Five Years Too Late
My hands reached out blindly, touching the shoulders and arms of the people around me as I moved, completely unaware of the dark, predatory eyes tracking me through the flashing red lights.
Suddenly, a pair of rough, heavy hands gripped my waist from behind.
Through the thick, spinning fog in my mind, my heart skipped a beat. The grip felt firm, possessive, and masculine. A tiny, desperate spark buried deep within me, the part of me that still desperately wished to be wanted by my husband, whispered his name. Damian. It had to be him. He had come to find me. He had left the office because he couldn't stand the space between us.
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