I could have been there, Isabel thought to herself. They’d planned volunteer work abroad. They’d planned a future. And instead of listening to his adventures she would have been the one retelling them. Oh, damn…this wine was going to her head and making her maudlin.
Paris, she reminded herself. I am a Parisian woman. I care not for ze ex.
The very beautiful Frenchwoman at his side seemed to have forgotten her haughty Gallic woman-warrior roots and was flicking her long bouncy curls in a very flirty way as she tilted her head back and laughed at Sean’s story.
‘Very good. Very funny.’ Isabel patted Sean’s arm and gave the brunette a hard stare before flicking her own hair and snagging her fingers in it. ‘Ouch. I…mean… Can you please pass the crackers?’
Flicking and flirting were way out of her comfort zone. She made a mental note to practise in the comfort of her hotel bedroom.
‘Of course.’ Sean turned around and gave her a weird look as she dragged her fingers through a knot and grimaced, before he flashed her a lovely wide smile. And she was the only one in the room who knew it didn’t have an ounce of authenticity to it. ‘What do you think of the wine, Isabel? As good as back home?’
‘Oh, I don’t know…’ She looked at her surroundings, breathing in the age-old aroma of fermenting grapes and oak barrels, and sighed. ‘There’s something about Paris… Sacrilege, I know, but everything seems better here.’
‘Even me?’ This time his grin was real. And her gut tightened in response. He was joking with her, and she was aware that she’d drunk more than her fair share of wine, so yes…he did seem a teensy bit better. Not that she was about to admit to that.
The newly adopted Frenchwoman in her wanted to throw him a disdainful shrug as if he were but crumbs on ze floor, but the Aussie in her came out fighting. ‘Ah, Seany Boy, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but there’s only so much that grog goggles can enhance.’ And so that had been a little over-loud and rather more matey than she intended.
His voice again, close to her ear. Too close. Was it hot in here? ‘Are you okay, Isabel? It’s been a long day. You look a bit flushed. You sound a little…tense.’
Hardly surprising under the circumstances. ‘I’m fine, thank you for asking.’ The wine-tasting woman was handing out small glasses of something that looked like cough syrup. That made how many glasses they’d each consumed? Isabel didn’t dare to think. ‘Too much of this, I guess. I’d better be careful.’
‘Spoilsport. We’re in France—you need to chill a little.’ He swirled the stem of his glass before he looked at her again. ‘Vivienne and a few of the others are thinking of going to a club after this…’
‘Vivienne?’
His confused frown deepened as he flicked his thumb to the woman on his right. ‘Yes, Vivienne. She’s from Aix-en-Provence.’
‘Lucky her. She’s very pretty.’
He shrugged. ‘Yes, she is.’
A pang of something Isabel didn’t want to acknowledge, but knew damned well was jealousy, arrowed through her tummy. He wasn’t hers to pine after. She’d made sure of that years ago, and to hammer that message home she’d spilled her secret to him and watched any kind of hope shrivel. ‘Well, have fun. At the club. With Vivienne.’
He grinned, eyes darting to the long dark tresses, the flicking. ‘I intend to.’
I bet you do. Irritation rising from her stomach in a tight, hard ball of acid, Isabel tried to wriggle her feet out from under the table, which was easier said than done. ‘Really? You can’t wait until I’ve gone?’
‘What the hell…’ he growled, his voice hard and low, ‘…has it got to do with you?’
‘Because…’ It hurts. Because—she realised with a sharp sting in her chest—I want you to look at me like that, as if you’re anticipating a delicious treat.
Definitely too much wine.
The best idea would be to leave him to it. Really, the best idea would have been not to allow him to come in the first place. No, the best idea… She sighed. Why was it that the best ideas always happened after the event? She finally managed to get her feet out from the bench and tried to stand up, wobbling a little, then losing her balance in her new high-heeled suede boots. ‘Oops.’
