But he didn’t know how to give voice to that without causing more hurt. So he bottled it up. He tried to contain all that he felt for her in a small space so that it was manageable, so that it never could slither out and wound her.

  The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, even though her words both scared him and thrilled him.

  He took the easy way out. He brushed his lips softly against her cheek. Then kissed her neck. Then her ear.

  “I can’t ever get enough of you,” he said, whispering words that were wholly inadequate. But when he returned to her mouth, he hoped she knew in the soft press of his lips all the things he couldn’t say. He hoped that this—the physical—would be enough to assure her.

  But he knew deep down it would never be sufficient. Not for a woman like her. Not for anyone who felt the way she did.

  * * *

  As the sun peeked through the windows early the next morning, she stretched in bed, reaching her arms over her head, then casting her gaze at him. He was gorgeous next to her, still sound asleep on his side, breathing the slow rhythmic breath of a deep sleeper. She was tempted to run a hand down his bare arm, his muscles so strong. Then to his trim waist, his hips exposed above the sheets.

  But she turned away, slid out of bed, and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.

  She was safer by herself.

  Perhaps Paris had been a bad idea.

  Maybe they should have gotten separate rooms. Because here she was, exactly where she didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to share a bed, a night, a morning with someone who didn’t feel the same.

  The night before had been magic; it had been stitched from a dream—the rain, the doorway, the perfume bottles. Him. All the things he’d said until that moment. She was sure he’d felt the same.

  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.

  The couch he was seated on was next to a marble fireplace, and the plush wine-red carpeting gave the lobby bar a rich, old-money feel to it. It was like a private club. He rose and planted a kiss on one cheek, then the other. Then, a deep, possessive kiss on her mouth. As if he were marking her.

  When they pulled apart, she felt dazed. Her head was foggy. The details of the day, of her talk, of her chat with Julien and Denis scattered on the ground. She didn’t mind, though; her day had been amazing, and now she was going to take her reward. Jack would be her dessert.

  “Did you bring down the house?” he asked, as he gestured for her to sit next to him. She did, crossing her legs. He watched her.

  “You’re staring at my legs,” she said.

  “I know. I’m thinking about them draped on my shoulders.”

  She laughed. “I need a scotch.”

  He signaled the waiter, and ordered a drink for her as well. “So?” he asked, returning to their conversation.

  “It was amazing. I was so energized. I really felt like I was connecting with the audience, and they were responding and learning. It was incredible,” she said, and she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face if she tried. Professional pride coursed through her. “Days like this remind me that I am so utterly lucky to be able to do what I love for a living.”

  He held up his glass in toast. “To the smartest, sexiest, most wonderful woman I know. Congrats on a job well done,” he said, and a minute later, the waiter brought her drink, so they toasted once more. She took a swallow, then shared more details of her day. The conversation helped keep the focus on the type of relationship she and Jack were having—a temporary one. “I’m not exaggerating when I say I think this day is one of the highlights of my career,” she added.

  She was tempted to bring up last night, if only to let him know he should simply forget what she’d said, to free him of any sense of obligation. She didn’t want him to worry that she’d misunderstood their arrangement. She was a modern woman; she could handle this. She could adhere to the fine details of their verbal agreement. But she’d have to find the right moment for that, because whatever she had to say, she had to say it lightly. It had to be believable when she told him to forget she’d ever tried to bring love into the equation. She needed to be able to laugh it off, as if it were in the heat of the moment only—the rain, the perfume, Paris.

  “Do you have any idea how unbelievably attractive it is that you love what you do so much?”

  “Thank you. I could say the same about you.”

  He nodded. “I can’t imagine not running Joy Delivered. I’m a lucky man to be able to do what I love, and to run it with my sister, who’s pretty much my best friend.”

  “That calls for another toast. Just because,” she said, smiling as they clinked glasses once more, keeping their focus on matters of business and pleasure. “Did you approve any fantastic new vibrators today?”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “No. I did this instead,” he said, reaching into his pocket and handing her a small velvet bag.

  “You have a thing for shopping, it seems.”

  “For you,” he said. “Open it.”

  She tugged at the drawstring and peeked inside. Immediately, her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson.

  “Are you embarrassed?”

  “No,” she whispered, closing the bag. “I’ve never used one.”

  “Wear it to dinner,” he said in that confident, controlling voice that sent hot tingles racing down her chest, settling between her legs. “It’s part of the preparation.”

  “I’m suddenly very hungry,” she said, losing interest for the moment in conversation. Her focus narrowed solely to pleasure. That was Jack’s true forte, after all. That was what he was good for. That was the only way he could be in her life for these last few nights.

  She wanted to make the most of them. To savor every second of these nights with him.

  He knocked back the rest of his drink, and she did the same.

