He's Back: A Second Chance Romance

by Aria Ford

  “Wow,” my best friend said. I blushed.

  The girl who looked back at me from the mirror was middling height, with a well-contoured face with high, angled cheekbones and big brown eyes. My mane of brownish hair shone with gold lights: My mom always called it “clover honey”, and I guess it did have golden streaks in it, seeing it now. The cream dress brought them out. I pulled the top to sit properly across my full breasts and narrow waist. Then I did a little turn in the mirror, loving the silky feel of the dress on my ankles.

  “You look gorgeous too,” I said to Lacey. She smiled at me in the other mirror, busy with makeup.

  “Thanks.”

  With her platinum-blonde hair and the knee-length dress with fluttery sleeves, she looked like a flower-fairy. I told her that and she pulled a face at me.

  “Thanks. I think.” She giggled. “Not sure it's the right look for a gala, but I'm doing it anyway.”

  We both laughed. Then we hurried down the stairs, feeling a little giddy with excitement, to her car.

  “You sure it's safe to drive in heels?” I asked as we headed outside.

  “I got flip-flops in the car,” she explained succinctly. She jumped in and we headed off.

  My stomach was a churning mass of nerves when we pulled up to the hotel. There was a small row of cameras and reporters, security personnel and limos, and a red carpet trailing its way up the front steps – alluring and intimidating all at once. Were we really going to go in there? In front of the press and all those people?

  I looked out through the windshield. We were sitting in Lacey's secondhand BMW with its faded red paint and missing front wheel-cap. I felt a bit awkward.

  She looked at me.

  “Where do we go?” I asked.

  “In the front like everyone else,” Lacey said with a rebel grin. “Though I guess we'll leave the car round the back somewhere...”

  I laughed. We did that. Clutching a butter-cream chiffon shawl around my shoulders, shivering in the capricious breeze, I climbed out of the car, following her up the sidewalk. The pair of us were giggling like schoolgirls at a prom as we approached. We stopped at the edge of the crowd.

  “Well?” Lacey whispered nervously. “What should we do?”

  “Go up?” I said pragmatically.

  “Well...” Lacey looked nervous.

  “We're invited, just like them,” I reasoned. I was trying to psych myself up as much as I was encouraging her. I was so tense with nerves I wasn't sure my knees would bend properly.

  “Well, I guess so,” Lacey shrugged slight shoulders under her thin evening coat.

  I nodded. “Let's go.”

  Me being me, with an impulsive streak I sometimes wish I didn't have, I put my foot forward and strode onto the carpet. It was with boldness and force that I strode up the stairs and through the door.

  Straight into a guy in a suit.

  Oh, for...

  I rolled my eyes. Keith always said I was clumsy. I drew in a deep breath.

  “I'm so sorry!” I stammered. Lacey looked like she wanted to turn to stone. I felt like I had. I looked up into the man's face – he had just turned round.

  I stared.

  It was Drake.

  No. It can't be. But it was. With those big square shoulders and a square-cut jaw and a long, sensitive face, it couldn't be anyone else. Teamed up with a long, magazine-front-cover nose, black eyes and a mobile, expressive mouth, it was Drake.

  I wished the floor would open up and swallow me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ainsley

  “Drake!”

  He didn't say anything. He just looked at me with those big dark eyes, searching my face. Whatever expression was in them I couldn't fathom. It was like the whole room had gone still and quiet and it was just the two of us. And a silence like an ice desert, or a thread of steel, that pulled tight between us.

  “Drake!” I said again. “It is you, isn't it?”

  I felt fingers tighten on my wrist. Lacey was gripping my wrist with her fingers like claws.

  “Ainsley,” she whispered. “We should move...”

  I twisted round in time to notice an older couple, resplendent in Dior and diamonds, behind us. I flushed crimson, realizing I had blocked the way for everyone. I heard angry and relieved whispers as I moved.

  “Sorry,” I whispered to Lacey.

  Lacey was as white as a sheet and my attention, which had been consumed by Drake, suddenly focused on her. Social situations were hard for her anyway, I knew that. And I had just embarrassed her more than anything else ever could have.

  “Lacey?” I whispered numbly. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes...”

  She held onto my wrist tightly and I was considering what to do next when someone spoke behind me.

  “Ainsley?”

  “Drake?” I felt a sudden annoyance stab into me. “Look – this isn't a good time,” I began impatiently. “My friend isn't feeling well and I think we should...”

  “I'm fine,” Lacey whispered. Her voice sounded like it came down a long tunnel. “I just want to be by myself awhile.”

  “Okay,” I nodded. “Excuse me,” I said to Drake. I went with her to a seat. Left her sitting there.

  “You're sure you're okay?” I asked gently.

  “Yes. I'm sure.”

  I left her alone and headed back to the lobby. When I got there, to my surprise, Drake was still there. The shock had given way to anger, now: All my embarrassment and guilt over Lacey combined with the resentment and hurt from the past eight years made me dangerously-close to losing my temper.