Quick as a flash he caught her by the arm and steadied her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I just wobbled. I’m fine.’ But she wasn’t, not now. At the touch of his hand on her bare skin, desire fired through her. It had been so long since she’d felt it, so alien to her, it was a shock. All at once her body craved more touching. More touching him. More everything.
Oh, God. She looked at his broad chest covered in a crisp white collared shirt. At the model-worthy jawline. At that smiling mouth that seemed to mock and tease and was still so damned kissable. At those dark eyes boring into her. But most of all she felt his heat against hers. And she realised, with even more disbelief, that she wanted Sean Anderson in her bed.
Which was…well, it was surprising. Ever since she’d lost the baby her sexual experience had been marred by a deep-seated fear of getting pregnant; she’d been uptight and never really enjoyed herself. And she’d always felt, strangely, as if she was betraying Sean. So she hadn’t really explored that side of herself.
Of all the idiotic things. Of all the pointless wanting… She could not want him. After all, he’d made it very clear that he didn’t want her at all. And who could blame him?
But it was happening. And not only that, his breath was whispering across her neck sending more and more shivers across her body. ‘Do you need a hand getting home, Izzy?’
She edged away from the heat. ‘Not at all. I’m a big girl now. Besides, don’t you have la belle Vivienne from Aix-en-Provence to consider? I don’t want to cramp your style.’
He blew out an irritated breath. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really.’ She could hear her voice rising and struggled to keep it low and steady so the others couldn’t hear, particularly the hair-flicking lady. ‘I’m just saying what I see. It’s clear as day that you have plans for later. And we all love extracurriculars, right?’
Sean’s hand dropped from Isabel’s arm and she could sense the rage rippling through him. His eyes darkened beyond black. His voice was hushed but angry. ‘You made it very clear a long time ago that there was nothing you wanted from me. What the hell do you expect me to do? Keep hanging on? Because I will not do that, Isabel, I have my own life to live. I won’t wait around for you to decide what you want.’
‘I’m not asking you to.’
‘Funny, because that’s not how it seems to me. You don’t want me to go with Vivienne? You don’t want me to have fun, that’s for sure.’
‘Never in your wildest dreams, Sean Anderson, would I ever want anything from you. It’s too late for that, way too late.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
As if she didn’t know already.
His words were like daggers in her heart. And he was so close, too close. His mouth in kissing distance—which was such an inappropriate thought right now, but there it was. Her heart thumped in a traitorous dance.
‘Whatever. Go, do what you like. I’m leaving now anyway.’ Biting back her anger as much as she could, Isabel looked from Sean to Vivienne to the rest of the table, who were grinning in the candlelight and had no idea of the shared history and the huge amount of balls it was taking just to be here with him at all.
She needed to get away from him. To put their past life far behind her. To put this new attraction back where it couldn’t hurt her. Who’d have thought it, but after seventeen years of fighting she needed to get over Sean Anderson all over again. And fast.
CHAPTER FOUR
TWENTY MINUTES AND a decent dose of fresh cold Parisian air later, Isabel was feeling much more in control. The walk—or rather, the angry stamp—back to the hotel allowed a good view of the Eiffel Tower down the Champs de Mars, and oh, what a spectacular light show as it changed colours; red and gre
en like a Christmas tree, then the tricolour and then so many different colours it was enchanting…or it probably was to anyone else, but everything was tainted with their stupid argument and the feelings of jealousy and hopelessness raging through her.
Added to the glorious sight of the Eiffel Tower there were strings and strings of twinkling Christmas lights draped along the street lampposts and trees, giving the whole place a really magical atmosphere. She’d never been anywhere cold at Christmas so this year was going to be a first. It was already breathtaking—or might have been if she hadn’t been struggling for a calming breath anyway. If she wasn’t mistaken there was a hint of snow, too, in the cool breeze that whipped around her cheeks and blasted Sean from her skin.
Just about.
She decided not to think about him any more. She was in France to enjoy herself, so that was what she would do.
