“Am not.”
“Are too. You are also smitten with that man, and I willhaunt your ancestors if you don’t get your ass over there and grapple him immediately.”
“That’s aggressive.”
“He looks like he can take it—and he’d probably also enjoy it.”
He would. Lord, would he. Heath’s skin still sang the praises of those fingers and that mouth.
“You’re making the face again. Will you please go tell him you’re crazy about him so he can take you back to his castle? Just once before I die, I want to see you smile.”
“I’m never forgiving you for this.”
“Yes, yes. You’re welcome.”
Heath steeled himself, striding across the room with entirely manufactured confidence that petered halfway to his destination. He changed direction, instead heading over to the buffet tables and bar. There was a crowd there, a buffer between him and the man now laughing with a group of women who hung on his every word.
“What may I serve you?”
He blinked, having no recollection of getting in line, let alone moving with it. The bartender’s smile wavered slightly at his confusion, which shook at least a few of his brain cells free.
“Another seltzer, please, if you would—and could you serve it in a wineglass?”
If they thought the request odd, they played it off beautifully. Glass in hand, he made his way along the wall to the French doors of the balcony he recalled being the most private and least occupied. At least, those on it were certainly not very interested in what anyone else was doing.
What if this didn’t work? How long would he wait, looking the fool, before calling it a day and running home to sulk?
“You here alone?”
He almost reeled on the asker with a rude retort, but thefamiliar voice seeped into his bones and cast a languid spell over him instead.
Evan was leaning one shoulder against the wall at his side, his broad shoulders blocking them from the view of the rest of the room.
“No, I’m actually here with someone.”
He made atskingsound. “They left you all alone in this crowd? Sloppy.”
Heath sipped his drink to mask his smile. “This isn’t really my scene.”
“Mine, either.”
“I find that surprising. You look very comfortable.”
“Even a well-used muscle still feels sore afterward.”
“That is beautifully poignant.”
“Would you like to get some air?”
Heath pretended to mull it over, wondering if the entire room could hear the pounding of his heart and the clacking of his knees as they shook. “I believe I might, yes.”
“Do you always sound like someone in a Brontë novel?”
“Quite often, yes.”
“I like it.”
“Oh, well, thank you.”
