Although she had not had a good, solid look at him, she could sense he was very handsome. His voice alone revealed he was—the deep, rich nature of it. In truth, his voice made her feel—well, it somehow whisked her back—whisked her back four years, bathing her in memories of another supper and a voice she’d heard that night—a voice as deep and rich, as warm and wonderful as molasses taffy. “It seems we cross paths again, Miss Ambria Blanchard,” the man said. And she knew then. Ambria knew that the voice and the man were not simply similar to the voice and the man that had changed her life four years before—but that the same man himself was sitting next to her. Thinking of the worn photograph she still cached in a secret space in her wallet, Ambria turned and nearly fainted with euphoric shock when she found herself gazing into the blue, blue, bluest eyes of the most gorgeous, beefcaked, super-stud lady-killer she’d ever seen.