She blew out a breath, lifting the silky black hair away from her forehead. Glancing down to check that Denny was still dancing, she pushed away from the balustrade and moved along the walkway.
A big man walked towards her, his red hair catching the flicker of the lights and gleaming like fire in the shadows. She let her gaze drift down, taking in the gleam of his silver eyes as he scanned the shadows, the oh-so-kissable lushness of his mouth, the way his leather jacket emphasized the width of his shoulders and the strength of his arms, while his faded jeans paid homage to the long, lean strength of his legs. He moved with such effortless grace that he could have been walking on air...
She blinked.
He walked like Cade.
Her gaze shot upwards. Aside from the gray eyes, it was Cade's face. The bruise darkening his chin was evidence of that, if nothing else.
A smile tugged at her lips. Would he recognize her? There was only one way to find out. She strolled towards him, accentuating the swing of her hips, watching his expression, waiting for the moment of awareness. His gaze briefly scanned her and moved on. Then he did a double take, and a grin split his lips.
"Well, well,” he said, stopping so close the heat of his body ran over her in a wave, leaving her sweating and wet with desire. He wrapped a hand around her waist and drew her closer still. “Don't you look luscious."
"So do you,” she purred, running her hands down his leather-clad arms and enjoying the press of his hard body against hers. “And I do like the contacts. Always did fancy a man with silver eyes.” Not to mention leather. Too bad he was wearing jeans. As much as he looked good in them, just the thought of leather pants got her pulse running. There was something very sensual about running a hand over a leather-clad butt.
The muscles under her fingertips tightened so suddenly that it felt as if she were caressing steel. She glanced up in time to see the amusement fade from his expression.
"You found Denny yet?"
His voice was clipped with annoyance, and she frowned, wondering what his problem was. “He's downstairs, dancing with a spike-haired wolf.” She hesitated, then added, “Why the attitude?"
"We'd better find someplace to watch him from."
She nodded toward the balustrade. “We can do it from there."
His hand slid from her waist to her arm, and his grip was a little too tight as he propelled her forward. “Let's get over there and watch, then."
She ripped her arm from his grip and stopped. “I asked you a question. Answer it first."
He continued on to the balustrade. “How many wolves do you know with silver eyes?"
She stared at his back, more than a little perplexed. “What?"
"So you weren't thinking about Ronan when you made that comment?” he threw back at her.
She laughed. She couldn't help it. He was jealous. Had to be. Why else would he make a comment like that? “Ronan was the last wolf on my mind, believe me."
He gave her a withering look. “We're here to work. Let's concentrate on that."
"I'd much rather talk about your reaction."
A grunt was her only reply, and that made her more than a touch annoyed. How was she supposed to interpret something like that? God, for a man who was so damn willing to throw opinions around, he was mighty close-mouthed when it came to anything remotely personal.
She leaned on the railing beside him, close enough that the heat of his body caressed her skin, yet not close enough that they touched, which was a totally inadequate situation. They might not be able to make love, but that didn't prevent all contact. Hell, there was more to making love than just the physical act ... She grimaced. Hadn't she wanted it to be just about the physical act?
Despite her earlier resolution, despite the doubts she'd expressed to her sister only moments before, she really wasn't sure what she wanted anymore. Even when she wasn't with Cade, he filled her thoughts. But wasn't that a natural consequence of the way they'd ended their relationship and what still lay unresolved between them?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Like Neva had noted, maybe she still cared for him more than she wanted to admit. But was she willing to risk the hurt, the complete and utter devastation, of realizing he didn't love her a second time? Especially since his actions so far certainly indicated he was enamored with nothing more than the power of their lovemaking.
I don't know, she thought. I just don't know.
But one thing she was sure of—they couldn't stand here like dummies, and if they weren't going to make out, they might as well discuss the past. And better here where her emotions had to be restrained than alone.
Frowning at her own cowardice, she glanced down to check Denny was still where she'd left him, and said, “We need to talk."