Juliana lowered her voice. “You think we’ll find any adventures here in Atami? I mean, besides your cheeky art exhibit?”
“Just listen to you. Didn’t you get enough adventure before you moved back, living out of town?”
A pang traveled through Juliana. She missed residing in San Diego, where, after college, she’d moved to help found a company that put together private, eclectic tours of downtown. With all the tales of Wyatt Earp and tragic gas-lamp romances the job had spoken to Juliana’s creative, whimsical side. But then she’d been asked to take over the family bookstore, the pride of her aunt Katrina, which did constant business with its attached cheesecake-and-coffee café.
She hadn’t been able to refuse the relative who’d given so much for her, so she’d sold her portion of the tour business and returned to Parisville.
Sacrifice for sacrifice, she thought. Quid pro quo.
“I haven’t had an adventure in a while,” Juliana admitted to Sasha. “Frankly, these days, I don’t even date within the limits of Parisville—not if I want to avoid being given the third degree. My family still probably thinks I’m a nice girl.”
“Little do they know.”
Juliana shrugged. She’d had her share of dates during her years of freedom, none of them leading to any serious commitment. And none of them had gotten her there, in her heart.
Or in the part of her that longed for the explosive romance the stories of Emelie and Terrence, while they’d still been in love, had led her to expect.
Call her an idealist, but she’d been holding out for something epic.
“And you?” Juliana asked. “How far do you want to go with your own personal research?”
“Not that far.”
Even now, almost a year after the breakup that’d persuaded Sasha to leave Parisville, Juliana could see the pain on her friend’s face.
And why not? Chad Cole had broken Sasha’s heart by refusing to acknowledge that her dreams and goals were as important as his. They’d split up because he’d gotten more and more possessive of her time, it had come to a head when he’d pretty much given her an ultimatum—her career or him.
Sasha had chosen the career, thinking that the problem went beyond just this one issue, and she’d moved to Orange County, over an hour away from Chad and Parisville.
“Chad was a long time ago,” Juliana said. “You’re allowed to have fun with men now. The mourning period has come and gone.”
“I do. Have fun, I mean.”
Juliana didn’t have the heart to contradict her. “Chad Cole is old, old news, Sash. This is our future—a rollicking good time in a place where no one will gossip about us behind our backs. If you’re naughty in Atami, I won’t tell a soul.”
For a second, Sasha’s deep-blue eyes lit up with hope. Yes, they were here, unleashed from the past and present, weren’t they?
But then a young Japanese couple walked by, laughing with each other, licking their ice-cream cones.
Sasha’s gaze lost its sparkle, and suddenly, to Juliana, this trip became about much more than just a watercolor or Sasha’s newest book—it was about putting that hope back in her friend’s gaze.
But Sasha’s mind was obviously still on Chad, even though she had a roundabout way of mentioning him.
“Have you thought of what bringing home that watercolor is going to do to the Coles?” she asked.
“I expect their family will be pretty unhappy about it since they’ve been after the piece for all these years, too. That’s why the old-school Thomsen crowd funded this trip for me, you know—so they could parade the symbolic object of their moral victory over the Coles up and down Main Street, daring them to say something, anything about how one person supposedly stole the painting from another and just look who’s got a hold of it now. I’m just their tool.”
“Hardly a tool,” Sasha said.
They smiled at each other.
“Have I ever told you,” Juliana said, “that I’m glad we got to be friends even though you were with one of them?”
Sasha gave her a tiny, yet affectionate, bump.
They stopped on the boardwalk, ready to go their separate ways.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Sasha asked.
“No, you’ve got your sexy research to do. Besides, I’ve already chatted with Jiro Mori on the phone, so I know he’s one of these young guys who’s into Western culture. Communication’s been easy because his English is great.” She laughed. “I won’t be needing you as a crutch for the time being.”
“Maybe I’ll need you. There aren’t many signs in English around here.”
Sasha’s smile told Juliana that she was kidding.
“All right then,” Juliana said. “You do your thing and I’ll call you when my appointment ends. It’ll probably be about two hours until we can meet up.” They’d rented cell phones with international calling plans. Expensive, but worth it. “Then after we check into those hot baths, we’ll train it back to Tokyo and get into trouble in the Roppongi District tonight.”
Nightclubs, cabarets… A good start to see what else they could find.
“Okay,” her friend said. “So let’s meet by the entrance to the Adult Museum near the castle when you’re done? You might get a kick out of the displays.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
As they parted ways, Juliana did feel a little cautious about continuing on her own, but it wasn’t because Japan was dangerous. Far from it.
There was just something about setting out solo, Juliana thought while taking her first step into this looking-glass world that was so different from the one she was used to.
But Juliana was starting to believe that she actually might have the strength to find her own way here, far away from home.
Far away from the woman everyone else expected her to be.
WHEN TRISTAN COLE saw Juliana Thomsen lingering in front of a seafood stand in the cluttered, tempura-scented alley that led to the ramen house where he was scheduled to meet Jiro Mori, he stopped in his tracks.
