Chapter 60

“Mr. Sancho,” I muttered. “I was just talking about you.” And I raised the phone that I still held in a white knuckled grip.

He just fucking kissed me.

Two years didn’t change him. He looked perhaps a little leaner, a little harder, the angles and planes of his incredible face perhaps more sharply defined. But basically, he was still the same.

But I am not the old Beatrice. I’ve moved on, and became wiser. I reminded myself.

He just kissed you. My brain keeps on saying this.

Preston is just standing in front of me waiting for his breathing to return to something approximating normal and watched me, fascinated to see denial this up close. Yeah, he may brand me as a denial queen. But I don’t mind, I’ll keep doing this is I want to.

 I was just addressing my remarks to some point over his shoulder, and my attractive contralto voice had an audible edge of hysteria. Though, the open neck of my