‘Sorry, darling,’ a male voice crooned too close to her ear as she was jostled from behind. Ruby glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of four colourful characters wearing Zorro-style masks with their eyes on her cleavage.
Very original, she thought, turning away and steadfastly ignoring them as she waited for the woman in front of her to collect her drinks order. If there was one valuable lesson Ruby had learned from watching her mother all these years, it was not to let her emotions do the thinking for her. Only fools rushed in and when they did they were often sorry with the results.
‘So I said, listen, doll-face.’ The guy who had jostled her spoke behind her with an over-the-top drawl. ‘You want it, you know where to find it. On your knees.’
His companions guffawed as if they were smug private school boys at a secret frat party instead of a posh event. Ruby rolled her eyes. Boys masquerading as men, she thought, half listening as they traded stories about their sexual exploits that were clearly too far-fetched to be believed.
‘Wait till you hear this one,’ one of them said in a low voice. ‘The other night Michael picked up this girl and get this—’ the wag paused for effect ‘—he says he kissed her and didn’t even realise it was his ex until she slapped his face and told him they’d broken up six months earlier. Apparently she’d changed her hairstyle and got implants.’
‘God, I wish I had his life,’ a nasally voice whined. ‘He’s an animal.’
Before she could give them a snarky look another voice interceded, a deep, velvet-coated voice she’d listened to all evening one long-ago night.
‘He’s an idiot,’ he said. ‘No man forgets a woman he’s kissed. At least he doesn’t if he has any integrity.’
Ruby’s heartbeat doubled and her skin turned pasty beneath her heavy make-up. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t!
‘What can I get you, ma’am?’
Startled by the question, Ruby stared blankly at the bartender.
‘To drink,’ he offered, gesturing to the vast array of colourful bottles on the marble shelf behind him.
‘Sorry.’ Ruby cleared her throat and forced herself to relax. ‘I’ll have...’ She frowned, trying to remember what Molly and her friend had asked for. ‘I’ll have two Cosmopolitans and a white wine.’
‘Riesling? Chardonnay? Chab—?’
‘Whatever’s strongest,’ Ruby cut in. And make it fast, please. Her palms were sweaty and she clasped them together, willing herself not to turn around to check who owned that all too sexy voice.
Fortunately she didn’t hear it again and when the bartender finally returned with her order she threw him a relieved smile and grabbed her drinks.
Keeping her head down, she turned and would have run smack into the side of one of the men if a masculine hand hadn’t shot out in front of her. Liquid sloshed over the side of one of the glasses and her eyes flew upwards to meet concerned brown ones.
Bedroom brown eyes with thick, dark lashes.
Her pulse raced erratically. It was the man in the bronzed mask. The tall one with the impossibly wide shoulders and long legs. The one who had saved the woman from being eaten by the swan. The one with the chocolate-brown hair brushed back in mussed waves just like Sam’s, and the impossibly kissable mouth perfectly positioned in a smoothly chiselled jaw. Also, just like Sam’s.
A shaft of liquid heat detonated low in her pelvis, sending plumes of sensation outwards just as it had done in that trendy pub two years ago. Just as it had done at Miller’s wedding one year ago.
It’s not him, she assured herself. It’s not him. It’s not—
‘Sorry about that.’ A hint of a lazy smile played at the edges of his mouth. ‘My fool acquaintance wasn’t watching where he was going.’
Ruby froze, her IQ falling by a hundred points. The man who—please, God—couldn’t be Sam Ventura cocked his head with bemused candour at her stultifying silence, his gaze falling to her lips before drifting lower and stopping on the drinks she was gripping precariously in front of her. ‘You need a hand carrying those?’ His dark gaze returned to hers. ‘I’d be more than happy to assist.’