Hannah Mendoza’s heart was beating so hard she had to force herself to take deep breaths so she wouldn’t keel over in a faint. But it was hard to cool her pulse and calm her head. Because he was here, Lukas Zárate, back on the island Kingdom of Santanger in the Mediterranean, at a glittering formal function in the grand ballroom of the palace.
He’d left Santanger twelve years ago, to go and make his fortune. He’d returned only once in that time for a brief visit, six years ago, the last time Hannah had seen him. He’d been twenty-four, and still holding onto a certain youthful gangliness.
But now, he was fully grown. A man in his prime. Dark blond hair, thick and wavy, slightly too long. Standing almost a head taller than everyone around him. Broad shoulders. Powerful body sheathed in a classic tuxedo that had to be bespoke because it hugged his muscular form like a second skin.
His face had lost any youthful softness and was now carved in hard lines, softened only by an indecently sexy mouth. He was in profile to her where she stood, hidden behind some verdant ferns on the edge of the palace ballroom. His head was bent towards a beautiful woman, who was speaking and gesturing animatedly at him, jewels sparkling at her throat and on her fingers and wrists.
Hannah blinked. Not sure if her mind was playing tricks on her. She’d dreamed of this moment when she would see Lukas again for so long. But he didn’t disappear. He was still here.
A surge of complicated emotions mixed with desire battled for supremacy in Hannah’s gut. She loved this man, but she also hated him. A childish crush on Lukas many years ago had morphed into adolescent feverish adoration, fueled by watching his progress from afar. Six years ago, when he’d come home for that brief visit, she’d turned eighteen. On her birthday she’d told him she loved him and he’d…crushed her with his rejection. She hadn’t seen him from that day to this.
She’d always felt that it had been her fault that he’d left. A dark shadow crossed her mind. Well, perhaps not entirely her fault. Her older brother had been Lukas’s best friend, and when he’d died tragically, Lukas had never really been the same. A light had gone out. For all of them.
Hannah shook her head faintly at herself. Lukas Zárate was always going to come home again at some stage. If anything, this just demonstrated how little she mattered in his life. She hadn’t even known he was coming back to Santanger.
When Hannah focused on the crowd again, she couldn’t see him. She felt a simultaneous sense of relief and disappointment. Maybe she had just conjured him up?
But then she turned around and came face to chest with a snowy-white shirt. She looked up past the pristine black bow-tie to an angular jaw, dusted with dark blond stubble.
Lukas. He was real.
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