by Mia Sheridan
I offered a small smile. “I guess we both are. Grown-up I mean.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Something moved between us, a charge in the air that made my stomach tighten. Like cresting the peak of a roller coaster and anticipating the drop. Fear. And delight.
He frowned. “I owe you an apology for that night. I’m sorry—”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Really. It was fine. It was just…Paris.” I shrugged one shoulder and gave him a smile.
“Paris,” he murmured. “There is something about Paris…”
“La Ville des Amoureux,” I said before I’d considered the words. City of Lovers. Only, we weren’t lovers, and we never had been. He’d had a different lover that night, in fact. One of his vast array of women. My face felt warm, and I hoped he couldn’t tell I was blushing.
We stared at each other, and the moment suddenly felt weighty…awkward—as if there was something we should be saying and neither knew what that was. I shifted on my feet. “I’m, ah, so happy for all the success you’ve had.” I smiled. “I’ve followed your career…a little bit.” A lot.
“Thanks. I…You know it was because of you I discovered music.”
“Really?” I shook my head. “No. I’m sure you would have discovered music with or without me. It’s obviously your passion. Your gift.”
He sucked his full bottom lip into his mouth, and my stomach muscles clenched, along with places lower and deep inside. Places I didn’t necessarily want to consider. “Maybe. I don’t know. I still have that keyboard you gave me.”
I laughed in surprise. “Do you really?”
He smiled, and for one moment he didn’t look like Callen Hayes the famous composer, the playboy of classical music—he looked like Callen, the prince and hero of my girlish heart. I felt possessive of that smile, as if it belonged to me and no one else. Stupid, Jessica. So stupid. I looked away. I didn’t want to be having these feelings for Callen. They were useless and slightly painful. Still, this moment felt like a dream, and I couldn’t quite convince myself to embrace what I knew was reality.
“What kind of work are you doing here? You were working at that lounge a couple of months ago.”
I nodded, taking another sip of wine. “Just to pay the bills. I’m a translator. That’s what I’m doing in the Loire Valley. I’m working with a team to translate some documents.”
He nodded, tilting his head. “French. Yes, I remember.” He paused. “You were always so smart, Jessie.” There was something in his expression, sort of tender and sort of sad, and it confused me. But then he smiled and the shadows in his eyes melted away. “You did what you said you would do—you moved to Paris. Only, you must not be eating as much chocolate as you planned.” He glanced down my body, his expression appreciative as he raised a brow.
I laughed, a thrill moving through me that he remembered at least some of what we’d talked about; he hadn’t completely forgotten me or the pieces of my heart I’d once shared with him. “I can’t afford to eat much chocolate just yet. That particular dream remains on hold for now.”
He laughed. “We should all have a dream or two.”
I smiled and opened my mouth to say something when a woman in an obscenely tight red dress approached us, draping herself on Callen and shooting me a cool smile. “You about ready for our Jacuzzi date?” she cooed. “I can’t wait to slip out of this dress.”
I tensed, the warm happiness that had filled my heart a moment before turning into cold disappointment. Callen Hayes was not the boy I’d known, and I shouldn’t have forgotten that, even for a moment, even here in this gorgeous room in the Loire Valley, where fate seemed to have once again brought us together. I smiled, hoping it didn’t look as stiff as it felt. “I have to get up to bed anyway. It was nice seeing you again.”
I began to turn away, but Callen grabbed my arm, shaking himself loose of the red-dress girl. “Wait, Jessie. Don’t go yet.” He turned to the girl, who now had an angry scowl on her face. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to cancel the hot tub. Maybe I’ll see you later.”
She huffed out a breath and crossed her arms over her chest. “You promised,” she whined, “and you owe me.”
Ew. Whatever that meant, I didn’t want to know. I pulled my arm gently out of Callen’s grip. “Really, there’s no need to cancel your plans. I have to turn in. I’m going on a museum tour in the morning, and it starts early.”
There was a tic in Callen’s jaw, but he smiled and nodded. “Can we do dinner while you’re here?”
Red dress was glaring at me and tapping her foot impatiently. A vision of her in the hot tub draped over Callen flashed through my mind. I didn’t like the picture my brain created, but it was a good reminder of why I needed to stay far away from him. I’d already had my heart broken by one womanizing lecher—my father—and I refused to add another to the list. Callen and I had been friends before, and maybe we could be again. It didn’t have to be anything more. But what would be the point? So I could end up with hurt feelings and the definitive knowledge that even if I had meant something to him once, I didn’t now? I’d been reminded twice how Callen viewed women: temporary and disposable. To become even more acquainted with what he’d become was only asking to be hurt. “I don’t think so, but thank you anyway. I hope you enjoy your vacation. Good night.” And with that I turned and walked away, not daring to look back, not even once, taking some small satisfaction in the fact that it was me walking away this time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Callen
Jessie Creswell. My Jessie Creswell. Holy shit. I was still trying to wrap my head around it. Jessie Creswell was the girl I’d kissed on the rooftop in Paris? The girl I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about? Was that the reason for the strange draw I’d had to her? A familiarity that I hadn’t known how to explain? Was it the reason my mind had kept returning to her? I’d always had a special place in my heart for Jessie, and perhaps it was that long-ago closed-off piece of me that had taken notice.
