The One Who Got Away (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) by Ava Claire Page A

to run. And I was supposed to trust that now, he had his shit together? Now, he wouldn’t get out of dodge when things got tough?
    As bad ass as my words were, I still didn’t pry my eyeballs from the tablecloth, even after I heard his chair slide backward across the hardwood floor. I counted every step that carried him from his side to mine. Felt him standing beside me, the pull of him painfully hard to deny. His hand drifted in view, palm up, seemingly empty, but I saw the olive branch there. I thought I’d surrendered by coming here, but he was the one surrendering. Giving me a chance to say that it was too late, the damage was done—or we could take the tiniest step toward something different. Something new.
    And then his voice reached through the darkness and drew my gaze up to meet his.
    “Dance with me.”
    The words fell from my mouth a few moments ago, but I was utterly speechless now. A part of me was flabbergasted. I mean, I tell him that he abandoned me, abandoned us, and his answer is for us to dance? Dance and sing and delight as the Titanic sinks to the bottom of the ocean? Another part of me wanted nothing more than to take his hand and be swept away in this moment. Because outside of this room the real world spun on, but here? Here, it was just me and him and the chemistry that burned as brightly as the candles that roared around us.
    His hand was still there, eyes still intent, question still hanging in the silence. Well, not complete silence since the music was still floating from somewhere. Not our kind of music; too classical, too romantic. And now we were about to, what? Waltz?
    I glanced down at myself, wrapped in some couture gown, then back at his sleek black suit. Well, we were dressed for the occasion.
    Any moment the waitress would be back and I’d have an excuse to say no. A plate filled with macaroni had my name on it. And I’d devour it and put off the inevitable, when I’d have to answer his question.
    I know the past happened and I hurt you and I’m sorry...but what comes next?
    Of course the waitress was nowhere to be found. I imagined that she was somewhere in the shadows, watching us, letting our appetizers die at the pass because there was a moment about to unfold, if I’d only take Lincoln’s hand.
    Yes or no.
    Jump or stop pretending.
    I could let the moment pass. Go back upstairs, wash my face, put my slacks and blouse back on, and hold onto the bitterness and anger until it ate me alive. Pretend that I didn’t want to take his hand and dance until my feet hurt. Spin around and around until I was back at prom in my anti-prom dress, him in his suit, rocking out like we were the only people on the dance floor.
    “I hate you,” I muttered, dropping my hand in his and letting him drag me to my feet.
    His lips curled mischievously. “I know.”
    There was no way he could see any better than I could, but he moved like some nocturnal thing, leading me toward a place where we could dance and not slam into tables and chairs. I was awash with sensations, even in the midst of being robbed of sight. I could feel his hand pulsing around mine. His cologne gently drifted around him like the music that whined and moaned around us. The desire that started in my belly, that pit of nerves and need—it wanted to fast forward through the dance and get to the part where his mouth was all over my body.
    I sucked in a breath as we came to a hard stop. He tugged my hand and my body slammed into his. My eyes flew up to meet his gray ones, and I felt a part of him that wanted to fast forward, too. His cock, erect and as mouthwateringly thick as I remembered, was pressed against my abdomen. He always took the lead, but I couldn’t follow. I just stood, eyes locked on his, heart beating out of my chest, and I swayed.
    I didn’t let my mind take me to a place of anger. That we were supposed to have a dance just like this, as husband and wife, would have tainted this. Where excitement robbed me of