To work off her ongoing fear and frustration over the Jane situation, Elizabeth decided to take an early morning Zumba class. She and the sunrise didn’t much like each other after her years of staying up late with Rhett on the road, but Dare wasn’t exactly Las Vegas. Everything pretty much died down by ten o’clock during the week, midnight on weekends if you were lucky.
The class was surprisingly full for seven o’clock in the morning, and it took her body longer to sync to the beat than usual. Her classmates shared her sluggishness. But by the time a peppy meringue number came on, her hips were swaying just fine, and her feet moved in perfect time with the teacher’s.
She caught Carol after class and gave her the papers she’d completed to go through the teaching certification. They chatted for a while, and Carol set some dates for her to complete her training.
Elizabeth left the studio with a new spring in her step and, deciding that a special coffee and croissant was in order, walked to Don’t Soy with Me. Things might be shitty in other parts of her life, but at least she was doing what she could to be happy. Growing up in a trailer park, she’d learned how to compartmentalize her life and create magical places for her free spirit to reign.
When she entered the coffee shop, she took a moment to appreciate one of her favorite haunts in town. The roasted coffee scent always made her salivate, and the bold colors of the yellow and red walls lifted her spirits. Patrons were scattered across the coffee shop with laptops and tablets set out next to their morning coffee. A pleasant jazz tune filled the air, and Elizabeth’s hips swayed to the beat.
After ordering a bold French Roast with a shot of hazelnut cream, Elizabeth wandered to the side to wait for her coffee.
She felt someone’s eyes on her then—she intuitively knew they were a man’s—so she casually turned her head to the right.
Terrance freaking Waters was standing in the line, waiting to order. His mouth tipped up in acknowledgement of her gaze. God, was she gaping? She swiveled her head around as her heart started to pound like the frantic beat of the Latin music in Zumba class.
It couldn’t be him. It wasn’t uncommon to think you’d seen someone only to realize it wasn’t that person.
She took a second look.
Those seductive lips that had kissed every inch of her body were tipped up at the corners, accentuating the small scar on the right side from a long-ago fight.
It was him.
Holy blooming hell.
What in the world was he doing in Dare Valley? Her mind raced through dozens of scenarios. He knew Mac and Rhett, so he could be here to see one of them, but why hadn’t she heard anything?
She smelled him before she felt him come up beside her, that spicy, erotic cologne he wore playing havoc on her senses.
“Hi there,” he said in a voice that was like sin chewing on marbles.
Biting her lip—keep it together, girl—she gave the barista a hopeful glance.
“I’ve heard this is the best coffee in town,” he observed, trying to draw her into his web. “I’m Terrance, by the way.”
When he extended his hand to her, she had no choice but to turn toward him, which he’d totally planned. God, she didn’t want to touch him, so she clenched her fingers together and shook as quickly as possible. It might have been the worst handshake on the planet, but it still sent a familiar burst of sensation shooting through her body.
“Hi,” she replied hoarsely.
“The barista seems to be backed up,” Terrance said again, probably mistaking her weirdness for that of a fan.
Chef T was, after all, a rising celebrity chef, one who had a popular TV show called The Tattooed Chef.
“Of course, that’s fine by me. I like talking to beautiful women.”
Right. He’d always been a smooth talker.
Face to face with him now, she couldn’t stop herself from lapping up the sight of him. His black hair was cut military style, accenting his muscular neck. His signature tattoos were concealed by the casual attire of a thermal black shirt and fleece with faded designer jeans. The man she’d fallen for two years ago had worn white T-shirts to showcase the griffin tattoos flying down his arms. In private, she’d seen the entire canvas of ink on his body, and it had always filled her with lust.
She stared into those forest-green eyes, her knees weak.
And waited to see his reaction.
In a few moments, the truth was undeniably clear: he didn’t know who she was without her poker babe get-up.
Oh, the wrench in her heart. She’d always wondered if he’d recognize her as Elizabeth and not Vixen. Well, now she knew.
He didn’t.
Then he cocked his head to the side. “I know it sounds cliché, but have we met? There’s something really familiar about you.”
Okay, so that made her knees want to give out, and she leaned a hand on the nearby counter for support.
“I get that a lot,” she replied, not answering him directly. “Must have one of those faces.”
“I wish I was staying in town longer. We might have found a way to become more familiar with each other.”
The relief was sweet. He was only passing through.
“Mmm,” she merely hummed. There was no way in hell she was telling him who she really was, so the less they interacted, the better.
The shock of seeing him was too fresh, and what good would it do to tell him? Who in the hell knew how he’d react? Would he be pissed? Or would he just shrug those muscular shoulders she’d loved running her mouth over and say, “Good to see ya, babe?”
Her belly tightened with lust. God, he was still so hot, downright badass, and all she wanted to do was shove him into one of the bathroom stalls and devour him.
The barista called her name then, and she carefully reached for her coffee.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured, handing her a napkin.
She automatically reached for it, but instead of letting go, he tugged on it, creating resistance between them. The spark of arousal inside her was fresh and dark.
“I like that name.”
“It was good to meet you,” she ground out, making herself step away from him.
“Perhaps we’ll run into each other again sometime,” he said mysteriously, his voice husky now.
She didn’t answer.
She fled.