Together Again?

by Jill Shalvis

  With his big, strong hands on her arms, and those warm, warm eyes locked on hers, it was like being catapulted back in time, so that she couldn’t help sounding like Marilyn Monroe there for a second.

  She’d never been one to use her femininity purposely. In fact, she’d been a tomboy all her life, which her own athletic frame had made natural, and had only recently become more comfortable in dresses and makeup and all things associated with being female.

  Secretly she was glad, because it meant she was wearing her flowing, flowery skirt, pretty and flattering. She just wished she didn’t sound as if she needed him to give her an orgasm. “My God, Ian. It’s amazing to see you. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry.” He spoke in the same low, slightly husky voice that had always turned her on so much. But something stopped her cold, and that was the fact that he also sounded like he was addressing a perfect stranger.

  “Ian, it’s me. Chloe. Chloe Cooper.”

  “Chloe.” He frowned, his expression serious, and also now carefully, completely blank. “I don’t—I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

  No way. But all the warmth had left his gaze, and now she couldn’t even be sure…had she imagined the initial recognition in his eyes? The air in her lungs deflated, along with any ego or pride she might have had, which, granted had, been slim to begin with.

  He didn’t recognize her.

  Embarrassed, she laughed a little. “High school. Junior and senior year…” She trailed off when he shook his head. Oh, God, he really didn’t remember her. “I’m sorry. I—Never mind.” Heart beating uncomfortably fast, she moved around him. Wow. She had no idea what had just happened, but it had been truly awkward. Definitely past time to get back up to her office, where she could put both this and Madame Karma’s silly predictions and subsequent curse right out of her head.

  Damn, she wished she’d kept that bag of cookies, she thought as she walked away.

  What else could she do?

  But then…then something made her glance back. Maybe it’d been his scent, some mixture of soap and deodorant and all man, a scent that was so damn familiar she wanted to pinch herself and wake up.

  Maybe it’d been the undeniable certainty that she wasn’t wrong.

  Or maybe…maybe it was something much, much simpler. Such as the scar beneath his ear.

  She remembered that Ian had a scar like that, too, from when he’d taken a flying header out of his dad’s truck the day he’d turned sixteen and had wrapped the vehicle around a telephone pole while attempting to find a good song on the radio and drive at the same time.

  A scar that she’d once pressed her mouth to and kissed. He’d loved it when she’d done that, and in return, she’d loved the sound of his harshly indrawn breath from just feeling her lips on him.

  Why didn’t he remember her? There had to be an explanation, she decided, and turned back. “Ian—”

  He hadn’t moved, but seemed to stand frozen to the spot, looking at her. “I’m not Ian.”

  His identical twin then. Only Ian hadn’t had a brother. In fact, after his dad had died in their senior year, he’d had nobody. She pointed to his scar. “You got that in your car accident, remember?”

  “No.” Lifting a hand, he covered the scar. “You’re mistaken. You’re confusing me with someone else.”

  “So you’re not Ian McCall.”

  “You’re confusing me with someone else, that’s all.” He looked around him, at the party, the people, the pleasant chaos. “And I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to my…date.”

  Okay, he wasn’t who she’d thought, and he also wasn’t available. She got it. But being this close made her body ache, which was a ridiculous phenomenon all in itself that she would worry about later. For now, she just couldn’t stop staring, just couldn’t get over the fact that she was wrong, that this man wasn’t Ian.

  As she stood there somewhat in shock, the music changed, quickened, and there was a surge toward the dance floor. A group of people shifted behind the Ian-imposter, nudging him into her so that their bodies brushed.

  Hers reacted immediately, as in nipples hardening, thighs tingling, the whole deal. And the bottom line was that her body recognized this man’s body.

  Again she was bumped, and she nudged up close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, putting her hands up to his chest to brace herself because it was getting extremely crowded around them.

  And because she couldn’t help herself.

  His hands went to her waist to steady them both, and in what undoubtedly was more of her overactive, sugar-induced imagination, he gently squeezed her hips, regret flashing in his eyes.

  Regret, and…something. But it was gone so fast she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t made that up as well.

  True love is going to walk into your life.

  The words wouldn’t leave her brain. She’d laughed them off, but deep down she felt uneasy about the slight, very slight, possibility that she really did believe.

  A fact she’d deny to her dying day, because even if this man was Ian, her once-upon-a-time teenage love, he couldn’t possibly be the love of her life now, all these years later.

  That, she definitely did not believe. “I just can’t get over it,” she murmured. “You look so much like—”

  “They say we all have a twin out there.”

  “Yeah.” The music slowed again, and the lights dimmed. All around them people drifted into pairs as the slow dance began.

  The two of them stood there, awkwardly staring at each other, not moving except for the constant bumping of the crowd.

  “I should—” he started.

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  He nodded. “Because I need to find…”

  His date. Right.

  And she should go upstairs.

  Any moment now.

  But neither of them moved. She, for one, didn’t want to, and she’d like to think he didn’t, either.

  And then somehow they’d shifted even closer, her body flush against his again, as they sort of somehow fell into the rhythm of the music.

