A furtive glance over to where they had congregated showed that he was no longer there. Putting her half-finished glass of champagne on a table, she was about to go and find her own family when someone touched her on the arm.
Before she turned, she knew it was him. Steeling herself to be polite, she faced him.
"I thought I recognized the person." His blue eyes crinkled in surprise. "Little Abigail."
"Kincaid Tyrell." Squaring her shoulders, she could only thank heavens she had decided to wear the little red dress that clung to her curves and showed off her legs. "I heard you were back."
"And I heard you're making wonderful strides in the book industry. I've been meaning to call on you."
"Why?" The coolly polite tone had changed into icy dislike and had him lifting his brows.
"To apologize for one." He offered an easy, charming smile that had her hackles rising.
"Whatever for?"
"The way I left things all those years ago." Laser blue eyes searched her exquisite face. It did not surprise him that she had grown into her looks. She was still petite, but her curves had ripened with age.
Her skin was still a flawless caramel and interestingly, she had the same effect on him. It was as if the years had melted away and they were back in another ballroom.
"No need." Forcing the anger away, she feigned polite disinterest. "If you would excuse me--"
"How about a dance?"
This time, she could not control the anger. But there were reporters present. As a Tyrell, especially this one, he was bound to attract a tremendous amount of attention, one she could not afford. With a supreme effort, she reigned in her anger and smiled sweetly.
"Like before? What, do you expect that this is the same twenty-three year old who practically fell into a puddle at your feet." She gestured around the room. "I'm sure there are dozens of women who are still attracted to your kind of dubious and obvious charms, pick one. I can assure you without a doubt that I'm not one of them. Please excuse me."
"Ouch." His brother who had come up behind him silently, rubbed his hand over his chest. "What on earth did you do to that beautiful woman to have her drawing blood?"
He was still reeling from her words and could only just stare after her.
"I had sex with her around five years ago and ghosted her." To his shock, he could feel the burning in his gut from her words.
"That would do it." Kevin touched his arm briefly. "There's someone I think you should meet."
Taking one last look at the woman who was chatting with a redhead wearing emerald green silk, he turned away with his brother.
Abigail's heart hammered, her breath coming quicker as she slipped through the clusters of laughing guests. The glittering lights and clinking glasses felt a world apart from the storm quietly raging inside her. She could still feel the phantom heat of his touch on her arm, the echo of old pain and longing stubbornly refusing to fade.
For a moment, she allowed herself to glance at Kincaid's retreating back, wondering if he too was haunted by memories that refused to stay buried. But with each step, she reminded herself: she was not here for him, nor for the ghosts of what might have been.
Tonight, she resolved, she would hold her head high and reclaim the evening on her own terms.
He kept his eyes on her. The night had suddenly gone downhill for him. He had felt the anger and hurt vibrating from her and regretted the part he had played in it. He had taken her innocence and then left her without a word.
He could afford to feel shame for his behavior.
He wanted to apologize, wanted to suggest they start over. What the hell was he thinking? he thought angrily. He was going to leave it alone, leave her the hell alone. But he could not take his eyes off her, not for long.
She had grown more beautiful. From his vantage point he could make out the way the dress clung to her in places. Had he noticed how long and shapely her legs were? Memories of that night came crashing back violently and almost staggered him.
Something twisted painfully in his gut. His hands clenched into fists as he wondered who the guy was who had his hand around her waist. She seemed to have dismissed him and the conversation they had before. While he was here torturing himself looking at her.
"Let's dance." Taking his hand, Kat tugged him onto the dance floor. "You're wearing your anger on your face. Who's she?"
Dragging his gaze from the couple, he stared down into her exquisite face. "No one."
That had her making noncommittal noises as she twirled with him. "That 'no one' has you thinking dark thoughts. One of your exes? There are several of them hanging around, waiting to be noticed by you."
