Page 60 of Friends Who Fake It

So they were twins?

Was that why she was familiar? Had he, in fact, met the sister instead?

No, it wasn’t that.

No sooner had the idea occurred to him than he dismissed it.

He dragged his gaze over both women, one with hair that was cut in a bob, both with matching, fine-boned profiles and dark red lips, both slim and petite. Both beautiful, to be sure, but it was only one that caused his body to stir, that caused a hardening in the region of his groin that would – that must – be satisfied.

He propped an elbow on the bar and ordered a single malt, neat, without taking his eyes off the woman. She’d said they didn’t know one another and yet he couldn’t shake the certainty that they did.

Had she forgotten him?

His ego said no.

But she hadn’t even blinked when she’d told him they were strangers. So?

Wasn’t that in and of itself unusual? Wouldn’t a more natural response have been to smile and apologise, to say that she wasn’t sure if they knew one another, and then introduce herself?

Theyhadmet.

He was sure of it.

There were so many blanks in his mind, and there was no sense obsessing over them. If willpower alone were enough to recall all of the days and weeks he’d lost then he’d see it all clearly now.

But those dark spots of his past were gone forever – swathes of his personal history had been lost to him.

And somewhere in the recesses of his malfunctioning mind, he was certain this woman existed.

His arousal strained hard against his pants; his body apparently remembered her just fine. She turned her head towards him, their eyes locked, and a mocking smile tilted his lips without his consent. She didn’t look away, as he’d expected. He could see the faint tremble of her pulse at the base of her throat, and noted with interest the way her breathing was rushed. Yet she kept looking at him, as though shecouldn’tlook away.

And a frisson of something like impatience tore through him.

He hadn’t felt anything like it in a long time, but hehadfelt it before – he just couldn’t remember precisely when.

Irritation with his own damned shortcomings had him throwing the scotch back and straightening.

She finally looked away, but not before he caught the unmistakable expression of wariness on her face.

As though she were trapped; hunted.

Fascinating.

He cut through the room, ignoring the two men who tried to get his attention along the way. Xavier was used to people attempting to ‘network’ with him at events such as this. In command of a billion-pound empire, there were many people who sought to curry favour with him. But in that moment, his focus was singular and unbreakable.

He strode through the room, and she moved away from him, weaving through the crowd in what he now saw as a determined attempt to evade him. A desperation to understand what they’d once been to each other took hold of him on a cellular level, so that he quickened his step.

She was no match for him. Much shorter and on spindly high heels that were the last word in eroticism, she took three steps for every one of his, so that he caught her when she was at the entrance to the grand ballroom.

“Excuse me,” he spoke with easy command. It was a voice that didn’t invite argument.

She stopped, but didn’t turn to face him, so he brought his body around in front of her.

And there it was again. He felt as though he’d been punched in the solar plexus; his whole body responded, every fibre of him pulled taut, every cell in him reverberated.

“Who are you?”

She tilted her beautiful little chin in a gesture of unmistakable defiance, and her eyes practically burned his when they lifted. “Nobody.” She spat the word with obvious contempt. “And I was just leaving.”

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