But it felt like…more than that. I just wasn’t sure exactly why or how. Her hair was longer and darker, her freckles barely noticeable, and she obviously didn’t wear braces anymore, but now that I knew who she was, I could see the remnants of the child she’d been. Although other than that echo of recognition, she definitely wasn’t remotely childlike anymore.
Her body was slim yet rounded in all the right places, and I’d had to force myself not to stare at her full, luscious breasts. Jessie Creswell. Goddamn.
The two years I’d spent with her had been the only real childhood I’d had, the only time I’d allowed myself to play, and to lose myself in lands of fantasy, where anything was possible. She had been the only good. And yet that time was riddled with pain, too, and memories I didn’t want to look at, memories I constantly tried to push away.
Fuck, she’d been all I could think about since running into her last night.
I heard the ding of the elevator and stood, my heart picking up speed as I watched to see who got out in the lobby where I…well, where I’d been sort of loitering in a corner for the past hour.
An older couple stepped out, and my heart sank but then lifted again when I spotted Jessie behind them, looking at a pamphlet of some sort held open in her hands. She was dressed in jeans, a loose white top, a pair of sandals, and she had a large purse over one shoulder. Her long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail like the night I’d kissed her in Paris, and she had a pair of sunglasses perched on her head.
“Bonjour.”
She looked up, and I laughed at the startled look on her face, surprise that morphed into something that resembled irritation. “Callen. I wouldn’t have pegged you for an early riser.”
I cleared my throat and fell in beside her as she began walking toward the front desk. “Yes, always. Best part of the day. I never miss, er…” I searched my mind for what happened before noon.
“The sunrise?” she offered, amusement lacing her tone.
“Yup.”
/>
She looked at me sideways, clearly skeptical, and I couldn’t help smiling. She was so pretty. Those big hazel eyes, full lips that I knew tasted sweet, and a light scattering of freckles that I could only see when I was close. Very close. I leaned toward her and she leaned away. “What are you doing?”
“Ah…nothing.”
She gave me a suspicious look and then stepped up to the front desk, speaking in rapid French to the man who greeted her. I didn’t understand a word of it. She smiled and turned, and I nodded to the man, catching up to her.
“Where are you off to this morning?” she asked.
“Museum tour.”
She stopped and turned toward me, raising a brow. “Which one?”
I waved my hand toward the front door. “The one down…that way.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “Mm-hmm. We’re going on the same one, I’m assuming?”
I shrugged, enjoying this. Enjoying her. I felt…eager. When was the last time I felt eager? “How presumptuous of you. There must be hundreds of museum tours in the area.”
Her lip quirked. “Crafts and exhibits relating to a former abbey from the Middle Ages?”
I pretended to be shocked. “What a coincidence. Fate really seems to keep throwing us together, doesn’t it? I’m fascinated by alleys of the…ages.”
“Abbeys.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Right.” She sighed, her expression becoming serious. She fidgeted as if she might be a little uncomfortable. “Listen, um, Callen…it’s been great seeing you and knowing all you’ve accomplished. But we’ve both changed a lot and I don’t think…well, I just don’t think there’s any reason for us to spend time together. It really wouldn’t come to any good.”
I frowned, drawing back slightly, the unfamiliar rejection hitting me like a smack. “Why not? We were friends once. We enjoyed each other’s company. Why shouldn’t we enjoy it again?”
Her lips thinned, and she looked off behind me for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. When her eyes met mine again, her expression was grim. “It doesn’t seem you’re lacking for…friends. And I’m not interested in any of that. The friendship we shared as children is a sweet memory for me, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“But…we could create new memories. Better memories.” I gave her my best seductive smile, but it only caused her eyes to narrow with disapproval. My smile slipped, and I felt strangely chastised.
She put a hand on my arm as if in comfort. “Thank you, no.” Then she turned and walked away from me for the second time in twenty-four hours.
Thank you, no?
I followed her out the hotel door, fast-walking to catch up. Outside, the air was cool and fresh, the sky already a bright, cloudless blue. “Thank you, no?”
She turned abruptly, and I collided with her. Her body was both firm and soft, and I wanted to press in closer, but she stepped back, taking a deep breath. “Listen, half the women of the free world would love to spend time with you. You won’t miss the company of one girl.”
She turned again and walked to the curb, where she took her cell phone from her purse, glanced at it, and dropped it back inside.
I went to stand next to her. “Forty percent.”
She glanced at me, furrowing her brow. “What?”
“Half the women of the free world is a bit of an exaggeration. Forty percent, forty-five max. I don’t take a single one for granted.” I brought out the big guns, smiling, sort of lopsided, the one I knew women went crazy for.
But once again, apparently not this one. She tilted her head as if she was trying to figure something out. “Funny,” she muttered, drawing out the word, though she didn’t sound amused at all. She took a few steps forward, tapping her foot and looking toward the bend of the long driveway, as if impatient for her ride to show up.
