“Perhaps he could even stop staring at other women as if he wants to undress them when you’re together,” Michelle added, reminding Shayla of something else she’d once told her about her husband that understandably bothered her.

  “That too.”

  “Or,” Michelle began, taking a pause, waiting to make sure that Shayla was completely focused. That she was hearing and listening. Because sooner or later, they were going to need to get to the heart of the matter. To the truth of Shayla’s feelings for her husband. Or rather, her lack of feelings. “Or perhaps it doesn’t matter what he does anymore.”

  “Because he cheated? I mean, I don’t need a degree in psychology to know that,” Shayla said sharply, speaking in an admonishing tone for one of the first times to Michelle. It didn’t bother her. Sometimes, patients needed to lash out. She was a useful dartboard, and she willingly took the hits when needed.

  “I’m not saying because he cheated,” she said, in a gentle but firm voice, keeping her focus fixed on Shayla’s brown eyes. They were sad, tinged with tears, and red with hurt. “I’m talking about how you felt long before he ever started straying.”

  “I felt fine,” Shayla said quickly. Too quickly.

  “Shayla.”

  Her client crossed her arms, looking away, her sharp nose in profile now. Shayla was dressed to perfection today, as always—decked out in crisp linen pants, leather heels, and a pretty peach silk top. Michelle had started to understand that her clothes were part of her uniform. The everything-is-together look.

  Michelle began again. “Were you ever in love with your husband?”

  The answer was instantaneous, like a viper hissing. “Of course,” Shayla said, and Michelle swore she could see fumes.

  The truth hurt though. The truth was like a wicked slap when you were least expecting it. But Shayla needed to start thinking hard about her heart, and whether she’d ever truly given it to that man. They’d talked about her lack of interest in sex, to how it stemmed from long ago. Michelle was willing to bet the house that Shayla had never truly felt any sort of spark for him.

  She leaned forward, clasped her hands together, and tried again. “Tell me then what it felt like being in love with him.”

  Shayla sputtered and gasped, like a car engine rumbling, trying to turn over, but failing until finally she stopped running.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, and then they talked more, digging deep for the next fifty minutes.

  At the session neared its end, she was still in tears, but they were starting to dry up.

  “What do I do about the fact that I’ve never truly loved him?” Shayla asked.

  “We’ll have to deal with that next time,” Michelle said. “But I promise you, we will deal with it. And we will figure out a way for you to navigate all the things you’re learning.”

  “I’m scared,” she said quietly.

  “Of what this might mean?”

  Shayla nodded. “And how he’ll react. He gets unhinged at times. Paranoid, even.”

  Unhinged was not a good word.

  “How is he paranoid?”

  “He went through my email once when he thought I was cheating on him. I never was, but if he thinks something is up he might snoop.”

  Michelle nodded, glad for the warning. She’d dealt with this before with spouses. “I will help you through it all.”

  Shayla left first, mouthing a heartfelt thank you. As Michelle gathered her purse and started to shut down her laptop, a sense of calm washed through her. She’d done something positive for a long-time patient. She’d held her hand, metaphorically, and helped her walk into the dark, dangerous woods of the unknown. As she closed various browser windows, she spotted a few new emails that looked important, but she resisted the urge to check. That was why she had a phone. Well, two, really. Anything that had come in at seven o’clock on a Friday could be dealt with later. Once her computer was off, she locked the door and left, checking her work email in the elevator.

  She scrolled through some notes from colleagues, answering a few brief ones on the ride down. As the elevator doors opened at the lobby, she clicked on the next note and nearly squealed for joy. One of the European journals she’d submitted her paper to loved her research and wanted to talk to her about the next steps for publishing it.

  Michelle beamed, because this journal was the European equivalent of Psychology Today. To have an article run there had been a dream of hers, and would be a huge career high. She’d been wanting this, craving this, hoping for some sort of placement for her research. This could serve her quite well in her field, and earn her more recognition. But more importantly, this placement had the potential to spread her findings far and wide. Which, in turn, meant that more of her colleagues would be aware of how to better help patients struggling with love and sex addiction.

