Passionate Persuasion (Entangled Indulgence) by Rosemary Clement-Moore

Chapter One
    Eight years ago, Alex Drake broke Kiara Fredericks’ heart. Now here he was, walking into the Regis Pub like he owned it.
    The pub, not her heart.
    Though there was that, too. She hadn’t realized he still had a lien on even a small bit of cardiac real estate until she saw him across the crowded bar and felt the peculiar, particular pinch and twist under her left collarbone, the specter of young love rattling the chains of her heart.
    This was not a promising start to the evening. For a lot of reasons, not least of which was the fact that Kiara was there to meet someone else.
    A blind date, but still a date , handpicked for her by the husband and wife tag team of her friends and patrons of the symphony. Her date was a supporter of the local arts, hot shot of the Port Calypso local business community, and his name was… What the hell was his name?
    Elliott. That was it. And if that perhaps conjured images of a nice young man with wire rim glasses and an MBA, then fine. At least it didn’t call to mind a guy who’d been doing a keg stand when she first laid eyes on him.
    It was kind of embarrassing to think she’d fallen for him in spite of that. But only because when he’d righted himself with a flourish—and not so much as a belch—he’d looked right at her and shot her a devilish grin that said, Go ahead and laugh. I know the mating dance of the twenty-year-old male is ridiculous. But admit you were a little impressed by my handstand, right?
    She had been, a little. But she’d been more impressed with his ability to laugh at himself, and a bunch of other things that she’d managed to mostly forget until she saw him standing at the entrance to the busy downstairs bar, where everyone and their uncle was waiting for a table in the busier restaurant upstairs.
    Alex Drake. He looked a long way from doing keg stands now. His dark brown hair was shorter than the current fashion, but he’d never followed trends. He wore a tailored dress shirt and trousers, tastefully casual, sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets. No tie.
    No grin, but the devil in him lit his gaze when it found her. She felt it like the liquid rush of an espresso shot. He’d always had a look that could melt a girl like a chocolate bar on a pickup truck dashboard in the middle of July.
    She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if there was an infinitesimal pause while he decided what to do. Then he started toward her.
    This was a disaster. She didn’t want to see the guy whose very memory was enough to make her skin prickle and her stomach flutter. She was there to meet nice, polite Elliott, whose sure-we-should-listen-to-our-friends-and-meet-somewhere emails were safely charming. Elliott, for whom she’d worn her just-in-case-sparks-fly date-underwear. She should be thinking about him , not about Alex-freaking-Drake who would never, ever be allowed to see her panties again, even if he was the last man on earth.
    Except that when she crossed her legs and he followed the movement with that look , she felt it like a hand slipping up her thigh and under her skirt.
    No. No. No. She wasn’t there for a college reunion and an encore rendition of The Guy My Mother Warned Me About.
    But there he was, stopping in front of her barstool, the same devilish glint in his eyes, the same knowing tilt of his head, the same undercurrent of self-aware self-mockery with which he’d once taken that post-keg-stand bow.
    “Hey, Kansas,” he said, in the same disreputable voice she remembered. “Fancy seeing you here.”
    She tried to think of something equally banal, something socially appropriate for two acquaintances meeting for the first time in eight years, something that said, “I have long since forgotten that you ripped out my heart and flushed it down the frat house toilet.”
    But what came out of her mouth was, “I’m meeting someone.”
    She didn’t even manage the cool subtext of “Don’t worry, it’s not you.” Instead there was a