“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 she 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.