  Equal parts pride and happiness filled her as she let those words echo through her body—next steps. Then she saw there was more to the note. She read on.

  We are so excited about your research and findings that we want to introduce some of them at our upcoming conference. I know this is completely last minute, but one of our speakers fell through for our conference in three weeks. Perhaps the timing is fortuitous though. Would you be available to keynote? The conference is in Paris, France, and all expenses will be covered, as well as a stipend supplied.

  Sincerely,

  Julien

  Excitement roared through her veins. And a tiny touch of nerves too. As she walked through the lobby, she re-read the email, and replied with the only answer there was, yes, when she smacked right into a tall man with dark hair in need of a cut, and square black glasses.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, as if he were dreadfully concerned that he’d just walked into her.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, even though she winced slightly from the bump. His hand was on her elbow, steadying her, and she stared at it.

  “Oh,” he said, and it registered. Time to stop touching. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No problem. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said, gesturing to the noisy avenue where cars and cabs and buses were slogging along through the end of rush hour. She stood on the curb, thrust her hand in the air, and snagged a taxi in ten seconds. She might have been unlucky in love, but she was remarkably successful at snagging a cab. As she shut the door behind her, she noticed the guy with dark hair was still standing outside her building, eyes narrowed and fixed on some unseen point straight ahead. Something about him bothered her.

  Then he snapped his head down to look at his phone.

  Perhaps he’d simply been staring off into space, figuring out what to say on a Facebook status update, or contemplating a reply to a last-minute email, as she’d been doing. Yes, either option seemed reasonable. There was no need for her to consider anything more of him. Especially not when she had a date with a beautiful man who wanted her, and when she’d been invited to keynote a conference in Paris.

  Just twenty-four hours ago she’d still been concentrating on letting go of her last residual feelings for Clay. Tonight, she felt different.

  The tide was beginning to turn. True, nothing like love would come from a man like Jack Sullivan, and she certainly didn’t expect it. He seemed tailor-made for a good time though, and she could use a little fun in her life. She’d take one more night with him and then she’d walk away. Because a man like that—no matter how stunning he was in bed, no matter how fascinating he was out of it—would never be good for this woman’s heart. Michelle had given her heart stupidly and foolishly to a man who’d never returned her feelings. She was going to protect her heart much better now. She was going to keep it encased in steel.

  But her body? She might as well own stock in Joy Delivered, since she’d bought so many products from them over the years. There would be no harm in one more time with the man behind those magic toys.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Proposal

  M: On my way. Had a last minute session that ran late.

  J: Better not have been with a devilishly handsome CEO of a lingerie company or something like that

  M: Jealous already, Jack? I assure you, you’re the only devilishly handsome CEO I refuse to treat. If you know what I mean.

  J: I do. Oh, I do. I’d like to make sure I’m the only one you refuse to treat.

  M: That shouldn’t be a problem. Incidentally, do you know any devilishly handsome CEOs who sell sexy lingerie? I’m in the market for a matching pair of white lace panties and a demi-cup bra.

  J: I’d like to take you lingerie shopping.

  M: For the white lace panties? Or do you have something else in mind?

  J: The dressing room.

  J: By the way, what color panties are you wearing tonight?

  M: I would expect a man such as yourself would simply find out.

  J: Oh, I will, Michelle. I will.

  * * *

  The red ball rolled along the sand and Michelle waited, waited, waited as tension and competitive hope coiled tight inside her. The ball slowed, and she clenched her fingers into her palms, willing the ball to pass the blue one of Jack’s on the way to the small white ball. Closer, just a bit closer.

  Then the red ball lazily turned once more until it nearly kissed the white one.

  She raised her arms in the air victoriously, thrilled to have won this round of the lawn bowling game.