This wasn’t working. I wasn’t charming her. At all. Maybe it was little wonder after our first two encounters. “So…okay, you’re mad about the women who interrupted us both times we’ve run into each other—”
Her head whipped toward me and she gave it a quick shake. “No.” Her chest rose and fell on a deep intake of air. “No. I’m not mad. I have no reason to be mad. I just…don’t want to be a part of it. I can’t be a part of it.”
A shuttle bus pulled up to the curb, and she headed to it. I paused for a moment, telling myself I should walk away. But my feet had a mind of their own, and they followed Jessie, stepping onto the bus. She was already sitting, and her eyes widened when she saw me. She pulled her sunglasses down and looked out the window. I took the seat across from her, putting my own sunglasses on.
An older woman took the seat next to Jessie, and they struck up a conversation in French. I stared out the window, wondering what I was doing. I’d never chased a woman in my life. Much less to a museum. This was either a new low or a new high; I couldn’t tell which.
As I watched the scenery go by, I realized I hadn’t been up this early in years. I’d forgotten what the morning sky even looked like. But I’d woken this morning with an excitement running through my veins that I hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever, and I knew it had to do with Jessie. I wanted to see her, to spend time with her, to hear the things she thought about, to find out the details of her life and all I’d missed since the last time I’d seen her.
But she didn’t want to be a part of it. Of me. I should have walked off and found any number of women who desired my company, but I couldn’t because I only wanted to spend time with her. Jesus. Maybe it was the challenge. Lord knew I hadn’t had one of those for a long damn time. Still, I knew she wasn’t playing some sort of game to get me to chase her, so again, what the hell was I doing?
The shuttle drove through the quaint downtown area, turned and bounced down a short, dirt road, finally lurching to a stop in front of a square stone building. We all stood and filed off the vehicle, but I held back, following behind Jessie, who was still chatting animatedly with the older French woman. I picked up a brochure at the museum’s front desk, purchased a ticket, and followed the group through a lobby area and into the dim, quiet interior of the gallery. The space was roomy and open with display cases lining the walls and placed in the middle of the room, creating wide rows that patrons could wander between. Large, framed paintings hung on all four walls, with small gold placards beneath each one.
A tour guide greeted our group and asked if anyone spoke a language other than French. I kept quiet. I didn’t care to hear about any of the items, so what did it matter what language he spoke? He began his talk, and I tuned him out easily, leaning against one of the display cases and stifling a yawn. I saw Jessie’s lip quirk up as if she’d seen me in her peripheral vision, but she schooled it quickly and laced her hands in front of her, tilting her head as she listened to the guide.
I moved along with the group, glancing at a few items, mostly watching Jessie as she walked in front of me, bending toward each display and reading the descriptions, her lips moving along with the words. Why I found that so sexy I had no idea. I took a moment to look at the pieces that seemed to draw her attention, wondering what I could figure out about her from the things that piqued her interest.
I put my hands in my pockets, then removed them, feeling out of place, but at the same time, not really wanting to be anywhere else.
At first I didn’t think Jessie was paying much attention to me, but then I caught her glancing my way surreptitiously in the reflection of one of the display cases, and it made my heart thump faster in my chest. We wandered to the back of the room, and I saw her look at me again and look away, and I couldn’t help the smile that made my lips twitch. Maybe she was only keeping me in her sights because she knew I was watching her, but I didn’t care. It felt…good. But for the first time in a long time, I wished my life hadn’t been as public. I wished she didn’t have so many reasons to write me off so quickly, that she wanted to know me like I wanted to know her. Like she had thirteen years ago, wh
en she’d first looked past the bruised and battered face and had seen the lonely, sad boy within.
The tour guide had finished his spiel and was standing near the back of the room, answering questions quietly, when someone came up to him. The near-silence of the room was suddenly broken when my cell phone began ringing shrilly from my pocket. “Oh, fuck.” My words—meant to be muttered—echoed around the tall room, some strange acoustics causing them to bounce from wall to wall. Several older women looked at me with shocked disdain, tsking softly. I fumbled in my jeans, trying to remove the damn thing as quickly as possible. I smiled in embarrassment as I glanced around, catching Jessie’s wide-eyed stare. The phone finally came free of my pocket, and I punched the first button I could get to, which unfortunately was the answer button. Myrtle’s loud, crackly greeting rang through the gallery, and I turned and walked quickly to the front of the room, exiting into the lobby that, thank God, was empty.
“Myrtle, I have to call you back.”
“What? This isn’t a good connection.” The phone crackled directly in my ear, and I winced. Ouch. I hit the speaker button, turning the volume down and glancing back at the closed door to make sure I couldn’t be heard as Myrtle went on. “I called to give you the transcriptions of your text messages.”
“Myrtle, I need to—” I whispered, walking to the other side of the open area.
“I see why you don’t have time to read them. There were fifty-seven. Some were from women that sounded like brazen hussies, and I just deleted those. In my day and age, no self-respecting female would talk to a man that way.” She made a disgusted sound in her throat, and I tried to break in one more time. “One of them sent you her address and suggested you come to her house and do things to her that were so lewd, I wrapped up a bar of Ivory and sent it to her with a note that said, ‘Please use this to wash your whore mouth out with soap, regards, Myrtle.’ The other ones—”