“I have nothing to say to you.”
They stared at each other. The spring temperature couldn’t cool Shawna’s heated skin or her hot temper. Ryan was the last person she ever wanted to see again. Too bad he looked so good. Had he actually gotten better looking? Why couldn’t he have started balding or developed a paunch—something, anything to make him pay for what he’d done.
“Shawna, please. At least let me buy you dinner. For old times’ sake.”
She turned her back on him and closed her eyes. Old times’ sake.
Why did seeing him tear her apart like this? She hated him after what he’d done. He’d used her.
“No.” Walk away, Shawna.
“Why not? It wasn’t all bad, was it?”
And that was the problem. Before she found out the truth, the time they’d spent together had been good. That’s why their break up—could she even call it that since they hadn’t been in a relationship?—had been so devastating.
“You shouldn’t have done this, Ryan,” she said in a low voice.
“It was six years ago.” The exterior lights cast shadows on the ground in the darkness so she saw him when he moved closer. “I would think,” he said, his voice equally low behind her, “that after six years, you could find a way to . . . I don’t know . . .” He sighed. “I don’t expect forgiveness. I know what I did was wrong, but we had something. Didn’t we?”
He moved in front of her, and she had no choice but to look at him. It brought him into such close proximity that she could smell his cologne. The same scent, containing hints of sandalwood and vanilla. It brought back even more memories. She looked him in the eyes, standing only a couple of inches shorter in her heels. She maintained eye contact despite the tremor in her belly.
“No,” she replied. “We had the opposite of something. Nothing. Because you thought it fine to play games.”
“I wasn’t playing games.”
“What would you call it then? Having your cake and eating it, too?”
Ryan ran his hand over his dark brown hair. “I wouldn’t call it that, either.”
“You used me.”
“No.” His mouth set in a grim line, he stepped close. “That was never my intention. You have to believe me. Can we sit down and talk? We’re both already here.”
She shook her head, not only to deny him but also to clear it.
“Do you want me to beg?” He lowered his voice. “Have dinner with me. You know you want to stay, no matter how much you despise me. I know how much you enjoy French food, and William said this is your favorite restaurant. That’s why I picked this place.”
He’d remembered how much she loved French food. But would it really only be dinner? It hadn’t been that first night.
The corners of his mouth twitched, and she fought the urge to give in to the temptation chipping away at her resolve. She glanced back at the door. “This is my favorite restaurant.”
She’d started the downward slide into dangerous territory, justifying why it should be okay to sit down and have dinner with a man whose presence had her tangled in knots. Who, as he said, she should despise, but couldn’t because of a different emotion which she refused to acknowledge.
He touched her arm above her elbow, and she pulled away from him. “No touching.”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “No touching,” he agreed.
They eyed each other. She wavered, and he waited. She remained quiet, hesitant, and he waited.
The urge to walk away was weaker than her curiosity. She wanted to hear what he had to say and find out how he’d been over the years.
“Appetizers and drinks only,” she said, feeling the need to state conditions so she’d have some level of control over the way the evening progressed.
“No problem.” The lazy smile she’d become familiar with in Chicago returned. It made him look as if he had a secret he relished keeping to himself.
“I mean it.”