over to the table, blew out the candles, then dumped the éclairs into the trash. She intended to leave all the rest behind—the dishes, the candlesticks, the champagne. A thank-you to Franco for lending her the skirt for the evening. She had no reason to ever return to this apartment.
Paige opened the door, ready to step into her new life.
And saw Alex Mack standing on the other side.
She grabbed the doorjamb to keep from falling over, his sexy smile still able to make her heart bounce in her chest.
Then he said, “Hi, honey. I’m home.”
2
ALEX KNEW he’d said the wrong thing as soon as the words came tumbling out of his mouth. His communication skills had obviously suffered from lack of exercise in the last year. That’s what happened when you found yourself confined to a ten-by-ten cell twenty hours out of every day for twelve straight months.
He was lucky he could speak at all with Paige standing there in front of him after all this time. A Paige he almost didn’t recognize.
She’d cut her beautiful long hair. Ditched her classic conservative clothes for a red halter top and a short black skirt that made him stare at her legs for far too long. Then his gaze fell lower and he saw the fire-red polish on her toenails. He blinked and looked down toward her feet again. Was that a tattoo on her ankle?
His gaze moved slowly up her lush body as his tongue struggled for something intelligent to say. She looked incredible. He’d dreamed of this moment every day for the past year. Dreamed of her. Now he stood here gaping at her like an idiot, wanting to tell her how much he’d missed her. How much he wanted to hold her again and never let her go.
But before he could say a word, Paige made her own feelings perfectly clear. She slammed the door in his face.
Alex stood staring at the solid oak in shocked disbelief. The old Paige would have given him a chance to explain. She would have listened quietly to his side of the story and tried to understand. This new Paige, judging by the homicidal sparks he’d just seen in her big blue eyes, wasn’t interested in his explanation.
Tough.
Alex put up his fist and pounded hard on the door. He hadn’t come this far—or given up this much—to turn back now. “Paige, let me in.”
“Go away!”
“We need to talk.”
“You’re three hundred and sixty-five days too late!”
He reached for the knob. “Open this door.”
“I’m warning you, Alex,” she shouted from the other side. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Alex wiggled the doorknob but it stayed firmly locked. “And I’m warning you. If you don’t open this door by the time I count to three, I’m going to knock it down.”
Silence. The door didn’t budge.
“One.” he called out, certain she’d open it before he got to three. Paige was a reasonable person. She wouldn’t call his bluff.
“Two.” Then again, he hadn’t seen her for a year. Maybe she’d changed on the inside as well as on the outside. He backed up a step, trying to gauge the thickness of the wood. He’d never actually knocked a door down before, though it always seemed easy enough in the movies. He backed up another couple of steps.
“Three!”
Alex lowered his shoulder and barreled forward at the same moment the door swung open. Paige sidestepped out of his way to avoid a collision. Alex wasn’t quite so lucky. He flew inside the room and careened into a table. The dishes and candlesticks on it went flying, crashing onto the floor. Like Alex.
For a moment he just lay there, trying to remain conscious after banging the back of his head on a chair. Shards of china and glass surrounded him. Something wet seeped through the back of his shirt.
At last he looked up to see Paige gazing down at him. “Guess you called my bluff.”
“Now it looks like I should call an ambulance.”
He shifted on the floor, wincing slightly at a sharp pain in his right shoulder. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “So what do I have to do to get you to leave? Set another wedding date?”
“Look, Paige…” Alex got up on one knee, then grew so dizzy he had to grab the leg of an overturned chair.
Paige reached out one hand to steady his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Was that concern he heard in her voice? It gave him hope and enough encouragement to rise unsteadily to his feet. “I think so.”
“Too bad.”
So much for her concern. The momentary dizziness passed and he wiped his hand across the sticky wetness on the back of his shirt. “What’s this?”
“Champagne. Dom Pérignon, 1992. A very good year.”
Too late Alex realized that Paige must be expecting someone. He’d glimpsed the intimate table setting for two just before he’d crashed into it. The candles. The champagne. Hell.
She was expecting a man.
Jealousy washed over him like a tidal wave. Just the thought of another man touching Paige made him want to grab her in his arms and stake his claim. Alex took a deep breath, then another, a little stunned by his visceral reaction to the fact that she was dating. Had he really expected her to wait for him? Especially when he’d given her no indication that he was coming back?
Yes.
His faith in Paige’s love had made it possible to endure the hell of the last year. He’d assumed she’d be angry. Hurt. Confused. But he’d never even considered the possibility that she’d move on to another man.
Which proved that he truly was an idiot. She was gorgeous. Then again, she’d always been beautiful to him. But now she was different. The shy, reserved Paige of his memory was gone. The woman before him now was full of fire. A kitten who had morphed into a hellcat.
But she was his hellcat. Alex would make that fact perfectly clear to any man who happened to walk through the door.
Paige took a step toward him, her brow furrowed. “You’re bleeding.”
He followed her gaze to the front of his gray T-shirt and saw a small red stain spreading in a circle on his chest. No doubt he’d landed on one of the slivers of glass on the floor.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” he said wryly. “It’s probably not serious.”
She met his gaze. “You might need stitches.”
Pulling his T-shirt over his head, he wadded it up into a ball then dabbed away the blood on his chest. “See? Nothing serious. You can barely see the cut.”
She wrenched her gaze up from his chest and cleared her throat, her cheeks flushed. “Good. Okay, well, you can leave now.”
He tossed the shirt aside. “You’re awfully eager to get rid of me. Afraid your date won’t like finding another man here alone with you?”
She blinked. “My what?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute, how did you know where to find me?”
“This is where you live,” he replied, confused by her question. He probably had a concussion.
She shook her head. “Not anymore. I sold this apartment eleven months ago.”
Alex couldn’t believe it. She had fallen in love with this old place the moment she’d set eyes on it. He remembered the way she’d danced around the apartment when she’d given him a tour