“It’s wonderful to see you,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “Mmm, and you smell good enough to eat. Let’s go back to my hotel room, what do you say?”

“In your dreams,” I said with a laugh. “How dare you proposition me in the middle of the street?”

“Because you’re still a darling girl,” he said, then backed up and looked me over.

I straightened my shirt and jacket and tried to find some trace of decorum, but it was useless. My cheeks heated up at his blatant perusal. I tried to remind myself that if I’d been so darling, why had he felt so compelled to cheat on me more than once during the six months we dated while I lived in London? A simple question.

I knew the answer: He couldn’t help himself. Kyle came from money, lots of money. Among other things, his family owned a respected London book publishing company. He had a collection of rare books that matched any museum collection in the world. He enjoyed the business of buying and selling and trading, and especially enjoyed the bed-hopping and screwing around that came with being the prettiest, wealthiest man in a business that catered to smart, wealthy people.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“I was enjoying a quiet walk to the castle.”

“How boring,” he said, pulling me across the street. “Join me at the pub and we’ll have a snug chat.”

“Hmm. Thanks, but no.”

“Come on, babe. It’s been too long. We’ve got catching up to do.”

“Don’t you have someone else to torment?”

“There’s no one more fun to torment than you.”

“Oh, don’t I feel special,” I said.

He leaned closer. “Besides, I’ve something to show you that’ll knock your socks off.”

“I’ve already seen it,” I said dryly.

His eyes widened. “Minx! Damn it! I insist we skip the pub and go back to my room.”

“You haven’t changed,” I said, reluctantly enjoying his silliness.