ONE
Faith Fox pushed open the restroom door and let thetap tap tapof her shoes carry her to the sink. She braced her hands on the marble countertop and peered in the mirror.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she murmured. Her reflection didn’t look amused.
Only twenty minutes of conversation with her parents and Faith felt flushed and ruffled, but she didn’t dare splash water on her cheeks for fear she’d disturb her carefully applied makeup.
Instead, she tugged her jacket down, hoping it covered the top of her skirt. She’d scavenged her only tweed suit from the back of the closet, and it was snugger than the last time she’d been forced into dinner with her family. She prayed the button on her waistband would hold.
Faith ran her hands over the severe bun that had tamed her hair, checking again that the streaks of electric blue were hidden thanks to her strategic straightening, twisting, and pinning. There was no need to cause conniption fits among the gentlepeople dining at the country club tonight; just knowing the color was there made her brave enough.
Pressing the backs of her fingers to her cheeks, she tried to smile reassuringly at her reflection. “You got this. You’ll eat some salad and drop one tiny question and say good night. It’s ninety more minutes in hell, tops.”
Having failed to pacify her reflection, Faith slunk out of the ladies’ room, limping a bit courtesy of the blister forming on her pinky toe. Damn high heels. She paused in the lobby to take the weight off her aching foot, studying the restaurant’s forest-green walls and gilt-framed hunting scenes as she did.
Faith hated gilt frames. And hunting scenes. And forest green.
Desperate for an excuse not to return to her table and the unthinkable task she had to undertake, she glanced to her left where the mannequin-faced hostess was having a tense conversation with a customer who was obviously spoiling for a fight.
The man wore dark pants and a wrinkled button-down shirt, and he couldn’t have looked more out of place at the Beaucoeur Country Club restaurant. Beyond his rumpled appearance, there was something almost dangerous about the barely leashed stillness of his tall frame. He was coiled and ready to spring. Faith drifted closer, observing the clenching and unclenching of his fist where it pressed against his leg.
“And there’s no way you can bend the rules?” he growled.
“I’m sorry, sir. No exceptions,” said the cool blond hostess, ending their argument by holding up a blue blazer.
The man snarled and turned his back on the hostess, giving Faith her first glimpse of his face. At first all she saw were wild black curls and an untamed beard.
Then she saw his eyes.
“Leo?” she choked out. Those eyes snapped up to hers, and just like that, the years fell away and her shock shifted to a wild bolt of joy. It was Leo Morales.HerLeo. Bigger now, broader than he’d been. But it wasLeo.
His scowl dissolved, and the corners of his lips curved upward as he stepped toward her. She started moving too, until they were standing in front of each other.
“Hi.” She was suddenly breathless.
“Faith.” He rasped out her name and his head was tilting down, and she was lifting her chin and waiting for the press of his lips on her mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it hadn’t been twelve years. Like he hadn’t broken her heart the last time she’d seen him. Just like she’d broken his.
“Ahem.” The hostess cleared her throat and waved the blazer, shattering the strange moment.
The synapses in Faith’s brain kicked back into gear, and she blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
He straightened abruptly, the warmth draining from his eyes. “Amazing who they’ll let in these days, isn’t it?”
She pulled back in dismay. “No, I didn’t mean it like—”
“Of course you didn’t.” Leo cocked his head, his narrowed, glittering eyes undercutting the casual gesture. “I’m sure foxy little Faith meets guys like me for dinner here all the time.”
Faith sucked in a breath but wasn’t able to hide the tremor that ran through her body. The glow of seeing him again receded under the weight of the disdain rolling off him. How was he still so angry?
Leo glanced to the right and waved at two older men in suits who’d just entered the restaurant. “Great catching up with you, duchess. Let’s get together soon, maybe talk tennis? Share stock tips?”
Turning on his heel, he snatched the garment from the hostess, shrugged it on in one smooth movement, and turned to greet the rest of his party.
Faith stood frozen, alarmed to feel tears dancing along the underside of her lashes. The hostess caught her eye and raised a perfectly arched brow in curiosity. She sneered back and turned her spine into a steel girder, willing her racing heart to stop slamming against her sternum. Leo was still angry with her? Fine. That road ran both ways. It might have faded over the years, but she still carried that hurt with her too. Also guilt, but dwelling on that wasn’t going to help anything right now. Nothing to be done but get through dinner, head home, and run a bath so hot it would scald this whole night from her memory.
Still, what a colossal joke, Leo crossing her path today of all days.
Cursing under her breath, she minced across the dining room in her too-tight suit, wondering if his eyes were tracking her progress under the soft restaurant lights. She hoped not for several reasons—not the least of which was what a catastrophe a meeting between Leo and her parents would be. And God, her toes throbbed.
