Page 7 of Finding Amanda

His lips stretched into a familiar smile. "I thought that was you."

Everything seemed to stop.Her heart. Her breathing. She scanned the lobby, searching for help. Rain still fell outside the double doors. Glasses still clinked in the lounge. Travelers still waited beside luggage in the check-in line. Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

He'd found her.

She swung her feet to the floor and slipped them into her shoes as Gabriel Sheppard moved her latte and sat on the coffee table across from her. His knees spread and almost reached the arms of her chair. His shoulders hid her from passers-by, his head towered over her. He'd trapped her. Her hiding place had become a cage.

She blinked. "What . . . ? I mean . . . wow, it . . . It's been a long time."

"Twelve years, two months and"—he glanced toward the ceiling—"sixteen days, if I'm not mistaken."

"Right." Her voice shook. She cleared her throat. "You always were precise."

"The last time I saw you, we made plans to see each other during Christmas break. Then you disappeared."

Amanda turned the corner of the page down to keep her place and closed the book, mostly to give her a moment to collect her thoughts before she faced him again.

"And if I remember correctly," he said, "we'd planned to go away for a weekend that spring. I expected you to contact me. But you were gone."

He reached forward.

She startled and pushed back against the cushion behind her. His musky cologne assaulted her,flashing a hundred memories. Gabriel grabbed the lanyard hanging around her neck and studied it. "M.L. Johnson. That explains a lot."

His eyes captured hers. She swallowed and tried a smile. "That's my pen name."

Looking again at the name tag, he read the line beneath her name. "Cookbooks?"

"Yes."

"You're published?"

"One book."

He dropped the name tag and glanced at her naked left hand, no doubt seeing the tan line where her ring had been.

"Was Johnson a married name, Amanda? Are you divorced?"

She forced a laugh. "I'm married. Not divorced. I left the house late this morning," she lied, "and I forgot to put on my ring."

He nodded slowly. "I see."

With a sigh, he gazed at the ceiling. Whenever he was frustrated or angry with her, he looked up, as if for guidance. Funny, because she knew he searched no further than what he considered his own brilliant mind when he needed wisdom. Just his attempt to make her nervous. After all these years, she should be immune to his manipulations, but her hands trembled like crystal in an earthquake.

He'd aged in the twelve years since she'd seen him. His once dark brown hair was thinner and graying. The wrinkles were deeper around his eyes and mouth. His cheekbones were less pronounced, the skin on his cheeks sagging under the weight of the years. The suit looked familiar, though. Not that it was the same one. Gabriel would never wear a suit for more than a year or two. She pictured the labels she'd seen on his clothes so many times. Brooks Brothers had been his favorite.

He caught her staring.

"Have I changed that much?"

He could still read her mind. "No."

He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her face to the left and right.

His hand was hot, his grip, tight. She wanted to angle away, but some things hadn't changed in twelve years. She was a coward.

"I wasn't sure it was really you." He dropped his hand, grabbed the edge of the table beneath him, and leaned forward. "But I always knew fate would bring us back together someday."

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