  “I really need to go…” he started.

  But he didn’t go. His face was almost fierce with intent as he looked at her, same as when he’d been in the middle of a basketball game, or about to kiss her…And unable to resist, she melted into him. She couldn’t help herself, he felt that good, that unbearably familiar.

  Did he feel it?

  She closed her eyes to let her body absorb the pleasure. It was as if time really had stopped, as if everything had stopped except this, and, helpless to the odd pull, she opened her eyes again and tipped her head up to say something, anything.

  But she was interrupted by a startling flash of lightning, followed by an almost immediate crack of thunder that had her jerking nearly right out of her skin.

  In reaction, he spread his fingers on her back and slid his hand up and down in a gesture that felt incredibly protective. Comforting.

  And yet somehow so sexual she nearly purred.

  And then the storm, which had been slowly moving in, finally arriving in all its glory. Around them, everyone gave a collective gasp and scattered off the dance floor, just as it began to rain.

  The next thing Chloe knew, she was standing there, surrounded by the moving crowd and yet somehow utterly alone as the first drop of cool rain hit her heated face.

  Ian was gone.

  And she couldn’t help but wonder…if true love had just walked into her life, then the second part of her fortune couldn’t be far behind. Which meant her karma was about to go south for the winter.

  3

  CHLOE MOVED OFF THE dance floor, through the grass to the concrete pathway just as the sky let loose. Although let loose in Los Angeles meant that the ground was dotted with big, fat drops so few and far between that they didn’t even run together or dispel any of the dust.In fact, the drops felt good, so good she made sure not to stand beneath the protection of the awnings as s
he searched the crowd.

  It was a well-dressed group as always, but then again, this was Baxter Hills, a wealthy suburb of Los Angeles, and the Fairfax complex had status. People always dressed well here, and behaved themselves, to boot.

  Nowhere did she see those buttery soft jeans and polo shirt…

  But she knew one thing—she had not dreamed him up.

  No. She simply knew herself better than that. She wasn’t prone to fantasies or daydreams. He was out there, somewhere. She’d had her hands on him, she’d felt the warmth of him, the flesh and hard sinew, the beat of his heart. She’d looked directly into his eyes and, no matter what he’d said, her body had recognized his.

  And his had recognized hers as well.

  As to why he refused to admit to being Ian, she had no idea. She hated that, and wouldn’t, couldn’t, accept it. It had been him, all six feet of him, just as she remembered.

  She remembered everything. The fact that he could lose his wallet while it was still in his hand, or that he could make a backward, left-handed layup while looking sexy as hell, a feat she’d always rewarded with a kiss.

  Did he remember any of those things? Going on tiptoes, she scanned the throng of people. He couldn’t have vanished into thin air.

  And yet he had.

  The rain continued to cool her skin, which would have felt great if she’d been able to relax and enjoy it. She loved a good storm, loved the smell of the rain on the grass and flowers, loved the way everything looked when the clouds eventually moved on, leaving beads of water covering the landscape.

  But tonight she couldn’t concentrate on any of that. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but finding Ian.

  Finally, she gave up walking in circles and told herself it was over. He was gone. She could go home, or she could go upstairs and work some more, losing herself in the numbers. After all, numbers never let her down. Numbers never disappointed her, or hurt her.

  Or vanished into thin air.

  And even better, at the end of the day, numbers always fell into place. No strings, no worries for another day.

  Couldn’t ask for more in life than that. Or so she told herself. And if a little niggling doubt crept into her thoughts, a little voice that said maybe there was more to life than that—far more, and if she’d open up her mind and heart to it, she’d find out for herself—she filed it away into the same distant spot where she’d tucked away Madame Karma’s doom and gloom.

  She didn’t have time for fantasies.

  The Fairfax building was shaped like a big U, and her office was on the fourth floor at the bottom left corner of that U. Normally she took the stairs, considering it her daily exercise, thereby giving her an excuse at lunch to indulge her love affair with junk food. But since she’d already walked up and down those four flights today, she gave herself a break and took the elevator.

  On her floor, she got off, passed the potted plants lining the hallway outside the chiropractor’s suite, and then the cute little African statues outside the antiquities importer and auction house, and then finally, arrived at her own business at the end of the hallway.

  She unlocked her office door and flipped on the lights. She had enough time to take in her reception area, her large, organized desk with the computer and adding machine on it, just before the lights surged, then went out.

  With a frown, she backed to the wall again and reached for the switch, hitting it off and then on.

  Nothing.

  She’d lost power.

  Karma going south for the winter…

  From the large window to the right of her desk came a flashing strobe of lightning, followed almost immediately by a cracking boom of thunder that made her jump again. “Relax,” she told herself, the voice of reason. “The power’s out because of the storm. That’s all.”

  She waited a moment, thinking the lights would come right back on, because this was L.A. People didn’t lose power in L.A.

  But the electricity remained off. No comforting hum from her computer, just an eerie, strained silence in which all she could hear was her own breathing.

  Well, damn. What was a workaholic to do when stressed if she couldn’t work?

