Chapter 8

Liz lifted one of the roses from the bouquet and inhaled. A warm feeling wriggled through her that after all this time Matt still remembered roses were her favorite. Oh, of course they were from him. No note, but who else that she knew would have possession of The Cup.

Then, like a flash of lightning searing her brain, she remembered a night, just before he was drafted, when they had dinner on San Antonio's famed Riverwalk, that well-known eclectic collection of restaurants, shops and iconic sites like Honeymoon Island. They were waiting for their dinner to be served when she looked up and saw one of the regular horse and carriages that gave rides to tourists in Alamo Plaza stop at the top of the stairs down to the Riverwalk.

She watched, mesmerized, as the driver stepped down and then helped a woman to alight, turning her over to a man in a mariachi outfit. The woman carried a single rose in one hand, her other held by the mariachi man, who led her down to the very restaurant where Liz and Matt were eating. As soon as she was seated, at a table near them, the band began to serenade her. At the end of the song a man, obviously her lover, stepped forward, got down on one knee and asked him to marry her.

Liz actually cried as she watched.

"That's so beautiful and romantic," she told Matt. "So special."

"If that's want they want," he'd commented and took another hit of his beer.

She'd been so irritated with him, angry, telling him he had no romance in his soul. Now that same anger raced through her. Anger and the resurgence of the hurt she still felt after all these years. Years in which she'd had to deal with the fact she'd been second best to him. How dare he think that after all this time he could come swooping into her life like he hadn't relegated her to the backseat while he pursued his dream. A tiny stab of pain in her finger made her realized she had gripped the stem of the rose in her fist. She lifted her hand and sucked on the place where a thorn had pierced the skin. It reminded her of the way he had pierced her heart when he'd walked away from her.

If she were smart she'd take the roses and toss them in the trash. Then get someone to deliver The Cup to Matt's parents' house and he could pick it up there. She was still contemplating what to do when the door opened, and Matt himself stood there. Liz took a good look at him and almost forgot to breathe. He'd put on some muscle since the last time she'd seen him. Were his shoulders broader or was that just her imagination? His jeans clung to long legs and narrow hips. His dark brown hair was a shade lighter, and longer than he used to wear it, coming just to the collar of the green shirt that - damn it! - matched his eyes.

He still had the damn square-jawed look to his face, a face now showing lines of maturity. And a teasing sprig of chest hair darker than that on his head peeked at her from his open collar. Did he still wear that after-shave that smelled so great, its outdoorsy scent making her pheromones rise up and sweep through her body?

Holy shit!

After all these years and all the pain of rejection she'd dealt with where Matt Vorchak was concerned, one look at him and her body and her emotions were doing a happy dance. Just the sight of him brought back multiple erotic images, made her nipples tighten and the pulse in her sex throb like the beat of a jungle drum.

This was so not good. She had to swallow twice before she could get any words out.

"Uh, hey, Matt."

She did her best to untangle her brain as it shuffled through the stored images of Matt naked, heat flaring in his eyes, his cock thick and hard. His lips unbelievably soft as he trailed them over her body, his strong fingers caressing every inch of her...

Stop!

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. She couldn't afford to let him back into her life. Her heart might not have healed but at least it had scarred over. No way could she rip open those scars and lay her heart bare for him again. So why had her nipples suddenly hardened into painful tips? Heat flashed over her and the pulse between her thighs pounded harder than the Anvil Chorus. All these years and all it took was one look at him to set her off.

God. She hoped her face wasn't red and she wasn't drooling. How was it possible after all these years, after his cavalier dismissal of their relationship, one look at him and she melted into a puddle?

Get hold of yourself, Elizabeth.

"Hey, Lizzie." His voice was deeper, the words spoken softly.

"It's, uh, Liz, now." Geez. Could she sound any more stupid?

"I heard." That deep voice just rumbled through her. "But to me you'll always be Lizzie."

Okay, she had to get control of this situation. No way was he just going to walk back into her life after all this time and think a big bunch of roses was going to make up for the hurt she'd been nursing all these years. Swallowing hard, she conjured up images of ice cubes and snow. Anything to cool down the fire that one look from him ignited just as it always had.

Remember how he hurt you, she reminded herself. That should do it. Unfortunately all she could remember was the last night they'd been together, and she didn't mean the part where he walked out of her life. Mentally she pulled up her big girl panties and reached for the oh-so-cool Liz St. John, event specialist.