Except…she couldn’t get him out of her head. Annoying man! Annoying hormones that made her want him and want to run from him at the same time.
The claw-foot bathtub in her en-suite was just about overflowing with lavender-scented bubbles, a small nightcap of red wine was sitting on the window ledge, and if she craned her neck to the left she could see the street Christmas lights from the bathroom window.
A quick bath. A peruse of her presentation, then bed. If she could sleep at all with her emotions still coating everything she did. She slipped the white fluffy bathrobe off and stepped one foot into the warm water, stiffening quickly at the sharp rap on her door.
Probably housekeeping. Or room service—not that she’d asked for anything. But who else would it have been at this time of night?
Sean?
And there was a mind meld of thought process. Unlikely—Sean was out with a beautiful woman.
Another knock.
Ignoring the mysterious tachycardia and excitement roaring through her, she told herself not to be so stupid; it was probably someone knocking on the wrong door. She wrapped the bathrobe around herself again, and pattered one dry, one wet foot to the door. Through the little eyeglass she could see a man. Sean.
No. Not when she’d managed to flush him to the darkest corner of her brain. Not when she was pretty much naked. Not when she’d realised that these lurching feelings about him were a heady combination of guilt and lust. Which had to be the worst kind of concoction of hormones, surely? Especially when the lust was not reciprocated and the guilt just made him glare at her with anger in his eyes. What did he want now? To gloat? What to do?
Pretend she was asleep? Yes. Good idea. She turned her back to the door and held her breath. He would go away. She would sleep. She would be fine tomorrow.
‘Izzy?’ The knocking recommenced. ‘Isabel, for God’s sake, woman, open the door.’
Starting to feel a bit light-headed from holding her breath, she very slowly let the air from her lungs and said nothing.
‘Isabel… You are the worst liar in the world.’
‘What?’ Man, he really did know how to wind her up. Irritation now skittering down her spine, she threw open the door. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘You. You were pretending not to be here.’
‘I was not. And please be quiet, you’ll wake the neighbours.’
‘I am the neighbours.’ Shaking his head, he gave her a sort of smirk that made her heart patter and her breath hitch. ‘You were standing at the door, you saw who it was and you pretended not to be here. Don’t deny it. I saw the shadows changing under the door frame.’
Busted. ‘So, why are you here? Seeing as you hate the air I breathe.’
‘You know why. You don’t get to talk to me like that. To make me think…’ He scuffed a hand through his hair and shook his head. Exasperated.
‘What?’
‘That there’s unfinished business here.’
She swallowed through a dry throat. ‘What do you mean? Unfinished business?’
‘For God’s sake, Isabel, you know exactly what I mean. We have to deal with this.’
She shook her head. She was so confused, her head muddled with the unending ache and so many conflicting thoughts. ‘I remember that we agreed to stay out of each other’s way. I remember you were going to go and have fun. Why aren’t you out at a club? Vivienne seemed very interested in going, and particularly with you, if all that hair flicking was anything to go by.’
‘I don’t care about Vivienne.’ Without seeming to give any thought to how this looked, or what she thought about it, he stepped into the room, his presence filling the space. God, he looked amazing, all wrapped up in a scarf and heavy coat, his cheeks flushed with cold and his hair peaky. Eyes glittering with emotions, ones that she couldn’t quite read but she was pretty sure were rage. And desire. Oh, yes, she could see that. Maybe he was still thinking about Vivienne?
‘She’ll be very upset.’
‘I doubt that very much.’ He looked at her, his impassioned gaze running from her hair—all shoved up into a messy clip on top of her head—to her throat, then to her white bathrobe, and lower.
Heat prickled all over her like a rash. How could a man make her feel so…so turned on with just a look? He reached for the top of her robe and ran his fingertips across the fabric, touching, ever so minutely, her skin. Pulled the robe tighter across her body.