  Not to be thwarted, she made her way to her desk, which she could have found blindfolded. After digging into the top drawer, she pulled out her handy-dandy hit-an-intruder-over-the-head-with-it flashlight, which she used to guide her as she lit several candles around the perimeter of her desk.

  By candlelight, she opened her laptop and blessed the fact that she was anal enough to have the battery fully charged. Telling herself to forget the events of the evening—including both Madame Karma and the phantom Ian McCall—she got to work.

  After a little while she realized she was way too warm, courtesy of no air conditioning. She slipped out of her light sweater, leaving her in just a skirt and a flimsy tank top. Then she twisted her ponytail on top of her head and secured it there with two pencils from her drawer.

  She was nothing if not resourceful.

  And then she bent back over her keyboard. But only a moment later, her head came up again.

  Had she heard something?

  Head cocked, she stared into the darkness and waited…then laughed at herself and went back to her numbers.

  Thud.

  Okay, that was something. She stood up and pushed her chair back. The noise hadn’t come from her office, but one of the others on this floor. She moved to her door and pulled it open, then peered into the utterly black hallway.

  Thud.

  It didn’t come from the chiropractor’s office, but the antiquities and auction office. Odd because that office was closed. Steve and Al Adams, the two brothers who ran it, were overseas this week, which she knew because they were clients of hers.

  And yet she’d heard what she’d heard. Contrary to the oddities of the night, she was not going crazy. Needing to prove it, she went back for her flashlight, then let herself out into the main hall. She knocked on her neighbor’s door, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer. “Hello? Steve? Al? Anyone?”

  Nothing but another unmistakable thud.

  Oh, boy. Just last month Steve had somehow left a window open in there. They’d ended up with a sparrow flying around the ceiling tiles until Al had managed to chase it out with a broom.

  Thinking of all the damage a wild bird could do before the guys got back on Monday, Chloe once again trudged back to her office, this time for the spare key the brothers had left her. She quickly retraced her steps and opened up the auction house and swallowed into the utter blackness. “Here, birdy, birdy,” she said, and waved her flashlight around. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  This office was much larger than hers, and contained a huge front room, designed to display various valuable and exotic antiques from around the world, which were sold at private and invitation-only auctions.

  She didn’t know the Adams’s well. Steve and Al were both private, quiet guys who kept to themselves. They paid her on time and that’s pretty much all that mattered.

  They’d just had a large auction before they left so the place was empty. Anything they hadn’t sold was locked safely away in storage somewhere.

  Beyond the reception area was a conference room, where the auctions were held, and then two private offices, and also a large storage/cleaning/research room.

  Chloe stood in that inky blackness, which was relieved only by her own small beam of light. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, and now, thankfully, she didn’t hear a thing—

  Thud.

  Damn. She considered pretending she hadn’t heard it. The sound had come from the offices in the back, and with a sigh, she headed in that direction. “Dear batteries, please don’t die…”

  Holding her breath, she turned to the first door, the auction room. It was empty, and very, very silent. So was Steve’s office. But Al’s…locked.

  She looked down at the key in her hand, shrugged, and tried it. It worked, and she slowly turned the handle, the
hair on the back of her neck rising when she heard a soft scuttle and then nothing.

  Silence.

  “Okay, bird,” she said out loud to make herself feel better. “Or squirrel.”

  Nothing except that disconcerting sweat-inducing silence. Because she was suddenly claustrophobic, she moved around the desk to the window and looked out. She could see down to the courtyard and realized the other two wings of the building had not lost power. “Nice move, karma.” With a sigh, she faced the dark room. “Hey, you know what, birdy? You just go ahead and stay. I’m fine with that.”

  And now she was talking to herself. Perfect. She headed to the door, then nearly killed herself when she fell over two ajar drawers. From her new position on the floor, she kicked the first one closed, but the second was jammed so she stood up and then pushed it.

  Nothing.

  Fine. She pulled it open to fix it. It was caught on files, filled with…bank statements?

  Odd. She did the Adams’s banking, and this couldn’t be right. She hadn’t seen these statements. Pulling out a file, she flicked her light over it, and her stomach began to sink as she realized these were recordings for banking accounts she knew nothing about, all fat with money.

  “Damn,” she said to the still unseen bird. “I hate it when they turn out to be crooked—” She broke off at a sound. And not just any sound, but a footstep.

  A heavy footstep.

  Nothing, nothing at all, like a bird or squirrel.

  Oh, boy. Yeah, definitely she’d overstayed her welcome, but before she could hightail it to the door, she was yanked back against a strong, hard chest.

  A squeak escaped her. That was all she got out as a big, warm hand came down over mouth and a muscled arm encircled her belly, rendering her immobile.

  Her flashlight hit the floor, and she was hauled up against a large man. Panic gripped her. With his hand over her mouth, she was unable to move, unable to scream, and she could only think of one thing. Madame Karma really had cursed her.

  She wouldn’t take this with just a whimper. No way. She’d read Self-Defense For Dummies—she knew what to do. One kick to the nads and this sucker would drop like a stone.