Just One Night (Sex, Love & Stiletto 3)

Condon.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it?

But how …

“How are you going to answer it?” Grace asked softly.

“I’m dying to hear the answer to that myself.”

All four women turned to stare at the man in the doorway.

But he was staring only at Riley. And his eyes were full of …

Everything.

Wordlessly the other three stood. Well, Grace and Emma stood. Julie had to be coaxed out of her chair, and luckily Grace had the forethought to grab the box of tissues on the way out.

“Nice one, Samuel,” Emma muttered as the three women slipped past.

“I want to watch,” Riley heard Julie say.

“And I want Ryan Reynolds for my birthday,” Emma snapped. “Get it together.”

Riley barely heard any of this.

She couldn’t believe he was here. Couldn’t believe …

She shakily rose to her feet, holding up the letter. “You?”

He blushed and looked at the floor. “It’s awful, isn’t it? I wrote a different one that was a little less Byron, and it was even Liam-approved, but last night I couldn’t get these words out of my head.”

She pressed her lips together. “Did you mean it?”

His head snapped up, and his blue eyes were desperate. He took a half step toward her before catching himself. “Every damn word.”

“How did Camille end up with it?”

“I meant to mail it, but my, um, drafting took too long. So Liam looked through your contact list at dinner and got Camille’s number.”

“The sneak,” she muttered.

“Liam, or Camille?”

“Both.”

Several moments of tense silence passed between them until Sam finally closed his eyes and broke the eye contact. “I have to know, Riley. I have to know the answer.”

He sounded tortured, and a tiny part of her wanted to feel smug about that, but the atypical huskiness of his voice killed her.

Riley swallowed. She knew what her heart wanted. Her heart had always wanted it. But her head was begging her to be smart.

This was a man she’d practically begged to love her, and he’d let her walk away.

Now their situations were reversed, and she just didn’t know …

She glanced down at the beautiful words on the paper, and wanted so badly to trust them.

“I sold my whisky,” he blurted out.