How he fucked me against the bathroom wall when I’d escaped to the women’s restroom with a wink.
I walked into the restaurant, spotting a man at the back of the room who stood up from the same booth we’d giggled in almost seven years ago.
I felt my heart race.
Holy fuck.
I’d know those blue eyes anywhere, and his thick head of dark brown hair almost blended into the background. He towered over everyone else, a cool six-foot-five, and the suit cut against his body clung to every muscle. I nodded at the hostess and began walking toward him, trying to draw deep breaths.
But he was as sexy as he had ever been.
He was stacked with more muscle than I remembered, but still gorgeous. There was a grin set upon his cheeks, and his chiseled jaw stood out against the shadows of the restaurant.
His legs were long and his waist was slim. His shoulders and chest were impossibly broad, and I waited for the fabric stretched across them to groan and give way. His large hands reached toward me in greeting.
It was his lips, however, that drew me in. That pouty lower lip I loved sucking on years ago.
“Julia.”
I stepped up to him and clutched my purse in front of me. I felt my legs wobbling in my heels. The way he looked at me, I could tell he was impressed.
His eyes danced along the curves my past pregnancy had brought about and stopped at my legs, shimmering with smoothness and glistening in the pale light of the restaurant.
I saw him lick his lips.
My legs had always been his favorite part of me, and he was making no show of trying to hide his appreciation for them.
But he was guarded, and so was I.
“You look good,” I said.
“Took the words from my mouth,” Romeo said.
Oh, his voice. That smooth, velvety timbre against my ears.
“It’s been a while,” Romeo said.
“It has.”
“Care to take a seat?”
His arm ushered out toward the booth, and I slid in, glad to put a barrier between us.
“I’m sorry for not responding to your messages for so long,” I said.
Romeo’s eyes hooked onto mine, and I could feel myself falling into his trance again. I felt myself swirling in his beautiful eyes. My feet started gravitating toward his warmth underneath the table.
Get it together, Julia. He’s still the head of the Martine family.
“You owe me nothing. It’s your father that owes me an apology,” Romeo said.
“And since he isn’t alive to deliver that apology, consider this from him,” I said, bristling slightly.
“I didn’t mean to sound inconsiderate.”
“You play the part well,” I said flatly.
“Would the two of you care for a glass of wine tonight?”