Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition by Elizabeth Knox (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

and move toward the sound like I’m under a spell. She’s standing at the top of the steps, looking to the left, pacing away from me, and then she turns and paces back. She’s gorgeous. Mesmerizing.

I take a step closer, drawn to her. Her gaze lifts, perhaps sensing my presence and our eyes lock.

Her mouth drops open, and she lowers the phone.

“Irish. You came.”

I nod. “We had a deal.”

“You remembered.”

“Of course.” My eyes trail down over her, and I whistle. “You’re beautiful, Sara.”

I hold my hand out and she comes down the stairs to me, taking it in her smaller one.

“You have ink.” Her words are soft as she gazes down at my hand.

I tilt my head and see a small heart on her wrist. “So do you. It looks good on you. Is that the only ink you have?”

She waggles a brow and grins. “You play your cards right, Irish, maybe you’ll find out the answer to that.”

I return her smile and pull her into my arms as Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” carries to us.

“Dance with me?”

“Out here?”

“Yeah. Right here. Right now. It’s just the two of us. No one to see me stumble over my feet.”

I don’t do much more than hold her and move in a shuffling circle, staring down at her beauty. She hasn’t changed a damn bit, except maybe to become even more beautiful. Her warm brown eyes suck me in, and it’s like no time has separated us. How did I ever let her go?

“Not bad, Irish,” she teases. “You haven’t stepped on my dress or feet once yet.”

I chuckle. “Tryin’ hard not to, darlin’.”

As the last refrain plays, I lower her into a dip. She drops her head back, extending her graceful neck. When the song ends and I pull her up, we step apart.

I lace my fingers through hers. “Come on. Let’s walk.”

I lead her through the formal garden, under a trellis, and beyond some hedgerows. The scent of roses is thick back here as we follow the maze of hedges, the brick walkway leading us on.

“So what have you been up to all these years, Sara?”

“I’m a costume designer in LA, now.”

“LA, wow.” I’m calculating how long a ride that is in my head and feel my hope fading that this will be anything more than a precious weekend I’ll treasure forever. “So, you’re successful in that—the designing stuff?”

“Yes. I’ve done well. I haven’t gotten an Oscar or anything yet, but maybe one day. I hope so, anyway.”

“Wow. An Oscar. That’s quite a goal. Then you’d be famous, huh?”

“Well, the only ones who would probably remember my name are other designers.” She smiles up at me, and I’m lost in her enthusiasm as she talks about her job while we walk around the gardens, weaving through the maze of hedges and rose bushes. I’m reminded of how she always was enthusiastic about whatever she did. And usually she pulled me right along with her.

Eventually, she runs out of words and gets quiet. I tug her hand and stop next to one of the rose bushes. I slip a pocketknife from my slacks and slash off a pretty bloom. I trim off the thorns and hold it out to her.

She lifts her hand to take it, her eyes almost glazing as she stares at me. “Thank you, Irish.”

I grin back; glad she doesn’t berate me for cutting the rose, but instead just accepts the gift gracefully.

She brings it to her nose and inhales.

I take it and tuck it behind her ear. “There. Beautiful, just like you.”

I shove my hands in my pocket, suddenly feeling at odds. We continue walking. Sara slips her hand in the crook of my arm, and I can’t deny how good it feels as she cuddles against me.

“I’m glad you came.” She looks up at me.

“Me too.”

We head back toward the terrace. A breeze kicks up, fluttering her skirts, and she shivers. I shrug out of my jacket and wrap it around her, then grab the lapels and pull her to me for a kiss, our first in too damn long. My mouth covers hers, and her soft lips part welcomingly.

In some ways it’s like our first shy kiss, but in others it’s like we haven’t missed a beat in all these years. She still tastes just as sweet as I remember, and I’m just as turned on sexually by her as I was at eighteen, maybe more.

I cup her nape and tilt her head back, stepping closer and wrapping my other arm around the small of her back, pulling her flush against me.

She’s pliant in my arms, and she fits like she belongs there.

After a long moment, I pull back to breathe, and stare down at her flushed face, wide eyes, and red lips.

“I’ve missed you, Sara. You have no idea how much.”

We’re at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the ballroom terrace, and I can hear the music drifting down. I also hear footsteps and turn my head. Shit. I pull back from Sara, panic jolting through me when I see who it is.

Misty skips down the steps and wraps her arms around my neck. “Green, I’ve been looking for you.”

I pull Misty’s arms free, but judging by the look on Sara’s face, the damage is already done.

“Go back inside, Misty,” I hiss.

“I . . . I have to go,” Sara whispers. Dropping my jacket to the ground, she dashes up the steps, gathering her skirts as she runs.

“Sara, wait.”

Misty has ahold of my arm, and when I try to pull free, she stumbles and falls. Gazing after Sara as she disappears through the French doors, I sigh and reach to pull Misty to her feet.

Misty looks to the doors, then to me.

“Was that her?”

“Yeah, but I just fucked it all up.”

“I’m so sorry. I was just coming to tell you Dave is going to drive me home.”

“Not your fault. It’s mine. I should have come alone.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

I