She didn’t look right or left but straight at him. Her eyelashes were darker, her cheeks pink. She had fixed what needed fixing with a damp paper towel, he supposed. The streaks were gone.

“Thank you for waiting.” Her voice was gentle, extremely feminine, just like her smile, her face, her body.

Parr rose as she reached the table. “Not a problem.”

He sat down after she did. “Don’t you want anything?” she asked, moving aside the glass of melting ice.

The returning waiter stopped and set down the second Coke, pausing for a fraction of a second to look down at Parr, who shook his head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

The young man moved on.

“I was thinking we might go somewhere quieter,” Parr began.

“I don’t mind the noise.”

“I mean, if you want to talk. Would it help?”

“I don’t know.” She reached for the Coke the waiter had just delivered.

“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger.” He didn’t know exactly why he was encouraging her. But he really did want her to talk, to tell him what was hurting her. Seemed like the least he could do, even though they might never see each other again.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her soft, sweet mouth. God, what a smile. Sensual and sincere. Meant for him. She wasn’t checking herself out sideways in the mirrored walls like practically everybody else in the lounge, female or male. A tiny dimple appeared in her cheek. That right there was almost his undoing.

Parr struggled to sit up straight and not lean over the table to taste those full, pink lips and kiss the breath out of her.

“For some reason, you don’t seem like a stranger,” she said. “It’s as if I’ve always known you.”

Her frank admission surprised him. The identical thought had just crossed his mind, unbidden, but he would never have told her. “Same here,” he muttered.

Before he could stop himself, he raised a hand and caressed her cheek. Her skin was dewy and cool. She must have splashed cold water on her face in an effort to regain her composure. He was getting more rattled by the second.

“I didn’t mean anything by that,” she said quietly. “I . . . I have a boyfriend.” She took a deep breath. “Well, he’s more than that.”

“You’re engaged?” Parr couldn’t help noticing that her hands were in her lap. He hadn’t noticed a ring, but then he hadn’t been looking for one, mesmerized by every other little thing about her.

Anger and frustration consumed him. Whoever the other man was or what his reasons might be, Parr wished he didn’t exist. How could any man hurt her? The would-be bridegroom deserved to be broken in two.