He hadn’t moved, but seemed to stand frozen to the spot, looking at her. “I’m not Ian,” he repeated.
His identical twin then. Only Ian hadn’t had a brother. In fact, after his dad had died in their senior year, he’d had nobody. She pointed to his scar. “You got that in your car accident, remember?”
“No.” Lifting a hand, he covered the scar. “You’re mistaken.”
“You’re telling me you’re not Ian McCall.”
“You’re confusing me with someone else, that’s all.” He looked around him, at the party, the people, the pleasant chaos. “And I’m sorry, but I really need to get back.”
Okay, he wasn’t who she’d thought. She got it. But being this close made her body ache, which was a ridiculous phenomenon all in itself that she would worry about later. For now, she just couldn’t stop staring, just couldn’t get over the fact that she was wrong, that this man wasn’t Ian.
As she stood there somewhat in shock, the music changed, quickened, and there was a surge toward the dance floor. A group of people shifted behind the Ian-imposter, nudging him into her so that their bodies brushed.
Hers actually reacted. And here was a bottom line that disturbed her greatly — her body recognized this man’s body.
Again she was bumped and she nudged up close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, putting her hands up to his chest to brace herself because it was getting extremely crowded around them.
And because she couldn’t help herself.
His hands went to her waist to steady them both, and in what undoubtedly was more of her over-active imagination, he gently squeezed her hips, regret flashing in his eyes.
Regret, and . . . something. But it was gone so fast she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t made that up as well.