“Sorry I’m late … I had to unpack some of my suitcases to find something decent to wear.”

A waiter comes over to take my coat, but Lawrence dismisses him. “Allow me.” His fingers brush my bare shoulders as he helps me. He takes the chair in front of me and pulls it out. “You look beautiful,” he says, his voice a caress as I sit down.

“Thank you.” Suddenly feeling extremely nervous, I reach for the menu and go over it. It gives me the perfect excuse not to look him in the eye.

He pulls the menu away, his hand settling on top of mine. “Don’t be afraid, Blaire. Not of me,” he adds huskily.

Swiftly, I lift my eyes and meet his stare. “It’s not that … I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

I focus on his tanned hand on mine, and it’s turns out to be a mistake. Because as I do, memories of how intimately that hand has touched me, how well it knows every part of my body, flood my mind. “Why am I nervous, he asks?” I repeat incredulously. “Do you really have to ask?”

He has the decency to laugh. “Why don’t we order some wine first, and then you can tell me the reason behind the suitcases?”

“I’d like that.”

Over dinner, I begin to loosen up around him, even though he watches me in a way that makes me flush under his gaze. We discuss my plans in Paris, and his work. School. New projects. Life. The future. We talk about everything and nothing at all, always avoiding Ronan and the past. Always avoiding our last encounter.

Soon we fall back into the old ways where he reclines his back on the chair twirling the red wine in his glass while I do most of the chatting. In no time, we’re back to being dear friends.

While taking a sip, I seize the opportunity to admire him unabashedly. Time hasn’t changed Lawrence Rothschild. No. He’s as lethally attractive as the first moment I set eyes on him. Every pore, every atom in his body is wired with virility.

There’s a small smile on his face that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle attractively. “In some ways, you’re the same.”

I raise an eyebrow, placing the wine glass down on the table. “You mean I still don’t have a clue when to shut up?”

He chuckles wryly. “And in other ways, you’re very different. What’s changed, Blaire?” he asks softly.

“Everything.” I trace the white tablecloth with the pads of my fingers. “You know, I don’t have much anymore, but I’m happy. Everything I own, I’ve earned by working on my two feet. And it’s the best feeling in the world. I look at myself in the mirror each morning and I’m not ashamed.” I raise my face and smile.

“I’m finally free, Lawrence. For once, when I look in the mirror, I like the person who’s staring back at me. Don’t get me wrong. I still like pretty things, but my existence and self-worth do not revolve around them. I don’t have to hide behind them, either.”

Lawrence reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers tightly together. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. His touch is enough. “Where’s Ronan, Blaire? Why isn’t he with you?”

I attempt to smile, but I can’t hide the pain from Lawrence. “Some things aren’t meant to be.”

“Don’t I know it?” Lawrence adds quietly.

I lift his hand, raise it to my mouth, and kiss it. “I’m so sorry for everything, Lawrence. Even after all this time, it still hurts to know that I caused you so much pain. You didn’t deserve any of it. I didn’t—”

“There’s no room for logic when the heart is involved. To love is to lose all sense of reason.” He stares straight ahead, his mind far away. “Before you came into my life, I thought that I couldn’t love again, that my life was as good as it was going to get. But you made me want more. Need more. You did hurt me, but you also awoke something in me that had lain dormant for years.”