“Good thing I have a business trip to California that week to distract me from not being able to have you while you’re in Paris,” he said.

  “Yes. Thank God. I’d hate for you to miss me.”

  “Oh, I’ll miss you. Have you been to Paris before?”

  She nodded as she chewed. “A few times.”

  “Do you speak the language?” Jack asked and held up the bottle of wine, offering her another glass as she smoothed her skirt and adjusted the buttons on her shirt. They were in his kitchen, his gorgeous, brick and wood kitchen in his penthouse apartment, though he admitted the shiny Miele appliances were rarely used. He was takeout all the way, he’d said. She shook her head at the offer of the wine.

  “No to French?”

  “No to another glass of wine.”

  “Damn. I was hoping to loosen you up enough to discuss something I want to do with you,” he said and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  She rolled her eyes in response. “You don’t need to get me drunk to discuss something you want to do to me. And to answer your question, I speak French. I studied it in school.”

  He looped an arm around her waist, then whispered something in her ear in French.

  “Perhaps someday,” she said suggestively in answer.

  “Someday soon, I hope,” he said, squeezing her butt, then shifting gears. “What do you love most about Paris?”

  “This chocolate is pretty good,” she said, then reached for another one and handed it him. “For you.”

  He took the chocolate and rolled his eyes in pleasure. “That is pretty damn good. But I know it’s not what you love most about Paris. What is?”

  “That’s not a fair question,” she countered, running her fingers through her hair. She’d have to keep a brush here, but then that also would be too intimate. She didn’t plan to leave any evidence of all these nights with him. Evidence led to memories, and memories led to closeness. That’s what they both desperately needed to avoid. True intimacy. “It’s impossible to pick one thing.”

  “I like impossible choices, though,” he said, flashing her a wicked grin.

  She placed a hand on his chest, moving in close. “Why?”

  “Because they force people to show who they really are. I thought you’d appreciate that, being a shrink.”

  “Fine. I’ll answer,” she said, counting off the potential options on her fingers. “What I love most about Paris isn’t even in Paris. It’s Monet’s Gardens, but that’s outside of the city. So if we’re talking purely Paris, I might choose the food. I might choose the museums. I might even say the cobblestoned streets, or the rich history, or the way the French don’t care if you like them. But if you really want me to choose, my favorite thing about Paris is the beauty. And the way the French love beauty for its own sake.”

  A smile tugged at his lips as she continued. “I love the beauty in the every day. I love the glow from the streetlamps. I love that you’ll find a store in Montmartre that sells glass perfume bottles with gorgeous designs on them, and they’re things no one needs, but they exist solely because they’re pretty. I saw a sapphire one once that I wanted, but the store was closed that day. So I just stared longingly through the window. Because that’s the other thing—even the shop windows are beautiful, and full of gorgeous displays, whether of cakes or candies or jewelry or clothes. Doesn’t matter. The French find beauty in the magnificent and in the seemingly mundane.”

  “They do. And now I’m picturing the city perfectly, from the glass displays of a cake shop to the towering spires of Notre Dame. I love that answer. I love that you respond to beauty.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I do too,” he said, and raked his eyes over her in a way that made her skin heat up. The compliment was loud and clear in his gaze.

  “Who are you then, Jack? What are your impossible choices?”

  In an instant, his smile erased itself, as if it had been bleached away. He said nothing for one moment that stretched into many moments, and felt far too long. The expression in his beautiful eyes looked pained, haunted even. In that span of silence, she sensed all the reasons why he’d come to see her in the first place. Self-loathing, maybe even guilt was written in his eyes. She wanted to ask him more, to try to help ease his burden. She was tempted, even as he swallowed and looked away.

  “I don’t know how to talk about them,” he said in a ragged whisper.

  Her heart staggered to him. “It can be hard to give voice to certain things.”

  When he turned back to her, he parted his lips to speak more.

  But she wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready for knowing why she’d seen guilt edging in on him. She wasn’t his shrink and she wasn’t his girlfriend, and the more she knew of his inner truths, the more she put her own heart at risk.

  Her heart was too fragile. It was made of glass, and could shatter if dropped.

  Something else held her back too. She didn’t want to press him to share too much, too soon. Whatever he had to say, he’d say when the time was right for him. She leaned in to him, brushed her lips against his, using closeness as a way to absolve him from speaking. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “We don’t have to go there. Besides. I need to leave. I have some early appointments.”

  “Okay,” he said, as if it had ten syllables, and they all tumbled awkwardly over his tongue. Then he ran his hand through her hair, and the gesture, maybe even the movement, felt sad. But she tried not to read too much into it; she had to be careful on that account.

  The matter was helped by him spinning her around, so her back was flush against the edge of his counter. Like a door closing, and another one opening, he’d erased that momentary anguish, that brief hint of pain. He replaced it with raw heat as his eyes blazed at her.

  “I need to give you something for the road. Stay like that,” he said harshly. He walked across his hardwood floors to the bedroom she’d come to know so well in such a short amount of time. He returned with a mischievous grin on his face and his fist closed.