  “Let’s go upstairs first,” he said, and they made their way to the elevator, then to their room.

  * * *

  In the shower, she washed the day off her, and he did the same. Then he lathered up his hands, and slid them around to her ass, running the soap over her cheeks, then gently near her rear. Her breath hitched as he teased at her.

  “Not yet,” he murmured, then turned her around, rinsing her thoroughly. Holding her face gently in his hands, he leaned her head back under the hot stream, letting the water wash away the conditioner. After he turned off the shower, he handed her a thick, soft towel and she dried herself. He wrapped his towel around his waist. Then he took the towel from her, hung it up on a hook, and walked her over to the vanity.

  “I’m naked and you’re not,” she said with a pout.

  “If it were up to me, you’d be naked all the time with me, so this seems like the way things should be,” he said, reaching for her body lotion, pumping some into his palms then dropping down to his knees and smoothing the lotion into her bare legs. She sighed happily, relishing the way he was taking care of her body. That was his specialty, and he knew it so well. He was a master at turning her on, even in the more gentle ways as he moved up to her belly, her hips, then her arms, rubbing lotion into her skin. He cupped her butt in his hands, smoothing lotion across her ass as a groan escaped his throat. Then he spun her around so she was facing the mirror.

  He met her reflection in the glass. “Look at how beautiful you are,” he said, dropping his mouth to her shoulder, planting a kiss, then gently biting her skin. She felt beautiful as he looked at her. That could only be helpful, feeling beautiful, she reasoned. It could only help her to keep moving on.

  He reached for a small clear bottle on the white marble vanity, drizzled some lube onto a few fingers, then returned to her backside once more, all the while keeping his eyes locked on her in the mirror.

  “If anything doesn’t feel good, just tell me to stop. At any point,” he said as he teased at her back entrance. She lifted her ass for him, giving him all the access he needed.

  She shook her head. “I know it will feel good,” she said, as he pushed a finger into her. She gasped from the pressure, closing her eyes from the quick hit of pleasure that burst through her.

  “Just getting you ready,” he said, then reached for the bag on the counter, taking out the jeweled butt plug he’d bought for her while she was delivering her keynote. To think, this afternoon she’d been the respected psychologist from New York speaking to a crowd of hundreds of colleagues about serious relationship matters and treatment modalities, and tonight she was Jack’s lover, cheeks spread, ready to receive a jeweled pleasure toy in her ass. A Joy Delivered product, of course, the toy was silver, shaped like a rounded bullet and with a sturdy base. On the base, was a deep purple fake gem.

  “I chose purple because it’s a sophisticated color for a sophisticated woman,” he said, holding up the toy in the mirror.

  “Nothing says sophisticated like a jeweled butt plug,” she said in a playful voice, making him laugh.

  But the laughing stopped from both of them as he removed his finger and slowly, carefully inserted the plug into her rear. She tensed briefly as it stretched her. She’d had his fingers in her before, plenty of times, but this was larger and thicker. She exhaled deeply as she adjusted to the size. But then, she needed to get used to it. This toy was tiny compared to him, and she fully intended to have him there later tonight.

  “How does it feel?”

  “Weird. But good,” she said, and he spun her around and dropped to the floor once more, kissing the tops of her feet, then her shins, and up to her knees. He looked up at her, and his eyes blazed darkly with so much heat, so much passion, and so much unbridled lust as he worked his way up the front of her legs, kissing and licking her skin, then her inner thighs. She was hot and wet already, and he lapped up the wetness slipping down her legs.

  “How am I going to make it through dinner?” she asked as he flicked his tongue once against her throbbing center, then stood up.

  “The same way I am. Aroused. Stay right here,” he told her, and returned to the bedroom, then was back in seconds with the dress and underwear she’d laid out for herself on the bed. The dress was simple, a red, jersey cotton number that fit softly and well. He handed her the white lace panties, and she stepped into them as he gently lowered the dress over her head, letting it fall down to her knees.

  “No bra for me?” she asked, quirking up an eyebrow.

  “Don’t wear one tonight,” he said, smoothing out the dress, then reaching his hands up to cup her bottom through her panties. “But you have to wear panties as much as I’d prefer you naked under the dress,” he said, and tapped the jewel.

  She gasped from the slightest movement in her rear. “It feels so good,” she whispered, like she was telling him a decadent secret.

  “All I can think about, Michelle. All I can think about is you, and your perfect ass, and how much I want you.”

  She eyed his towel, and the way his hard cock was tenting it.

  That was her power. The effect she had on him. She wanted some power back. After too many emotions had rattled free from her heart, she needed to take. She tugged the towel off him, and his dick saluted her. He was at attention, and a drop glistened on the tip. Using her thumb, she spread that liquid on the head, watching his eyes turn hazy, his breath ragged.