Love Me True. Ann Major

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      Blood rushed in Joey’s head at the sight of Heather in Larry’s arms. Six years ago, Roth had put his arms around her just like that right after Ben died. Funny, her turning to Roth, Alison’s old beau, that night. Funny he hadn’t realized that was the exact moment he’d lost her.

      Roth still had the same flawless bone structure, the same slicked-back golden hair, the same smooth way, the same frozen eyes. Maybe he looked good to her after her other crazy boyfriends. Joey didn’t like the cynical droop of that carved mouth. He disliked even more the way the older man’s expression hardened every time Heather said anything offbeat. If Roth was edgy, Heather was even more so.

      Her smiles were strained. Her bright lipstick and rouge made her look paler. She was too thin, too reserved, almost doll-like in her utter lack of passion. She used to be a mess—but an interesting mess. Not that the conventional dress didn’t flow over her slender curves. But her stylish attire and the severe knot at her nape would have suited her mother far better. The Heather he remembered was unpredictable and loved surprises. She favored loose clothes and ethnic jewelry; she wore her hair long and flowing.

      This poised socialite with the tense smile and the incredible cool was a far cry from the girl with the constant grin and the tangled ringlets who’d been up to such mischief in his hideout. The Heather he’d known had wanted to experience life to its fullest, not to repress herself.