The ecstatic shock of seeing her again made his body clutch up with the memories that were resurfacing.
A summer night just before Juliana was set to go off to Cal Poly. A bonfire out in Taggert’s Field, the hills casting shadows while dusk settled.
He’d been drinking a beer, just like the other underage kids, when the conversation had faded to whispers.
When he’d glanced away from his lone spot at the fire to see why, he’d found her, surrounded by friends—good girls who’d braved the party as a lark before going off to their new lives.
His gaze had connected with hers, then held and, now, he remembered how his gut had tightened, blood rushing to his groin and his head as his secret fantasy had stared right back at him over the flames.
The crush he’d never talked about or acted on.
He’d waited until she was away from her buddies, then while she was passing a tree that he stood against away from the rest of the party, he’d spoken to her for the first time ever.
She’d stopped, lingered, and he could see that she was interested, the violet of her eyes shining in the moonlight.
Later, after they’d small-talked for as long as he could take, he’d reached out, brought her against his body, leaned back against the rough tree and kissed her.
And for one secret, stolen week, they’d kissed some more. More. Until that one night, when they’d come so close….
He’d ached to be inside her, ached afterward when they’d decided that their families would never understand if they went any further.
Then she’d left town, making him wonder if she’d been relieved to do so, if she’d only been experimenting with him and now that it was done, she was content.
But as for him?
Long afterward, he’d wondered if she’d been the one who’d gotten away, and based on his romantic experiences ever since, he was just about convinced that nobody would ever come close to Juliana Thomsen
.
Now she was here, in Japan, the last place he’d ever expected.
He smiled tightly. He’d been pulled in to this drama by his cousin and the rest of his family, who’d enlisted him to chase down Dream Rising, the painting the Cole family had coveted for years. The piece that would finally stick it to the Thomsens and give some closure to the whole damned Terrence/Emelie legend.
But it was also the object that would give Gramps Cole the pride he’d been searching for in his waning days. In an effort not to feel “old and useless”—a phrase he often bandied about, much to Tristan’s dismay—Gramps had put it upon himself to find the painting, but time after time, his ego had been beaten down by failure. As well, he had taken personally his loss in a dispute over some property lines between the two families.
If the painting was all it would take to give his grandfather some pride back, Tristan was going to get it for him.
He’d been chosen to do this family errand mostly because he’d taken some Japanese; in reality, he’d only listened to a few learn-on-your-own language tapes because he did business with a certain car nut over here—one of many clients who kept Tristan flush with cash from hunting down vintage finds for collectors of American automobiles. But Gramps had figured Tristan would be a good candidate to accompany Chad.
“I’d go on the trip myself,” the old man had said softly from his bed, “but these damned legs won’t carry me. Do your dad proud, Tristan. He would have asked you to go if he were still alive.”
Tristan’s mom had stayed quiet during the entire meeting, watching her son, who’d so far done well at staying out of family politics, get sucked right in.
He’d just never felt a part of their Dream Rising feud. Hell, he hadn’t even felt much affinity for their horse-breeding business, either, preferring to spend most of his time under a car hood.
But he’d do anything for Gramps, so that’s why he was standing here in this alley, moving aside for the foot traffic to pass.
Next to him, Chad was watching Juliana Thomsen, too, but not for the same reason as Tristan.
“She’s here to meet Jiro Mori,” his cousin said, having no idea about what had happened between Tristan and Juliana so long ago.
“Makes sense,” Tristan answered casually. “Both our families have been tracking that painting, so it stands to reason that the art dealer would make the most of a competing interest in it. Smart businessman, if you ask me. He must sense that whoever gets their hands on it will be the winner after all these years of skirmishing.”
He could feel Chad’s considering gaze on him, but his attention was drawn back to Juliana and her shimmer of silky hair that seemed to weave both silver and gold down her back. He knew her eyes would still be that hue he’d never seen except in old-movie Technicolor. Violet.
Just picturing what she was going to look like when she fully turned around—an adult, over fourteen years after they’d been so close to really being with each other—got his libido running harder.
“What’s with you?” Chad asked, his wire-rimmed glasses making him come off like a professor.
“Just enjoying the sights.”
His cousin went silent. Chad was appeasing the elders of the family just as much as Tristan; his job was to expedite the financing. Not that the family was rich, but they had squirreled away a lot of money over the years in the hope of finding the holy grail of Terrence’s paintings, and Chad was the family accountant, the purse strings. It’d be up to Tristan and his so-called experience with overseas clients to negotiate while his cousin waited in the background.
Tristan had resigned himself to the whole thing and just wanted to get it over with so he could enjoy himself somewhat. He’d told himself that coming to Japan was a gift in disguise, because he could meet his biggest car patron face-to-face for the first time. It’d be good business.
Yet he found his gaze drawn back to Juliana Thomsen as she accepted a sample of grilled octopus from a fishmonger.
Octopus, he thought. An aphrodisiac.
She looked around at the paper lanterns hanging over the alley while she chewed, as if she was thoroughly enjoying her surroundings, the excitement of it all.