Standing here, almost naked but for one very precarious item of clothing, she felt set alight. Swallowing was hard. Speaking, finding words, even harder. He was so close and all she could smell was him and the lavender and Paris. He was so close she could have…might have…kissed him, invited him into her bath. To her bed. Her heart. Then she remembered.
Stepping away she snarled, because it was the only thing she could manage, ‘You’re drunk.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ And, truth be told, he looked about as sober as she’d ever seen him. He pulled the robe tighter across her chest, covering up her exposed skin. ‘Do you think I’d only come here if I was drunk?’
‘I can’t see any reason why you’d come here at all. You hate me, Sean, you’ve made that very clear.’
He frowned, stalked to the console, poured a glass of red wine and sank half of it in one gulp. ‘I don’t hate you, Isabel. I just hate what happened—there’s a big difference.’
‘You said you couldn’t bear to look at me.’ She hauled in a breath, two; every moment she spent with him had her fired up one way or another. ‘As far as you’re concerned I lied to you, betrayed you, and that is unforgivable, no matter what I went through.’
He slammed the glass down. ‘You think betrayal is excusable?’
‘Yes, given the circumstances.’
‘The circumstances were that I loved you, Isabel. You meant everything to me. And you said the same to me, over and over. We created that baby.’ His jaw set. ‘I guess that counted for nothing? You just cast me aside.’
She felt his dismissal keenly in her chest, ricocheting over her heart, remorseless. She’d known he loved her; that knowledge had carried her for a long time. It had allowed her to excuse what she’d done in the name of protection, of love. It had allowed her to function. To grieve, and to heal. ‘Your love was everything to me and, God knows, I loved you too, Sean. More than you could imagine.’
‘So, that’s why you kept the truth from me? Why you refused to even speak to me?’
‘Yes, actually it was.’ She stepped closer to him, her hand on his chest. Because she wanted to touch him one last time, because she knew there was no coming back from this. How could there be? There was too much looming between them. Too much past, too much hurt. Too much for them ever to surmount. Too much lost love. ‘What was the point in ruining two lives?’
‘Knowing what you were going through, what we’d lost, wouldn’t have ruined my life—don’t you get it? It could have made us stronger. You just didn’t give us a chance. You didn’t give me a chance. You shut down, hibernated your life, ran away from any contact.’
‘I was protecting myself.’
<
br /> ‘That was my job,’ he growled. The rest of the wine went down his throat. ‘For the first time in your life you did exactly what your parents taught you to do, Isabel, you put on a mask and pretended all the pain had gone, that you were just fine. And by doing that you closed yourself off from anyone who might help you.’ He moved away from her hand as if it were a dagger, a threat. ‘What a waste. What a bloody shame.’
‘Yes. Yes, it is. Because you’re right, what we had was special and I regret not letting you in, more than anything. Happy now?’
‘You think hearing that makes me happy?’
She waved towards the door, trying not to show how much his rejection hurt on the back of so much need. She just ached to feel his arms around her, to taste him again, to make everything right between them. And it would never happen. Not now. ‘There isn’t any more to say. Go. Please. Just leave me alone.’
‘Fine.’ He stalked to the door. As he pressed down the handle he rested his forehead against the wood, took a minute to regulate his breathing. Then he turned dark eyes on her. He held her gaze for longer than anyone had ever looked at her. She saw flashes of gold in there, anger. Pain. Desire. A struggle with all three. ‘What did you mean, earlier, when you asked me to wait until you’d left before I went to the club?’
Her heart hammered against her breastbone in a panicked beat. ‘Nothing. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’d had too much wine.’ But he knew exactly what she’d meant. That she still had feelings for him. That she wanted to be the woman he took home tonight, not Vivienne.
‘And now?’
‘Now what?’ Dangerous. Heat skittered through her abdomen. Lower.
He stepped closer and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him, his eyes wild now, his breath quick, his growing hardness apparent. Despite everything, he wanted her.
Her ragged breathing stalled. All the tension and emotion bundled into her fists and she grabbed his coat lapels, her mouth inches from his.
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