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who had to be SEALs, judging from their massive builds, and an attractive, strawberry blonde women.  The men had huge grins on their faces, and only the woman looked slightly concerned.  Well wasn’t that fan-freaking-tastic.  Now they had an audience to watch their ten-year reunion.
    Brushing past Christopher, who was still entirely too close for comfort, she slid onto an empty barstool and ordered a shot of whiskey to calm her shaky nerves.  Normally she was a beer girl, but tonight?  Not a chance.
    She hadn’t seen a ring on his finger, but SEALs didn’t always wear them.  If he’d freaked out on her then married the next woman he took to bed, she’d freaking kill him.  Right here in this goddamn bar in front of half the Navy.  Anger coursed through her at even the mere idea of Christopher with another woman.  Ten damn years had gone by—of course he’d had other women.  Probably hundreds of them.  She was just one in a lifetime of the endless stream of females he’d chase after.
    Christopher growled behind her, edging closer as the bartender appraised her with interest.  She’d changed after work into a strappy little sundress.  It wasn’t revealing, per se, but the way it hugged her curves never had men complaining.  So now Christopher was jealous because some young college kid was eyeing her appreciatively?  Too freaking bad.  He’d lost his right to have an opinion on anything she did when he’d walked away years ago.  The hell with him.
    “Make it two,” he said in a low voice, throwing some cash down on the bar.
    The bartender nodded and turned to pour their shots.  He was cute, in a young, scruffy-looking kind of way.
    Christopher wedged himself next to where she sat perched on the barstool, his hulking frame sending her body pulsing with awareness.  He was too big.  Too male.  Too cocky for his own damn good.  She ought to refuse his unspoken offer to buy her a drink, but what did she care?  One shot, and she was outta here.  She just needed a little liquid courage to will herself to walk away.
    “He’s not your type,” Christopher murmured, ducking low so that his lips brushed against her ear.  His scent surrounded her, and his mouth at her ear sent a thousand different memories stirring deep inside.  Whispered promises.  Gentle commands.  Words shared between lovers.
    She actually shivered at his closeness.
    One large hand came to rest on her back, the heat from it searing her flesh.  Her nipples tightened as her chest rose and fell, and Christopher’s gaze slid to her breasts.  Damn her body for betraying her.  His eyes raked back up her body, his look incendiary.  Liquid heat coursed through her, sending heat coiling down from her center until arousal dampened her panties.  She wanted to squirm away, to turn and leave, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.  Wouldn’t let him know how much he affected her still.
    “And how would you know?” she asked.
    “I know exactly what your type is.”  His voice was dark.  Full of lust and desire.  His large hand splayed across her upper back was possessive.  Enticing.  He was about to send her up in flames.
    “Like hell you do.”
    His lips brushed against her ear.  “You don’t need a boy like him; you need a man.”
    “Maybe I already have one,” she huffed, trying to rile him up.  No freaking way was she letting him bait her, gain the upper hand.  Christopher couldn’t affect her at all anymore—the walls she’d put up over the past decade were impenetrable, even by him.
    A beat passed, and his breath tickled her skin.  He edged even closer, his chest against her bare shoulder, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
    She shuddered.
    “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
    “And big surprise, I don’t see one on yours,” she retorted.
    “There’s no other woman, Lexi.  Hell, I can still taste you all these years later.  Hear you cry out my name.  If we weren’t in a