He glanced at Chad, then back at Juliana. They weren’t in Parisville. Why not get closer?
He started to move down the alley toward her, his blood simmering, making him go a little light-headed, a little more careless than the silent guy who always kept to himself.
He could hear Chad following as Juliana bowed to the fishmonger, then started to leave…
Only to turn around and find Tristan blocking her way.
She took a step back, sucking in a breath, her eyes wide.
As she stared at him, clearly thrown by the idea that he was here in the same country, the same alley, the violet of her eyes mesmerized him, and he could’ve sworn that he detected something there.
Happiness at seeing him again?
Wonder about what could’ve been between them?
Or was she a full Thomsen by now, having left behind all the girlish ideals she’d possessed back when they’d laid a blanket over the backseat of his car and slowly, agonizingly peeled the clothes off each other? As they’d found themselves in the throes of what he’d naively thought could’ve turned into love?
She swallowed, then laughed slightly while glancing at Chad, too. He knew she was recovering, just as he was still doing.
“This shouldn’t stun me,” she said, a barely perceptible tremor in her voice. “I suppose whoever’s been charged with keeping track of Dream Rising in your family got the same lead we did.”
He couldn’t help coasting a longer look over her. When she noticed, her fair skin—which already seemed as if it’d gotten some sun—went even pinker.
Chad’s voice edged into the tension. “You’re brave, Ms. Thomsen. Coming overseas alone to take care of business.”
She dragged her gaze away from Tristan’s, and all he wanted to do was drag it back.
“I’m with a friend,” she said to Chad. “And I suppose I should put this out there so there’re no more surprises—it’s Sasha.”
Chad didn’t say anything for a moment, and Tristan thought that might be because the wind had been knocked out of his heart-on-the-sleeve-wearing cousin.
Poor guy. Tristan knew the details of the failed romance; over many a brew, Chad had revealed his regret at becoming too territorial with her. He’d only loved her, he’d said. He’d learned a lot over the months since their breakup, but he couldn’t imagine Sasha ever taking him back.
Standing here with Juliana, Tristan realized that he felt just like Chad looked. Hollow. Hell, Tristan had been feeling empty for a while.
What would his life have been like if he and Juliana had only been brave enough to tell their families where to stick their feud? At eighteen, she hadn’t wanted to, and he’d understood, because living a life as a black sheep hadn’t appealed to him, either. Not when he loved his family the way he did.
Juliana was measuring Chad’s reaction to the news of Sasha; she was obviously on guard for her friend, and that gave Tristan the opportunity to take her in again, to think about how fresh, wide-eyed and still somehow innocent she was after the passage of all these years.
Chad finally replied, “Can you tell me where Sasha is?”
Good God, man, Tristan thought. Take it back.
Juliana narrowed her eyes, as if she regretted revealing Sasha’s presence. But then she sighed, probably realizing that they were all adults here and she had no reason to be a hard case about this.
“She went to the art exhibition at Atami Castle,” she said. “Research for a book she’s writing.”
But even that wasn’t enough for Chad. “How is she?”
“Chad,” Tristan said in warning.
The other man seemed to take the caution into account, but then he sent a lopsided, sheepish grin to Tristan. It was a gesture announcing that he’d wanted to see Sasha again ever since the night she’d lef
t him. A smile that admitted he’d never stopped carrying a torch for her and would be damned if, after all this time regretting it, he would let an opportunity like this go by.
Tristan almost took a step back at that thought.
A second chance. Here, in Japan, where no one might ever know…
Chad started to leave. “Call me when you’re done?” he said to Tristan.
Juliana looked as if she wanted to stop him, too, but as Chad merged with the walking traffic, neither of them said anything to bring him back.
They only watched him go, his sandy head visible above the other dark, bobbing ones until he disappeared around a corner.
“Well,” he heard Juliana say. “I suppose I’ll see you in the ramen house with Jiro Mori then.”
He turned around to find her already walking away and trying to access her cell phone, as if to call Sasha. When it looked like the reception wasn’t cooperating, she put the phone into her purse and took out a paper, then scanned the shops around her.
Probably her own set of directions from Jiro Mori, Tristan thought, while enjoying the smooth curve of her rear under her skirt. He also couldn’t help reveling in the swish of her straight hair teasing the middle of her back because he remembered how soft it’d been when he’d sifted his fingers through it.
He caught up to her with his long strides. “Chad’s not going to make a menace of himself, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“I know,” Juliana said. “And why wouldn’t he try to talk with Sasha? It’s been months. They’ve both had some distance from what happened, so they’ll be civil.”
The past kept a cushion between them, and all he wanted to do was poke it by saying what was really on his mind.
But maybe he should ease into it.
“Civil.” The word seemed as foreign as they were. “Somehow, it doesn’t seem like civil should belong in a conversation between a Cole and a Thomsen.”
She kept walking, but at a slower pace, slow enough that he could smell her flowery shampoo, her warm skin under the humidity.
A shiver skated up his flesh, rolling out. God, she smelled the same, and he realized that he’d imagined that scent many, many times over the years, but somehow, it had remained elusive.
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