True, I hadn’t returned the calls he’d made to me after he walked out on our wedding. But the last one of those was over a year ago. And this was hardly the way to attempt a reunion.
He smoothed the blond strands out of his eyes and smirked at me. “Just want to remind you how good we are together, sweetheart.”
“Were,” I corrected, “and we were never that good.”
“No? I guess I remember it differently.”
“I guess you do. I remember being humiliated in front of everyone I love.” I tried to look at his face, but I couldn’t quite meet his eyes. I focused on his mouth, on that arrogant smirk. “Maybe you got a kick out of that, but I gotta tell you, it wasn’t so fun for me.” The anger was rising, but I swallowed it down. I wouldnotlose my cool in front of him.
“I apologized for that like a hundred times.”
“Right. To my voicemail.”
“Because you wouldn’t return my calls.”
“What do you want me to say, Josh?” Finally, I drew myself up and looked him right in those pale blue eyes. The man looking back at me was the same Josh I remembered. Two years older, but for all I knew, two years more an asshole. “Call me old-fashioned, but I guess I figure when you walk out on your bride, apologizing is something better done face-to-face.”
“Hey, I’m here now.” He cocked his head, his tone softening, like that meant something. His fingers brushed a lock of my hair off my shoulder; the move sent a shiver down my spine. He shifted closer, his head bent to me, putting us pretty much nose to nose. “And like I tried to tell you, I regret what I did.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Uh-huh. And was that before or after you slept with one of my best friends?”
It was true. Not only had I lost my fiancé in the ordeal, I’d lost a friend. Several of them, actually; as it turned out, some people weren’t the friends I thought they were. When the line was drawn, Josh or me, a hell of a lot of them chose the beautiful rich boy.
Go figure.
“I should thank you, actually, for helping me to see who my real friends were, and who truly loved me. News flash, Josh: you weren’t one of them.”
I moved to get around him, but he blocked the door. “Aw, babe. Why’ve you gotta be like that? We could be so good together again.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’ve just gotta give me a chance to make it up to you.”
Man. Some things really hadn’t changed. Still the entitled brat who thought he had a right to any fucking thing he wanted.
“No, actually. I don’t.”
I shoved past him and lunged for the door, threw back the lock and stormed into the hall, putting distance between us before I did something I’d feel bad about later, like slap that stupid spoiled smirk right off his face.
“Katherine, wait.” He followed me into the hall, grabbed me by my arm and yanked me around to face him. “If you just give me a chance to show you…” And with that, he planted a kiss on me.
I gasped, stunned. He thrust his tongue into my open mouth. I didn’t even realize his hands had migrated to my waist until his fingers dug in, hard, and he crushed himself against me. I felt his belt buckle, still undone, and his erection, jabbing against my stomach in the red lace dress.
And it made me really fucking angry.
Because Josh Breckenridge, Jr. had forfeited any right to kiss me, or press his dick up against me, ever again, when he walked out on me.
I wrenched myself from his grasp and spun away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Josh was quick to put himself in my path, again. I had to stop short to avoid running into him.
“Come on, Kath,” he panted, “just think about it. We’ve got so much history.”
“Yeah, Josh,” I said, also panting, a torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “And that’s just what it is. History.”