  “Another toy surprise?”

  He nodded, and uncurled his palm, revealing a small blue vibrator. Slim, with a wide head, this was the kind of vibrator that sent you off into a good night’s sleep. “It’s called The Dream. I want to watch you come one more time before you go,” he said, his eyes dark, his tone that commanding one that thrilled her. Heat scorched a path through her body.

  “Do everything I say,” he said, his rough voice hot on her skin.

  “I will.”

  “Lift your skirt,” he told her, and she did, tugging it up to her hips.

  “Pull down your panties,” he said, and she pushed them down to her knees.

  “Run your finger through your pussy and let me suck your finger,” he said, and she gasped, but did as instructed, sliding her finger across her wet lips, then bringing it to his mouth. He drew her finger in deeply and sucked hard, making the most satisfied sound. His eyes floated closed as he moaned, like a chef tasting his favorite dish.

  “Now spread that delicious pussy open for me,” he said as he opened his eyes, and she lowered her fingers between her legs again, gliding through the slick evidence of her desire for him, her unabated desire that had no end in sight. It was ceaseless.

  “Like that?” she asked, opening herself wide for him.

  He nodded. “Leave them there,” he said, and she kept her hand in place as he pressed his thumb against the on-switch for the toy. He lowered the vibrator to her already aching clit, and rubbed gently at first. She cried out in pleasure.

  “This will serve as a reminder that if you’d stay I could do this to you in the middle of the night or the morning or whenever you fucking wanted,” he said as her breathing turned erratic, and she trembled from his touch. The vibrations worked quickly, and she felt herself turning loose and hot, and close to the edge.

  “Tell me what you pictured the morning after I fucked you for the first time. When you masturbated to me alone in your bed.”

  Her back bowed, and her lips fell open. “I thought about sucking your dick.”

  “Were you on your knees?”

  She shook her head. “No. You straddled my face. You fucked my mouth like that,” she said breathlessly, as she rubbed herself against the toy.

  He hissed in his breath. His teeth pressed into his lips, his eyes dark and wild. “Did you come like that?”

  “Yes,” she said on a pant. “I called out your name. I came tasting you.”

  His chest rose and fell, as if he were exercising every ounce of self-restraint right now to concentrate on her orgasm. “I jacked off to you that morning too. To making you come. Do you want to know how I made you come?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rock into this and I’ll show you,” he whispered harshly, and she moved with him, riding the vibrator as he dropped his other hand between her legs, sliding his fingers across her, then thrusting one into her, and another he slowly pushed into her rear.

  She cried out, first in shock, then in pleasure, as the twin—no, the triple—sensations shot through her. A burn, like the first taste of whiskey, then pure, unabashed ecstasy from the vibrator on her clit, and then his fingers playing her insides like a fucking pro, her whole body beholden to the sheer prowess of his hands as he drew another shattering orgasm out of her.

  She called out his name, gripping his shoulder and clawing her nails into his skin as her climax rocketed through her.

  When she finally could focus again, he spoke first. “I fucking love watching you come. I love what I do to you.”

  “Me too,” she said, and for some reason it felt like an intensely vulnerable admission. As if there was more going on than him showing her pleasure. It was as if he needed to do this to her after their brief conversation. He’d revealed the tiniest bit of himself minutes before, and that was probably hard for him. So he’d needed to chase that with sex, mix it with pleasure, so he could watch her give in to his hand, to his toys, to his tricks.

  She gladly gave into him. He made her feel so many things.

  It was her turn to make him feel. To keep up her end of the deal. She wasn’t going to enact her morning-after solo fantasy right now. That might be too intimate for where they were. But she had no problem dropping to her knees, freeing his erection, and taking him deep into her throat until her name became some kind of chant as he lost control, just the way she wanted him to.

  A few minutes later, after they’d both straightened up, she grabbed her purse to leave.

  With a hand on her back—he always seemed to place a hand on her back, a possessive gesture and one she enjoyed—they walked down the plush carpeted hallway from his penthouse apartment to the elevators.

  “Do you have a busy day tomorrow?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Always. You?”

  He laughed lightly. “Yes. The same. Meeting after meeting, including far too many about politics.”

  “Politics? In your line of work?” she asked curiously.

  He shook his head, a look of disdain flashing across his cool blue eyes. “I hate politics. What’s on your agenda?”

  “Oh, you know, just planning my trip to Paris to keynote a conference. That’s all,” she said, giving him a saucy sashay of her hips. His palm landed hard on her ass as he pressed the down button to the elevator.

  Her eyes widened, inviting more slapping.

  “If you tempt me like that, beautiful, I will insist on you staying the night so I can spend more time with you and your gorgeous ass,” he said, back to his playful self.

  “I better not tempt you then, since we’re both so busy.”

  “How ever will you fit me in tomorrow?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as they stepped into the lift.