  “Is your friend okay?” he asked. His brow was furrowed in concern.

  That did it. Here he was, standing in front of me after he hadn't seen me for eight years and hadn’t even bothered told me he was alive. Now, he was more concerned about Lacey than about me.

  “She's fine,” I snapped. “She gets panic attacks. Just hope she'll be okay. If I hadn't seen you I wouldn’t have just stopped dead like that...”

  I knew it wasn't his fault, not really. But all the same it felt good to blame it all on this...this...

  Infuriating. Gorgeous. Stunning, almost impossibly annoying guy.

  “I'm sorry,” he said tightly.

  I sighed. “Look, it's not your fault,” I said wearily. “I just...what are you doing here?”

  He frowned. “I work here.”

  “Here?” I looked at the Hilton Hotel, wondering, stupidly, why they would need a lawyer in the lobby.

  “For Steelcore,” he explained. “I'm a corporate lawyer now.”

  “Oh.”

  What?

  Drake Leblanc worked for Steelcore Inc. A company known for the distinct suspicion that the iron they used came from dodgy mining operations in Brazil. Drake worked for these people? Defended them in court?

  I looked at my hands a moment, trying to compose my thoughts. That was a big surprise. Steelcore Inc. was not a company with a good reputation. In fact, in the light of fair treatment, quite the opposite. It was the last place I would expect to find Drake. It felt as if Father Christmas had just been accused of mass-murder.

  When we were students together, Drake didn't even want to do corporate law. He wanted to defend human rights. He had left me to follow that dream, flying to Kinshasa on the strength of it. I had accepted that because I knew it meant the world to him.

  And now I found him here, sold out to big business?

  “Ainsley? What's wrong?”

  I looked up to find those big brown eyes watching me soulfully.

  I sighed. “Nothing.”

  I didn't know quite what to say. If he didn't even know why I was shocked, how could I begin to explain? I turned away.

  “Ainsley?”

  “I should get back to the party,” I said in a tight voice.

  He said nothing. I walked back toward the entrance, feeling as if I was walking away from the edge of a cliff.

  I was glad to walk away. All the same,
when he didn't call me back, I felt quite angry. Maybe he really never had any feelings for me. What else was I supposed to think? He'd walked out of my life eight years ago and even now he didn't seem too interested in getting to know me.

  Well, maybe I'm not interested in getting to know him. Looks like I didn't know him very well last time.

  I had known someone completely different. A principled, caring man. Not a heartless, money-seeking one.

  I looked around the lobby. Guests were coming in more slowly now. Most people had already gone through to the main hall. I looked for Lacey and found her in a chair by the entrance. She looked a little better.

  “Lacey?”

  “Yes?”

  “You feeling okay?” I asked gently.

  “I think so,” she said slowly. “I'm just about ready to go in now.”

  “Okay.” I stood and waited while she got to her feet. We walked to the hall together.

  Inside, the murmurs of conversation filled the air. I could hear people talking and laughing and the clink of glasses. The air smelled like expensive perfume and the thinnest trace of alcohol. Black-clad waiters moved in between the stylish guests with trays of champagne-flutes and somewhere a violin played.

  I breathed in, suddenly feeling a bit of my excitement returning. This was a special night. I was in a special dress. I wasn't going to let some ghost from the past spoil it for me.

  Especially not a suited, suave ghost who'd been sold out to big paychecks.

  “Let's go find some champagne,” I said decisively to Lacey. She smiled.

  “Let's.”

  We slid through the crowded room, finding a man in a suit with a tray.

  “Champagne, madam?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  We each accepted a glass gratefully and saluted each other with them, then drank. Sparkling and refreshing, the champagne quenched my thirst but also fizzled in my brain, making it hard to think clearly. I giggled.

  “Oh, look,” Lacey said, scanning the room from next to me. “There's Uncle Mark. I should thank him.”

  I nodded. “I should too,” I said.

  We wove our way through the crowd to join the party around a cheerful, bald-headed fellow with a big grin. Lacey's Uncle Mark and our benefactor. As we slipped into the circle, which included people of all ages – especially a dark-haired and handsome younger man who looked our way as we joined – I thought of Drake.

  Where are you? I wondered, glancing briefly around the room with a surprising pain in my heart. It was a good question. Where had the Drake I loved – the outstanding, empathetic Drake – gone to?

  Stop it, Ainsley, I thought crossly. It didn't matter where he'd gone. I didn't matter to him, so why should I care?

  “You're a colleague of Lacey's?” the handsome guy asked me.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. I stuck my hand out confidently. “Ainsley Johnson.”

  “Hi,” he grinned. “Warren Lark.”

  “Good to meet you, Warren.” I smiled coyly. I was flirting, just a little, just to see what Drake would do. I swiveled round to see if I could spot him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  I blinked. Warren had said something and I hadn't heard him. “Um, sorry, Warren,” I said softly. “What was that?”

