“I thought it wouldn’t be discreet to keep her waiting down here. I didn’t want people talking. We don’t get movie stars here every day, so I let her into your apartment.” He pauses, eyes shining, grinning as if he expects me to be as delighted as he is. “She said her name was Elizabeth Bennet. Must have been a joke, right? Because even a dead man would recognize Liz McKay.”
“Right,” I mutter, too angry to give him the lecture he deserves. “She’s in my apartment?”
He nods happily, still drunk on her stardust.
I’m tempted to walk right out of the building and disappear for a few days. Let her have my apartment. Let her have the whole city. I’ll leave and find my peace some place she’ll never find me.
What the fuck does she want?
What does she want from me?
I head for the elevator, ignoring a wink from Ted. I’ll deal with him later. On my floor, I let myself into the apartment. At first glance, it looks empty. There’s nothing to show that anyone else has been inside, but I know she’s here. I can feel her presence like a crackle in the air, like a soft breath on my skin. She has disturbed the fabric of my home, just like she disturbed the fabric of my soul.
A few steps inside, and I see her curled up on the couch. There’s a book in her lap, one of mine, but she’s asleep. Her hair has fallen to one side, exposing her neck. Her lips are full and pink, parted as she breathes softly. I allow myself to study her in a way I haven’t done in years, the perfect bones, the slender fingers, the outline of her body, slim yet curvy, lush and beautiful.
Everything is painfully familiar, yet so out of reach. My fingers ache to feel the silky waves of her hair. I want to bruise her lips with mine, to spread her legs and claim her body as harshly as I can, to demand to know why she came back into my life to haunt me like an unwanted, uninvited ghost.
As if she can feel the turbulence of my thoughts, she stirs. Even the way she wakes is beautiful. How many times in that long ago past did I worship that sleepy smile and that languid stretch?
She straightens and rises to a sitting position, her eyes on me.
“You’re back.”
I restrain myself from reaching for her. Instead, I glare, silently asking what the hell she’s doing in my space.
“Aidan—”
“Don’t.” I raise my hand, as if to create a barrier between us. “What are you doing here?”
She rises and walks toward me, momentarily distracting me from the past seven years. She moves like a siren. She looks like a goddess. I want her. I want her with an ache that has only grown since we’ve been apart.
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
She sighs. “Don’t be like this.”
“Just stop, ok?” Her tone, and the implication that I’m being unreasonable… it infuriates me. “We don’t need to talk. You shouldn’t be in my home acting as if what happened between us was a little misunderstanding that you can smooth over by talking.”
She doesn’t back down. “If not talking, then what? What would it take to make you—”
“Nothing.” I cut her off. “I want nothing from you. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to see you. You’ve been dead to me for a long time, Liz, so get the hell out of my apartment.”
She looks taken aback. Did she expect me to be glad to see her? Is she so drunk on her appeal that she thinks her appearance is all it’ll take for me to forgive and forget?
“No.” Even I am surprised by the stubbornness in her voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I’m not sure if she’s talking about my apartment or the play.
“Liz,” I grind out her name. “Don’t think I won’t throw you out. And the next time you come here and get one of the impressionable young men downstairs to let you into my personal space, I will get him fired.”
“You wouldn’t.” Her chin goes up, defiant. “The Aidan I knew wouldn’t do that, anyway.”
My laugh is bitter. “The Aidan you knew is dead. You killed him.”
Her breath hitches and the elation I felt at landing the blow is suddenly colored with shame. I walk over to my bar and pour myself a drink. She remains beside the couch, watching me.
Expensive scotch burns my throat. “Go away, Liz. I don’t want you here.”