They said something else, but I missed it. Because a tingling spread at the back of my neck.
It intensified when Blake said, “Well, holy shit.”
Cassandra appeared in the doorway a moment later, looking a little shocked but not unhappy. “Everyone, we have a surprise visitor.”
“Surprise is right,” Blake said, appearing next. “As in, we’re extremely surprised he decided to grace us with his presence despite living here for more than half a year.”
My heartbeat thudded so far up my throat I felt unable to breathe. I prayed with all my might that there was some other person who might fit the very specific description Blake just gave. Because I’d made a vow to never see that person again. I couldn’t. After everything that had happened between us—and in the weeks since—I didn’t know what I’d do if I saw him again. So I’d just decided not to. Ever.
But there he was, filling the doorway, staring straight at me.
My stomach dropped right out of my body, hitting the floor beneath me.
There was no denying it was Mitchell Harrington. But I hardly recognized him. The wild-man beard was gone. His hair was slicked back, revealing the sharp, intense angles of hisface I’d only gotten hints of before. The raggedy sweats and t-shirt were gone too, replaced with a crisply tailored button-down and slacks. He looked every bit the austere billionaire who’d just stepped off a helicopter, after leaving a boardroom where he’d fired half his staff.
But those eyes. There was no denying those emerald eyes that bore into me like a physical thing. That still held all the versions of him I’d seen those tiny glimpses of before. Eyes I dreamed of as he pressed up against me, his hand tangled in my hair?—
“Winona?”
A kick hit me under the table. I blinked, ripping my gaze away with more than a little effort. Only to find all the other eyes in the place staring at me.
My cheeks flooded with mortified heat. “Sorry, what was that?”
I had no idea who'd been speaking.
Did Mitchell know I’d be here? It wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing would, when it came to this man. Though to his credit, he looked as shell-shocked as I did.
It was Cher who’d kicked me. “Winona, Blake was introducing you to his brother, Mitchell.”
Blake looked from me to Mitchell, his expression deeply confused. “Do you guys know each other?”
I swallowed, my throat like sandpaper. I would have tried to speak, but Mitchell took a step forward, thrusting his hand out. “Nice to see you again, Winona.”
My name in the deep, rough tenor of his voice was like a rusted sword slicing through the most tender part of me. That was the voice that rattled through my dreams at night, waking me up hot and liquid, with a need that always made me nearly ill.
I didn’t want to touch Mitchell. But I already looked like a complete fool.
“I repaired a pipe at your brother’s residence,” I said to Blake. It was the truth, but the understatement felt like the biggest lie I’d ever told.
I reached out, meeting Mitchell’s hand. Even though I knew the touch would be impactful, I wasn’t prepared for the shivery, melting sensation that ripped through me at his touch.
I swallowed hard. “Good evening, Mr. Harrington.” The words were overly formal. But I needed the iciness to counter the phantom breath in my ear I felt even now. The graze of rough fingers ghosting my jaw.
I jerked my hand away, but Mitchell’s thumb pressed into my knuckles, slowing the withdrawal. His eyes dropped to the red line there—the cut he’d taken care of. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like a year ago.
I pulled my hand the rest of the way out of his and stuffed it in my lap.
Blake knew something was up. He was staring at his brother, eyes narrowed. I could practically hear the wordsWhat did you do?
But Cassandra spoke, filling the strange static in the air. “Sorry, Mitchell, we weren’t expecting you. My friends and I were having a little wine night here before you arrived.”
“Yeah. We’ll go to the other room,” Blake said. “We’ve got plenty to talk about.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Cher piped up.
I would kick her myself this time, but I was unable to move. If I could move, I’d be worried about seriously denting her shin. She’d restrained herself for the last little while, respecting my need to not talk about Mitchell. But apparently seeing him here was too much for her not to slip right back into her regular oversharing Cher shoes.
“You guys are welcome to join us for a bit,” she carried on. “Right?” She looked to Sarah, who glanced at me, which only made things worse.
