"Beatrice," Anton said softly, his deep voice smooth and dangerously alluring, "you still look breathtaking."
The words alone sent warmth rushing through her chest.
Anton slowly pulled the chair across from her, every movement deliberate and unhurried, as though he already knew she was watching him closely. The dim golden lights of the private restaurant reflected against his sharp features, making him appear even more devastatingly handsome than she remembered.
The moment he sat down, he casually reached across the table and brushed his fingers over her hand.
Such a simple touch.
Yet Beatrice felt as though flames had spread beneath her skin.