  “You’re on a roll today. First, your paper is accepted. Then you crush me at bocce ball,” he said, flashing her a grin. She’d told him about the end-of-the-day email, and that had called for a celebratory round of drinks, which had then turned into a celebratory game of bocce ball, here on the makeshift court in the back of the restaurant. She was on some kind of high, and surely that had contributed to her victory. She’d called her brother, Davis, on the cab ride over to share the news, and he’d been thrilled. She’d also emailed Carla, her mentor, who’d replied with an all exclamation points email.

  “It’s my lucky day,” she said, thinking it was more like a lucky night and day since it had started twenty-four hours ago when she’d met him.

  Jack extended his hand as if they were gracious competitors and he was congratulating her winning game. But as he took her hand, he surprised her by tugging her in close, then planting a searing kiss on her lips. One that delivered a red-hot blast of lust right through her body, and sent all that winning glee whooshing out of her. In its place was a hot new wave of longing.

  When he pulled away, she felt wobbly, and she was sure her lipstick had been erased by his lips. “Wow,” she said. “Does losing at bocce ball bring out the beast in you?”

  “Maybe it does. Maybe bowling does too. Maybe arcade games as well.”

  “In that case, I’m hiring a bocce ball tutor and a bowling expert so I can beat you every time,” she said, with a wink and a sashay of the hips.

  “You can beat me at any game any time, as long as I can kiss you like this.”

  “Does that mean you threw the game to get a little piece of me?”

  “Never. But I’ll take it,” he said in a low, growly tone, then ran his hand along the back of her thigh, his fingertips darting near the hemline. She wore a simple, sleeveless black dress that fell to just above her knees. The material was soft cotton, and the skirt was flared, so the material allowed for easy access. Yes, Michelle was a planner, and this dress suggested possibilities. She wanted all those possibilities planted in his head.

  “Purple?” he whispered in a question.

  She shook her head. Every fifteen minutes or so he’d tried to guess the color of her lingerie. He’d been wrong. She loved that he kept guessing. She also loved that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, especially her legs. She’d worn her strappy black Louboutins. Four inches high, they made her legs look strong and toned. God bless heels and the natural enhancement they brought to a runner’s calves. Even a temporary runner, such as herself.

  “Rest assured I won’t stop until I find out what color you have on,” he said.

  “I have no doubt.”

  “By the way, have I told you how sexy you look in this black dress?” He ran his hand along the small of her back. She arched into him, like a cat being pet. She might start purring any second. She wasn’t used to someone wanting to have his hands on her the whole time. Jack seemed incapable of keeping his hands off her. She didn’t mind that.

  Not. One. Bit.

  “No. Why don’t you tell me?”

  He raked his eyes over her, from her face, to her neck, to her breasts, to her waist. “It’s perfect for you. For that whole sexy-librarian look you have going on.”

  She laughed deeply, his comment catching her off guard. “Shouldn’t I have on glasses to complete that look?”

  He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving up in a naughty grin. “Do you have some? And can you pin up your hair too?”

  She had a hunch he’d like to see her dressed up in something terribly naughty. Engaged in role-play. Yeah, she could picture Jack getting into those kind of sexy games—the boss and the secretary, the teacher and the student, the delivery service.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the French maid costume I have back at my apartment?” she posited.

  He shook his head, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I’m sure. Because that sexy librarian look of yours brings me to my knees,” he said, his midnight-blue eyes blazing darkly at her.

  She shivered against him, her body responding to every sensual, suggestive, and dirty thing he said. She ran her hand through his hair, savoring the soft slide through her fingers as she shifted her body closer. Who cared that they were on a makeshift bocce ball court in the back of an Italian restaurant? She didn’t. “But maybe I want to get on my knees for you,” she said in her best sexy voice.

  His reaction was instantaneous. His breath caught in his chest. A low rumble sounded in his throat. Then, there was the press of his erection against her thigh. “I want to see that. You on your knees,” he said.

