Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
My reflection shines back at me. Instead of noticing my crow’s feet or laugh lines, I see the rosiness of my cheeks. My eyes appear lit from the inside.
I look happy.
Since my divorce from Kent, I’ve done a hundred things to reshape my existence. I’ve read books, taken yoga classes, and filled my body with healthy vitamins and minerals. There have been girls’ nights and wine and paint parties. My wardrobe has been updated with things that make me feel good, and I got a new job that I love.
I’ve gone through my life with a scalpel, cutting away everything that doesn’t fit my new vision for the future. I’m left with a beautiful canvas filled with good things. There’s so much room to add to it, too.
I’m thriving.
The only glaring hole is my desperate need to be touched.
I reach for a bottle of lotion.
Despite what I was raised to believe, the desire to be touched by another person is a primal human need. I want that connection. I want the passion, the intimacy that I read about in my novels—if even for a night.
“I really want to see you again, Kelly.”
I set the lotion down as Tally’s words come to mind.
“So if he wants to take you to dinner, why not? Why not enjoy the attention and get back into the swing of things?”
Blood rushes through my veins as my brain kicks into overdrive, barreling into an area that makes my heart pound faster. I don’t know his last name, and he doesn’t know mine at all. I did tell him where I was going for dinner tonight, but who knows if he picked up on it?
If he really wants to see me—if the universe thinks we should meet again, he’ll be there. Right?
I force a swallow, then blow out a long breath, steadying myself.
If he doesn’t show up tonight, nothing is hurt. Life goes on. But if he does …
“You can come home with one adventure under your belt.”
The idea of seeing Tate again sends a rush of excitement down my spine. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this—so … alive.
“Fuck it. What can it hurt?” I snort as I reach for the lotion again. “Famous last words …”
Chapter Five
Aurora
With each step toward Ruma, the restaurant at the end of a long corridor inside Picante, my heels click. Smartly dressed men and women trickle toward me, and I imagine them discussing stock and their summer homes in the South of France—two things I know nothing about. The air of regality and sophistication ruffles my nerves a bit.
Who are you kidding? Your ruffled nerves have nothing to do with anyone but Tate.
I take a deep breath and blow it out in an even stream, trying to stop overthinking.
“This is an adventure,” I mutter, holding my clutch tightly. “Have fun with it. If he shows up, good. If not, go to the bar and grab a drink. You can pull up a book on your phone if it gets awkward, but it’s time to put yourself out there a little bit.”
A man with salt-and-pepper hair turns on his heel to watch me walk by him.
I stand a little taller. Guess this dress was a good choice, after all.
Two dress options in my suitcase were packed at the last minute, “just in case.” I never dreamed I’d pull one out to try to “accidentally” run into a man in the hotel restaurant, or else I might’ve thought it through a little more. But the one I chose tonight fits me well and checks all the boxes I hope are checked if I happen to see Tate again.
The U-neckline and corseted top of this little black dress makes my boobs look great. The length hits just above the knee, and the slit ending mid-thigh gives it a subtle sexiness that works perfectly. My favorite stilettos and simple gold jewelry make me feel comfortable and pretty.
That’s a win.
“He probably won’t even show up,” I whisper. “Be open to the universe and accept whatever it gives me.”
My steps slow as I approach the entrance of Ruma. A small group of stunning college-aged girls stands beside the arched doorway. They huddle together, holding drinks and cell phones, whispering as they not-so-subtly stare … at me?
Before I can turn around, a large palm skims the small of my back, and the contact, combined with Tate’s proximity and the warm spiciness of his cologne, lights my body on fire.
My legs wobble as his touch spreads through me like wildfire.
He’s here.
“Every man out here is staring at you,” he says softly behind me, his lips inches from the shell of my ear. “And to think I’m the lucky bastard who gets the privilege of sharing the evening with you.”
Holy shit. Universe, I accept.
I turn slowly to face him, and his eyes twinkle with mischief.