  Reaching for the collar of his shirt, she tugged him close, and lowered her voice to its sexiest purr. “The same way I fit you in this week. All that wetness,” she said, grabbing his hand, and placing it between her legs as she lifted up her skirt, savoring the reaction her words elicited from him. Another groan. Another press of his body against her. She removed his hand as the elevator shot down. “But I’d hate to tempt you anymore.”

  “I’d hate it if you didn’t tempt me,” he growled, and then lifted her up against the elevator wall, wrapped her legs around his hips, and gave her a tease of what would likely happen the next night.

  She expected him to continue on like this for the whole ride down, but instead he gently lowered her to the floor, and leaned in to her neck, whispering in her ear. “I’m having a great time with you. I can’t wait to see you again.”

  Instinct told her to toss out a witty comeback, to say, Presumptuous, are you? But tomorrow sounded damn good to her. So she simply said, “Me too.”

  When they reached the lobby, he took her hand. As his fingers laced through hers, she felt a rush of something else entirely. Not the heat that had been spreading through her body all week, but a softness, a sweetness that this man seemed to possess. He held her hand as they crossed the marble floor and passed the doorman, out onto Fifth Avenue. A town car idled. A chauffeur in a black cap popped out, and opened the door.

  “Your chariot,” Jack said, with a grin.

  The first night he’d done this she’d said, “You didn’t have to. I would have been fine with a cab,” because she was used to taking care of herself. Now she was used to the service from him. She liked all the services he provided, come to think of it.

  “By the way, do you like the symphony?”

  “I haven’t been in ages.”

  “Would you like to rectify that on Saturday night?”

  The symphony sounded less like thirty nights of sex and more like a path to romance. Even so, she said yes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Surface Scratching

  Kana crossed her legs, waiting for him to answer the question of why he was annoyed today.

  Because the regret was suffocating. He was tired of regret. Because he was tired of thinking he deserved to not feel regret. Absolution wasn’t coming through therapy. How could it? Jack’s world was eminently logical, and he believed in one plus one equaling two. How could he see anything but the mathematical relationship between the events?

  One, he told Aubrey he didn’t want to marry her, and two, twenty minutes later, she died.

  Aubrey didn’t crash into trees. Aubrey flew down the slopes, but she did it with control.

  Except for that time.

  He was the trigger. His lack of love the loaded gun. An impossible choice. He’d picked wrong. Hadn’t he?

  “This woman I’m seeing asked me about impossible choices,” he offered as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “And how did that make you feel?” Kana asked during their third session; this one had been moved to late morning because he had a lunch meeting. Jack wasn’t sure if they were making progress. He didn’t know what progress would look or feel like. Or how he was supposed to feel.

  “Like shit,” he said, spitting out the words.

  “Why? Did it touch a nerve?”

  He nodded. She paused, tilted her head, waited. Shrinks were good at waiting. Waiting for you to cough up answers. He didn’t have any to serve.

  “Are you going to tell me about these impossible choices that have brought you here?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He didn’t know why the hell he needed to open up to anyone. Casey knew. Why did anyone else need to know?

  “How do you feel keeping it all to yourself?” she asked.

  The same way he’d felt for a year. The same way he’d felt since the Ski Patrol carted Aubrey’s body down the mountain. Like hell. Like he was cloaked in the guilt that clawed away at him. The only thing that made it go away was Michelle. Being with her, being close with her, fucking her into the fantastic bliss that only sex could bring. Yeah, that was the kind of therapy he needed.

  “Fine,” he muttered, his mind on Michelle; the nights with her were doing a far better job blanking out this mangled stew of emotions in his gut.

  Hell, it wasn’t only the sex. It was the before, during and after. It was all of it. It was her. She was sexy and she was guileless. She was naughty and she was direct.

  She was two floors away from him right now. He wanted to see her. Wanted to touch her, taste her, hear her laugh, watch her raise an eyebrow at some comment he made. Then take her.

  When he was through with Kana, he pushed open the door to the stairwell, ready to head up the steps to her office. But he stopped himself. She had a job to do. He couldn’t go barging in.

  from: justjack@gmail.com

  to: michellewithtwols@gmail.com

  date: Sept 19, 12:02 PM

  subject: Could you sense my masculine intensity just two floors down?

  Was so tempted to stop by your office a few minutes ago.

  from: michellewithtwols@gmail.com

  to: justjack@gmail.com

  date: Sept 19, 12:04 PM

  subject: Ah, that was the heady scent wafting into my office

  Just finished with a session. Too bad I missed a potential “session” with you. I’d have happily let you eat me out again.

  from: justjack@gmail.com

  to: michellewithtwols@gmail.com

  date: Sept 19, 12:09 PM

  subject: Starving now

  You little fucking naughty dirty vixen.

  from: michellewithtwols@gmail.com

  to: justjack@gmail.com

  date: Sept 19, 12:12 PM

  subject: Only scratched the surface of dirty

  That’s how you like me.

  from: justjack@gmail.com

  to: michellewithtwols@gmail.com

  date: Sept 19, 12:15 PM

  subject: As dirty as you want to get. That’s how far I’ll scratch.