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “I'm a translator,” I explained. “It's my job to rewrite books by French authors in English.”

  “Wow.” he raised a brow. “That sounds pretty challenging.”

  I felt a small warm flame of pride. “It is sometimes,” I said. “Depends a lot on the author and how worked up they are about keeping the spirit of the work alive...” I felt myself warm to my theme. I am passionate about what I do. It was nice to be talking to someone who seemed to be interested.

  The conversation carried on for a while and then we headed over to the tables to take seats for the dinner.

  Where is Drake?

  I felt impatient with myself for caring, but I couldn't help it. I looked around and then I spotted him, talking with a solid, imposing looking man. From the way the others were deferring to him and his proximity to the cameras, I guessed he was the company boss.

  Drake, I thought sadly, what are you doing?

  There was nothing of the old Drake left. There was especially no love for me left.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Drake

  I stared across the room at the woman over by the table. I couldn't believe it. Was that sexy bombshell really Ainsley Johnson, the sister of my best friend Chett? With that soft blonde hair and big eyes and the figure of my wildest imaginings?

  I stared after her, watching her giggling and smiling with a group of high-fliers, every inch the poised young woman. I felt my mouth go dry as she tipped her head back, exposing that long elegant neck and showing off the low-cut neckline to best advantage.

  The last time I saw Ainsley she had been a fresh graduate, with her long blonde hair around her shoulders, wearing jeans and a blue sweater. A sweet, innocent and dreamy girl with big brown eyes and a fresh smile. I loved her then.

  Watching her, those sweet red lips drawn back over white teeth in a toothy grin, I grow embarrassingly aware of my hardening cock. I struggled not to think about the body I knew was below that dress. I had been in another relationship between now and then, but I'd not forgotten her.

  That was a long time ago, I reminded myself. eight years ago. I thought back to the time we first met. My buddy Chett was just starting his MBA – we'd met in our last year of undergrad at FSU – he had taken me home for the holidays.

  I had accepted and we'd headed to his parents' sprawling home on the outskirts of Miami. I remembered getting out of the car, feeling stiff after a morning spent in the gym.

  “Nice house,” I'd commented.

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you think we could...” I didn't get any further, for a middling-height, blond, heat-seeking projectile threw itself at Chett with an excited laugh.

  “Chett! It's you! Hi!”

  Chett laughed, then protested. “A! It's great to see you. You're squashing me...”

  She'd stepped back, laughing. I stared.

  With a long oval face, high cheekbones and big dreamy eyes, she was at once immensely innocent and smoking hot. She was wearing a tight pink sweater that cleaved to her full breasts and jeans. I had let my eyes travel down her curvy figure briefly and then returned to her soft, radiant face. My loins were aching and my throat worked as I tried to swallow.

  She was beautiful. I'd felt a little intimidated and cleared my throat. “Um, Chett?”

  “Yeah? Oh! Sorry, guys. Ainsley, this is Drake. I told Mom I was bringing him along. Drake, meet Ainsley, my little sister.”

  “Hi.” I'd managed to get the word out, though in retrospect it was probably more of a croak.

  “Hi,” she replied. Those big eyes widened, lips parting slightly, and my body almost stopped working altogether as my blood got diverted to my loins.

  She took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. It felt odd, having her hand in mine. Soft and warm, the contact had thrilled through me and made my blood pulse.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I'd turned to look for my friend, but he was bent over the trunk, pulling out suitcases and coats, getting ready to take them inside. I was feeling desperately awkward and wished he would come over and help me out.

  “Yeah? What?” His blunt, cheerful face grinned out at me from over the back.

  “Need help back there?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “All done. You take your stuff, I'll take mine.”

  “What can I take?” Ainsley asked sweetly.

  “Here.” Her brother passed her a coat and she pulled a tongue at him. The innocent gesture made me clench in desperate relief. She was so sweet, so pretty – childlike in a way, though very much womanly at the same time.

  “You had a good drive down?” she asked me caringly.
<
br />   “Uh. Yeah,” I managed to say. Hell! What was wrong with me? I'd done speeches in front of auditoriums, taken oral exams at college...none of those things had the impact on this beautiful, soft-spoken girl was having on me.

  “I guess you're hungry, hey?” She asked with a grin.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  She giggled. “You're as bad as Chett. He's always hungry.”

  “I am not,” Chett protested hotly from her right-hand side.

  We'd gone inside and had lunch. I met Chett's folks and we went to sit down. I ended up across the table from Ainsley. I watched her over the table-top, feeling really awkward. She smiled at me. I looked at my hands, feeling embarrassed.

  Hell, Drake! It's not like you have zero experience. Stop acting like a middle-school kid on your first date!

  “Drake?” Chett said in my ear from the place next to me.

  “What?” I frowned, looking up abruptly from contemplating my fingernails.

  “Mom just asked if you'd like whole-wheat or white bread with the stew?”