
He’d been across the bar when her slight form settled onto the seat.
At first glance, she looked nothing like the innocent-aired young woman he’d been so in love with.
But in a fraction of a second, his Serena antenna had burst to life after being dormant for two years.
He’d taken one hard look at her smooth, heart-shaped face and a deep hunger had roared to life inside him.
Even though he’d gotten to his feet, something deep down had refused his approach for a few moments.
But he couldn’t ignore the fact that she was here.
Couldn’t unsee her. He’d been kicked eleven years into the past.
To the exact place he’d tried so hard to get away from.
She dragged her supple pink bottom lip between her teeth and his dick twitched, wrenching him back to the moment. He folded his arms across his chest to stop himself from touching her. She shifted her gaze to the bar and then back to him.
“Long story.” The tremble in her shoulders matched the one in her voice, and a primitive part of him needed to warm her. Hell. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t get sucked back into her orbit. Being with Serena was like being on a high. She was intoxicating, consuming, and . . . fulfilling.
He’d kicked himself in the ass every fucking day since he caught her at Alban’s two years ago. Pushing her away—again—had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.
“Whiskey on ice, Roger,” he called to the bartender.
The man nodded, pulled out a short glass, and filled it.
Serena accepted the drink and downed it while he studied her appearance.
Mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, and the white shirt she wore beneath a cardigan was so wet it clung to her full breasts.
Her taut nipples pressed against the fabric.
He cleared his throat to rid the burning desire that made him want to pull her into his arms and rip off her clothes.
He lowered his gaze to her feet. Bare, muddy calves tapered to slim ankles in black stilettos. Suspicion frayed his senses.
“Sorry,” she said. “I needed that.” She lifted her arm and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She shuffled her ass in the seat and met his gaze again.
“Need another one?”
She blinked, her long dark lashes falling to kiss her cheeks. “Yes, please.”
He signaled the bartender again, and Roger snatched her glass and filled it. Serena had never been much of a drinker. Unless things had changed since they were kids. It wasn’t as if he’d gotten to ask her anything the last time he saw her.
Roger passed her the drink. She didn’t grab it as greedily but still lifted it to her mouth immediately. Then she pulled her wallet out of her purse. Did she seriously think he wouldn’t buy her a couple of drinks?
“It’s on me,” he said. He took her wallet from her hand and dropped it back in her bag. She pinched her lips but must have thought better of refusing.
“Thanks.” Her tense expression had softened to something he couldn’t put his finger on.
It wasn’t sad, or regretful, or any other emotion he’d hoped he’d see the first time they came face-to-face since he screamed at her to run.
She twisted her lips to the side and her gaze shifted beyond his shoulder.
Fear.
Jesus, why was it so hard to talk to her? There was too much history between them. They were beyond small talk, but this wasn’t the time or place for serious shit.
“What’s going on?”
Her eyes darted around, and she took another sip without answering. He exhaled through his lips. She wasn’t making this easy. But he sure as hell couldn’t walk away. Not this time.
Something in her hair glittered in the low lighting.
He stretched out his fingers and lifted a handful of her locks.
Gritty chunks of something shook loose and fell to the floor.
His abdominal muscles clenched. He leaned closer and studied her face.
Her eyes sharpened on his, but she didn’t move away. Tiny cuts dusted her cheeks.
“What happened? Were you in an accident?”
Her throat moved on a swallow and her thumb traced the column of the glass she still clung to. She nodded. He dropped her hair and rested his hand on her shoulder. God, it was good to touch her.
“Want to talk in private?”
Her brisk nod only intensified his need to get her somewhere quiet. As she lowered herself from the stool, her hip brushed against his and he moved his hand toward the small of her back. He jerked it away before his palm connected with her spine and led her down the hall to Tasha’s office.
He opened the door and let her go in then closed it and pulled the blinds on the single window shut.