“I’m not arguing.”
Shawna tossed another hard look his way before she stalked back into the restaurant ahead of him. The hostess smiled a greeting when she saw them, giving no indication she’d seen them in an altercation minutes ago.
They followed the young woman into the dim interior toward their reserved table. Ryan brought up the rear. She felt his hot gaze on the back of her head, and it took great effort to walk steadily across the carpeted floor.
The dim lights and candles gave the impression of warmth and coziness in the large restaurant. The mouth-watering aroma of heavy sauces and fresh herbs reminded Shawna why she loved this place.
She’d been here many times before, but she never grew tired of the food, the ambiance, or the Parisian landmarks painted on the walls. The images brought back memories of the summer she spent in France and the rented room above the bakery where she’d spent the best three months of her life.
There was the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe at the end of the Champs-élysées, and the Sacré-C?ur Basilica, located at the highest point in the city. If she wasn’t so upset about seeing Ryan, she’d sigh with nostalgia like she always did.
“Your server will be with you in a minute,” the hostess said.
Ryan couldn’t take his eyes off Shawna.
What were the chances that William Wallace’s sister-in-law was Shawna Ferguson? He’d met William at a local bar and they’d become friends, meeting up every so often to drink beer and debate politics, argue over sports, or bemoan their problems with the fairer sex. Sometimes all of the above. During all that time, he’d had no idea they were related and had only found out a few weeks ago.
When William had mentioned the name Shawna, and at Ryan’s request followed up with a photo of his sister-in-law, Ryan had stopped breathing, unable to believe his luck. She’d been in his thoughts numerous times over the years, and he’d given up any chance of ever seeing her again.
Now, here she sat, across from him.
She had bangs now, and the overhead light picked up the reddish tones in the dark brown strands, reminding him of the colorful striations in the cherry wood at his woodworking shop. Reminding him, too, of how he’d wound his fingers in her hair to hold her in place while he drove into her.
With her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, he could drink in her features. Physically, she hadn’t changed over the years. Smooth, dark skin, a somewhat pointy nose, and her mouth . . . It had been the first thing he noticed when he’d gotten close enough to see her features that first day. Pouty, generous. The kind of mouth a man wanted to take his time kissing.
So many parts of her were generous. Her breasts, for example, which he now had a good view of because she’d removed her sweater. The material of the short-sleeved dress looked like it had been melted over them, prominently displaying the luscious mounds in all their glory.
He shifted in the chair to alleviate the tightening in his pants.
Then of course, there was her generous behind, which he’d enjoyed seeing, whether covered in a pair of tight jeans or when he’d had the pleasure of watching her slip from the hotel bed to the bathroom. He couldn’t decide which view he liked best—watching her coming or going.
A pair of sultry brown eyes beneath long lashes looked up at him from the menu. “Do you know what you want?”
Ryan leaned back in the chair, keeping his gaze on her. He hated the way they’d parted, but he had no one to blame but himself. He’d been young, foolish, and a coward.
“Yes. I know exactly what I want.”
From the moment he’d seen her, he’d known.
Chapter Three
Chicago, Friday, six years ago