But then, she hadn’t said she was falling in love with him to get it in return.
She’d said it because it was unequivocally true. Because it was impossible to keep it inside her any longer. She’d held back with him for so long. She’d been so protective, erected arbitrary boundaries to seal herself off from falling. She’d tried valiantly to keep him at arm’s length, but he’d been so insistent, burrowing his way into her life, her heart, and her head. Such a passionate man, and such a caring one, too. He was the ultimate lover, that sinful mouth and smoldering body a staggering combination. There was so much more, too. His tender side; his funny side; his warmth. She was willing to bet he relished the appearance of Mr. Cool, Calm and Collected, but beneath that veneer he was passionate and fiery, dirty and loving, and, unexpectedly, he was needy. In exactly the way she wanted him to be. He needed her.
Or so it had seemed, she reasoned as she brushed her teeth, erasing the taste of the night.
After ten years of longing, after a whole damn decade of her heart being a goddamn one-way mirror, she thought there were iron gates around it, and it would take moving heaven and earth to knock them down. It hadn’t. It had taken one man less than thirty nights.
But once more, she was back where she’d always been. Loving too much. Feeling too much. The only one of them who felt this way. Putting herself out there to be met with a black hole in return.
She spat out the toothpaste and filled a glass of water, rinsing her mouth.
Soon, her rational side took hold, stuffing her emotional self back into the trunk where that side belonged.
This was all her fault. Jack had never pretended this was for love. He’d laid the cards on the table that night at Gia’s. She’d agreed. Willingly. She hadn’t wanted to risk her heart either. She didn’t have to keep risking it, she reminded herself. Hell, if she’d managed to wash away Clay and the feelings she’d had for him, she could damn well do the same with Jack. All she had to do was suck it down. To swallow up that annoying emotion of love, and replace it properly with desire.
She was a smart woman. She knew how to manage emotions. She and Jack were lovers for thirty nights. They were nothing more. She wasn’t going to ruin this trip, or this time, or her speech by letting emotions cloud her. She was going to finish out this no-strings-attached affair the way it had started—physically. She’d gotten into this to get over Clay, and that had happened. She no longer pined for her friend. She no longer was in love with him. That was all that mattered. She’d taken her medicine; she’d gotten the cure. She didn’t need to push forward into something more. She’d keep this affair precisely where it belonged—as an affair.
She was going to make damn sure no one could ever hurt her again.
Not Clay. Not Jack. Not anyone.
She turned on the faucet again, splashed some water on her face, and imagined washing away those words from last night, returning to what she and Jack were. They were a temporary fix to heal each other’s hearts. Nothing more.
Besides, she had her work. She was due on stage later today for her keynote. She could immerse herself in what she loved deeply and always. Her work was the great love of her life, and no one could ever take that away from her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Turn Around
A fleet of nerves settled down in her belly as she waited in the wings. Julien, the psychologist and editor of the journal that was hosting the event, was on stage introducing her. Taking a few deep breaths, and checking to make sure her shirt was still tucked into her skirt—it was—and that her hair was holding up in its twist—not a strand was out of place—she told those butterflies in her stomach to get the hell out of town.
“And now it is my pleasure to introduce one of our esteemed colleagues from the United States, Michelle Milo, whose research and insight into this topic is at the very forefront. We are delighted to have her here in Paris for our conference,” he said, holding out his arm grandly as Michelle walked onto the stage. The audience clapped routinely, the sort of welcoming sound you receive before the crowd knows if they like you.
But forty minutes later, at the end of her talk, the clapping was real, and strong, and it reverberated.
True, the standing ovation didn’t happen. Something better did. The whole conference room at the convention hotel in Montparnasse listened. They paid attention. They didn’t check their phones. They even laughed at the occasional joke she dropped in. She’d brought her A-game, and judging by the crowd gathered at the front of the stage, many had questions ready to ask her. She stayed for them all, listening and answering until it was time to clear out the room for the next speaker.
Julien, ever the gracious host, waited patiently and escorted her off-stage.
“I have one more person for you to meet,” he said, then guided her down the hallway to a tall, thin and balding man who extended a hand for her to shake.
“This is Denis Garnier. He runs a practice here in the 6th, and practically begged me to introduce you.”
“Thank you so much,” she said, as she shook his hand.
“I am so impressed, and we don’t have many psychotherapists here in France with your background, so I wanted to talk about your findings. Ask some questions. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course,” she said, and then found a nearby couch and sat down. She was due to meet Jack soon, but she’d simply have to be a few minutes late. She gave Denis her supreme focus as they chatted. The conversation grounded her. Her work was her anchor; it had kept her going through good times and bad. It was her rock; it had been there for her during the ups and downs of grief and unrequited love.
Men were different. They came, and they went.
* * *
Jack looked relaxed and devilishly handsome in the crowded lobby bar, drinking a scotch, one arm resting on the back of an emerald-green couch. He wore jeans and a button-down white shirt. No tie today, and she missed her favorite accessory on the man, but then he looked good in anything and in nothing. He’d texted her that he’d be waiting at the bar, and to take her time when she said she was running late. When she’d received the text, she was grateful she had her work phone with her, since it was the only one set up to send and receive international text messages.
He watched her the whole time as she walked over, his eyes roaming her from head to toe. Her skin sizzled from the heated way he stared hungrily. This man didn’t hold back. He didn’t hide his desire. He wasn’t afraid to check her out, to stare, to look at her as if he wanted to eat her up. Good—that’s what they shared. A deep, and bottomless desire.