Yet from the moment he’d made eye contact with her for that fleeting instant the first day in his Spanish class, she’d known this was coming.

And based on the hints he’d dropped in their subsequent meetings, it was clear he wanted, at minimum, to resolve the issues around their parting and mitigate the animosity she still harbored.

At best, he wanted to explore the possibility of picking up where they’d left off.

He may not have verbalized any of that, but close as they’d once been, she knew how to read his nuances—and see into his heart.

She pushed herself to her feet and began to pace.

The temptation to take another chance on Zeke was powerful. There was no denying that. But the risk of making that leap rattled her to the core.

Meaning a personal conversation was a bad idea.

Still . . . his reference a week ago to paying back a debt was intriguing.

Could he, by some remote stretch of the imagination, have had a valid excuse to walk out on her?

Was it possible their breakup had been prompted by more than the offer of an enticing job and career ambition?

Did he harbor as many regrets as she did about the loss of the dream she thought they’d shared?

She paused at the window and scanned the cloudless blue sky.

No answers appeared in the heavens—but perhaps if she agreed to listen to him today, he’d provide some. It wasn’t as if she had to respond to anything he said. He’d asked nothing from her except to hear him out.

But if you listen . . . if he infiltrates your defenses . . . will you cave? Set yourself up for heartbreak all over again? End up with even more regrets?

Maybe.

Yet after that beseeching please from a man who was used to being in command and control, who showed his softer and more vulnerable side to only a select few—how could she say no?

As long as she fortified herself against his dark, compelling eyes and kept her emotions in check, she’d be fine.

Wouldn’t she?

Cate began pacing again.

If she could manage to pull off undercover work, play roles that required her to insulate her real persona from the activities around her, she ought to be able to passively listen to Zeke and keep her distance.

And if he had an explanation that could soothe the hurt his reappearance had resurrected, why not give him the opportunity to offer it?

She stopped. Squared her shoulders.

Yes.

She could do this.

Altering her course, she detoured to the bathroom, picked up a brush—and glared at her image in the vanity mirror.

Primping for Zeke?

Oh, for pity’s sake.

She slammed the brush onto the marble top and marched toward the door. If he didn’t like how she looked, tough.

As she reentered the living room, he rose from the couch.