  She gripped his hair harder, moving her lips across the deliciously salty skin of his neck, traveling up to his ear, cataloging every second of his physical response to her. Playing into it. Feeding him the images he craved. “Imagine me with my black glasses, my hair pinned up, my pencil skirt on,” she said into his ear, and he slammed her chest to him, crushing her. “Sucking you,” she said, flicking her tongue against his earlobe, leaving him with that image firmly planted in his head.

  She wrenched back, enjoying the look in his eyes. Hazy, wild, unrestrained.

  “Later,” she added, nodding to their table several feet away. The waitress had just set down their dishes.

  * * *

  “You have fans.”

  Jack looked up from the chicken parmigiana in front of him to see Michelle casting her eyes in the direction of the bar. He spotted a pair of young women wearing tops that revealed bare shoulders and holding glasses that held copious amounts of red wine. The redhead in the pair whispered to her friend when he looked up, the sort of conspiratorial he’s-seen-us warning.

  He shrugged as if to say what can you do. Whether from having been involved with somebody like Aubrey, a world-class athlete with sponsorships and Olympic medals to her credit, or from the job he held, he’d grown accustomed to being recognized from time to time.

  “It doesn’t bother me. Does it bother you?”

  She laughed, and shook her head. “Not really. Honestly? I’m used to it. My brother’s a well-known theater director and his wife is a Tony award-winning actress so I see it a lot with them.”

  “Good,” he said, flashing her a grin that he hoped would melt her. “Then you won’t be bothered by the stares as I take you out around town and romance you.”

  “You’re presumptuous, aren’t you?”

  “You’re the one who mentioned a bocce ball tutor.”

  “Maybe I’ve simply been hoping to improve my game.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to answer. Instead, he cupped the back of her head and dropped his mouth to her lips, kissing away that first sexy gasp of surprise. Her lips were divine, soft and full and thoroughly delicious. He swept the tip of his tongue across the curve of her top lip, then nibbled on her bottom one. Her mouth was sweet and tasted of the white wine she’d been drinking. The scent of her jasmine shampoo filled his nostrils, and it was heady, and perfect for her, as all these scents collided in a kiss. He hardly wanted to break the kiss at all, but he was so tempted to explore more of her, to kiss her neck, her ear, to bite the soft flesh of her collarbone like he’d done last night. To hear all her sexy responses to every touch. Even the way she responded now, to a simple kiss, was intoxicating. She was a woman who relished kissing, who seemed to let go of herself in the moment from the way he touched her. He wanted more of her physical abandon.

  He also didn’t want to have a painful erection throughout the entire meal. He’d been hard the whole night sitting next to her. Then rock-hard when she’d teased him with her delicious blow-job imagery. But the more he consumed her lips, the more trouble he’d be in. Better stop now.

  He pulled back, thrilling at the look on her face. Lips parted slightly, eyes closed. Then she shuddered and opened her eyes, as if she were dragging herself out of a trip down Unexpected Lust Lane.

  “Who said you’d be romancing me?” she countered as she reached for her fork and dove into her plate of pasta primavera.

  “I say it,” he said, as he took a bite of his chicken.

  “Maybe I’m only going on one date with you.”

  “I’ll have to find a way to convince you for more then. I’ll see if I have any tricks up my sleeve.”

  She took another bite, chewed, then set down her fork. Her expression turned serious. “Actually, I hate to be blunt, but I’ve learned a thing or two about being upfront, seeing as how I failed to be upfront about something really important for ten years.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked after he finished his bite and took a drink of his wine.

  “What I mean is I’m not interested in getting involved with someone who has intimacy issues,” she said in a direct tone of voice. She didn’t mince words. She didn’t pull punches. She simply told him. “I’m sorry if that sounds harsh. And I know I shouldn’t be judgmental, given my job, but my reality is I was in love with a good friend of mine for ten years from a distance. From afar. I never said a word to him until he’d already fallen madly in love with someone else. He had no clue I had any feelings for him. Even if I had told him, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He never saw me that way. He never thought of me romantically.”