[Continued: To start at the beginning click here.]
At last, she tossed her towel beneath the bar and decided to quit dancing around and just find out who the stranger was.
“How you doing over here?” she asked, approaching with an easy smile that felt utterly fake.
“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” he answered.
His eyes held a bemused gleam as they made a lazy sweep of her hair and face. She caught herself smoothing her ponytail and tried not to look completely disconcerted by him. But it was harder than it should have been.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” she said, pleased at how natural her voice sounded. It had just the right balance of warmth and inquisitiveness and none of the jittery nerves rioting inside her.
“It’s my first visit.”
She sensed that the innocuous statement held a double meaning she wasn’t sharp enough to catch.
“Well, welcome to Love’s. I’m Roxanne.”
“I know. Roxanne Love.”
He spoke her name in that husky tone, only now it held a note of satisfaction. As if finding her, recognizing her, had been a great feat that he’d accomplished against all odds.
Her smile faltered and she took a step back. The instinct was ingrained. It had been years since the media or the obsessed fanatics who’d stalked her in the past had caught her unaware, but she never fully let down her guard.
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