My first regret.
Not regret over anything we did—regret I ever said goodbye to him and never followed up on my promise to get in touch with him.
Regret I gave in to my fear and ended up…here.
Countless times my mind has played that masochistic “What If?” game.
Whatif I’d come out back then and tried to have a long-term relationship with him?
What if I’d decided to live for love instead of money and fame?
What if I’d never listened to my father, or worried what other people thought about me?
What if I’d accepted Christopher’s quiet plea to call him?
What if I hadn’t foolishly tried chasing my father’s acceptance and love?
All this flashes through mymind faster than the moment it takes for the senator to arch a perfectly sculpted brow at me over a piercing grey eye.
“Mr. Markos? May Special Agent Bruunt and I come in?”
There are more lines in his face now, some grey in his hair, but he still looks damned good. If anything, time’s been kind to him, made him even hotter.
I remember the feel of his lips on my fingers that first time he kissedmy hand.
“Why?” I crack the door open only enough to get a wider view of the front yard and across the street.
No one watching. No onevisible, anyway.
“Only to talk,” she says with a predatory smile.
I’m uncomfortably aware of the weight of Christopher’s green gaze on me, invisible tonnage that threatens to drive me to my knees.
Not that it’s a place I’d mind being, with him.
Unable tohelp it, I glance at his left hand and see it’s bare. No rings.
Christopher’s lips twitch, like heknowswhat I’m doing.
My throat suddenly goes dry, even as my cock hardens like iron.
Hedoesn’t want to talk.
I don’t know what the senator wants to discuss with me, but Christopher obviously wants to dowaymore than talk.
God help me, even now, I’d be willing to let him, too. He’s been thesubject of my countless fantasies over the years, including the most recent instance a few nights ago.
The night before I nuked my world, as a matter of fact.
This is the moment I realize that blowing up on a live broadcast wasn’t the worst mistake of my life—never calling Christopher was.
By far.
Because the flames raging within his gaze are about to scorch me where I stand.
Frankly, I don’thave the energy or will to resist him if he decides he wants to pick up where we left off.
Worse?
