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“That’s no excuse.”
“I'll try to remember that.”
She grins and flicks forward. “Oh, this is appropriate. It says, ‘A gentleman should never stare at a lady.’”
“I don’t stare,” I say indignantly.
“You do.”
“I absolutely don’t.”
“You absolutely do! You give me that look.”
“What look?”
“You know what I mean. The Look. Capital T, capital L.” She moves a little closer. “Go on, deny it.”
I can’t, because she’s right.
Ohhh… I’m defenceless against this new, bold, seductive Vix. I’ve only survived through the years because we’ve never lit the touchpaper that lies between us. But she’s putting a match to it, and suddenly it’s bursting into flames.
A breeze wafts in from where I opened the doors onto the balcony, brushing across my skin and bringing with it the smell of mown grass from the park, the smell of summer. As Vix moves closer, my stomach flips the same way it did when I was a kid on Christmas Eve.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” she whispers. “Tell me I’m imagining what’s between us.”
I study her mouth for a long, long moment.
Then, eventually, I say, “You’re not imagining it.”
She blinks. “Oh.”
My lips curve up. “You didn’t expect me to say that?”
“I… don’t know…” She moistens her lips. “I… wasn’t sure…”
I lift a hand to cup her face and brush my thumb across her cheek. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you,” I say softly.
She looks up into my eyes, and hers are filled with wonder.
I stroke my thumb across her bottom lip. The longing inside me is so strong it’s making me ache.
I lower my hand. “But you belong to another man,” I murmur.
“No,” she says. “I don’t. Our marriage is over.”
“Have you started divorce proceedings?”
She looks down. “No, but I will.”
My heart sinks. Divorce takes two years of separation in New Zealand.
“But we’ve been separated for six months already,” she says. “He’s gone. He left me. It’s over.”
I frown. She says it, but I’m not convinced. She’s still wearing her wedding ring, for a start.
“I did everything I could to make my marriage work,” she says.
“I know you did.”
