hurt her. If he had had his way, she
would be his wife. But he hadn’t had
his way. She had deceived him,
manipulated him into falling in love
with her, treated him as a summer
plaything, and disappeared one day
without saying good-bye. But,
regardless of how she had felt about
him, he had loved her. That’s why her
leaving had hurt so badly, why it still
hurt. Five years wasn’t that long ago,
only a heartbeat in time.
“Jacques, we really need to leave. We
have dinner with Jenkins then our flight
back to New York. We can’t—” Kevin
ended his statement with a broad
gesture of frustration.
He nodded and shoved his hands into
the back pockets of his jeans. If ever he
needed an escape, it was now. “Bring
the car around. I’ll meet you outside.”
“Well, if you’ve got to go, I’ll get out of
your way,” she said.
“People are waiting for me.” He
winced at the verbal acknowledgment
of his compromises.
A tentative smile curved her lips. “I
always knew you’d have your day to
shine. It was inevitable.”
His gaze drifted over her again.
“Corporate America treating you well?
Let me guess…you always work late,
are committed only to your career,
have given up art, have a stable
boyfriend who wears suits and talks
about the stock market, are still trying
to please a mother who never
understood you, have compromised to
the point of losing yourself
completely…am I close to the truth?”
Her smile faded. “Five years is a long
time to hold a grudge.”
“It isn’t long enough.” He wished this
rendezvous could go differently, but
bitterness tainted his words. He
reminded himself of his immunity to
her. Cool. Aloof. “I never said I had a
grudge against you. Why would I? That
would mean I think about you and I
haven’t in years.”
he should care, he didn’t. Her life. Her
choices.
“I can see that you haven’t given me a
thought at all. You must have
forgotten who this was, then?” She
held his book up to his face.
“Hiding what you’re really feeling.
What an actress you are.”
Brains and beauty, a combination he
now avoided.
“Perhaps I did forget it was you.
Hundreds of women and even more
photographs…” He ripped his gaze from
the cover of his book. He had used that
photograph hoping she would see it
some day and be hurt by the memory.
The cover photo had been taken the
morning after their night in Rome after
he had proposed to her and foolishly
believed her when she had said yes.
Questions pummeled him aching for
release—and, oh, he had fantasized
about seeing her again and letting them
fly without restraint—but he hadn’t
expected to be blindsided with
heartache.
“Why are you lying? We both know
damn well—”
“Of the two of us, you are the expert
liar.” He thrust the book back into her
hands. “What do you want?”
She slid the book into her messenger
bag. Unshed tears glistened in her
eyes. When she looked away, he could
almost see the fight for control within
her. When she looked back, eyes were
dry. Scary control. When had she
learned that disturbing skill? Not that
“You’re good at that, aren’t you?” he
asked despite himself.
“Good at what?” Her gaze slid to his
chest.
Her blue eyes hardened like a frozen
glacial lake. She stood tall. “I almost
didn’t come inside, but now I’m glad I
did. You’ve turned into a real ass.
Fame must have warped your brain.
It’ll be much easier to forget you now.”
“You’ve had years to forget me,” he
said.
“I failed.” Her chin trembled. She
shrugged in defeat. “I failed, okay? Is
that what you need to hear? I haven’t
forgotten Florence, Rome, our
apartment, you…any of it. I think about
it all daily.”
“Do you ever stop lying?”
Their gaze connected and held.
Irritated by her presence, his lack of
control and life in general, he strode
toward the door. Time to leave.
He stopped in the doorway and turned,
unable to simply leave her behind even
though he knew he should. “You were
going to run away from me again when
you realized I was still here, weren’t
you?”
“Yes.”
Guilt for his behavior settled in his
heart and sickened him. She’d
mattered to him, had been the center