Page 32 of The Last Affair
She shook her head and cleared her throat. “You’re right. I know that.” Giving his hands a light squeeze, she took a deep breath and then stood.
He stood with her, still holding tight to her hands. “I’m always here to listen whenever you need to talk. That doesn’t change when or if we decide it’s time for this new aspect of our relationship to end.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond, just released her hands and headed for the door again. She thought he might walk through it and not look back, but he simply waited for her to decide what would happen next.
She wasn’t running. Never again—that’s what she’d told herself when she’d finally come through the darkness after the breakup. But Maurice wasn’t Gordon, not in looks, demeanor or any other aspect that mattered. It took her a few minutes to save and close her documents, shut down her computer and grab her briefcase and purse.
“I’m starving. There’s a great restaurant near my house. They have the best spicy seafood pasta. It’s like a British-Jamaican cuisine, but I know you like spicy food.” She talked while she walked to the door to meet him. “I have the menu saved on my phone.”
He waited until she passed him before replying, “You know me too well. I’ll even trust you to pick something off the menu for me.”
They chatted amiably about the menu and the Netflix movie his assistant suggested he watch calledThe Holiday Calendar. By the time she was seat-belted in the passenger seat of his sporty little convertible, her skin irritation had subsided, and that comfort that she normally had with Maurice had returned. They debated whether radio stations should play Christmas music all day so early in the season, and for the first time today, she relaxed and let her mind clear of all worries and doubts. She let herself just be with the man who was steadily becoming an even bigger part of her life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DESTAMOANEDLONGand deep. Her head fell back against the pillows on her couch, where she’d stretched out, her feet in Maurice’s lap. He repeated the motion that elicited such a pleasing sound from her, pressing his thumb into the ball of her foot.
The movie had gone off about twenty minutes ago, and they were still stuffed from the delicious dinner. The jerk chicken wings with a side of sweet plantains she’d ordered for him was fantastic, and he’d had her text him the name and number of the restaurant for future use. The local news was on now, and Maurice wasn’t ready to leave.
“You like that?”
“Oh. My. Goodness.” She enunciated every word, her eyes still closed as he continued to massage her foot. “Don’t ask silly questions.”
He grinned, satisfied with the relaxed and appreciative tone of her voice. She’d rebounded from the episode in her office, talking through dinner and watching the movie as if nothing had transpired between them. As if she hadn’t compared him in some way to her ex. Giving himself accolades for taking it so well, he’d continued throughout the evening as if the struggle he’d seen so clearly etched over her face earlier didn’t still bother him. That situation managed to override the blackmail issue he was still dealing with, so maybe he should take it as a partial win.
“Next,” he said as he moved from one foot to the other.
“Do you charge for this service? ’Cause, damn, I’m sure you’d make a killin’.” She lifted her head and stared at him from beneath hooded eyes.Lovely.That’s the word he’d use to describe how she looked at this moment.
When they’d walked into her apartment, the first thing she’d done was take off the heels she’d worn to work. They’d both removed their coats and walked farther into her home. It wasn’t a big place, but the building had been expertly renovated. And she’d made it a comfortable space, filled with things that represented who she was.
Paintings on the wall, including the one of the jazz musicians she’d won from him last year, statues of angels and a multitude of peach-and cream-colored pillows on her couch.Cultured,feminine,complex—all words he’d use to describe Des.
“Seriously, though, if you’re doing this to all the women you sleep with, I’m confused as to why they take your end dates so easily.” Running her hands through her hair, he couldn’t help but continue to stare at her. Even when he wanted to ease her feet from his lap, get his coat and go home.
The problem was, he couldn’t blame her for that comment or others like it that she’d made. A few months ago if she’d said something like that to him, he’d have given some blithe response and gone on his merry way. But something had begun to change in him in these past weeks, even before he’d gone to the ski resort and found out he’d been sending erotic emails to his coworker.
Looking away from her to stare at the TV screen, he continued rubbing her feet. “Never gave any of them a massage like this.” He’d never even thought about doing it.
“Oh.” Did she have to sound so shocked?
“Ask your next question.”
“How do you know I have another question?” she asked.
“Because I know you, Des. I think we keep going round and round with that fact. Let’s face it right here and now. I knew you pretty well before I ever sent a Dear Lover email.”
“I don’t argue that fact. I know you as well as I know my brothers—probably better since I haven’t seen them in a while.” Clearing her throat, she continued. “Okay, I was going to ask why you never did this with them. Actually, no. Iwantto ask you why you were with so many of them. Did you really think it was necessary to keep your guilt at bay, or was part of it ego?” She was more interested in this part of his life than he would’ve preferred.
He shook his head. “None of those women meant enough to me to stroke my ego. And for the record, I didn’t sleep with every one of them.” He held up a hand because he knew he hadn’t fully answered her question. “Every woman I’ve ever gone out with intrigued me on some level. Some more than others, and those were the ones I slept with. Dating, socializing,partyingas some would say, it was a good distraction. If I was out with them, I wasn’t sitting in my apartment thinking about what happened to India.”
“Do you still love her?”
He hadn’t expected that question, but after a few moments, he could understand why it seemed that way. “On the contrary—it’s because I’ve been so afraid of ever feeling that emotion again that I’ve used all those women. I know they like to judge me in the tabloids, and that’s fine. Why shouldn’t they? Even though I’m not doing anything wrong now, I did before.”
“So destroying your personal reputation, or rather building a false one, is your penance for an accident that you didn’t cause.” She sighed. “That’s just as ridiculous as me blaming myself for what Gordon did to me.”
He clenched his jaw upon hearing the man’s name, and because her words were partially correct. He didn’t mind the press bashing him, mainly because if his name was in circulation, so was the name of the company. And since the worst they could do was call him a playboy, it didn’t negatively affect RGF. But he didn’t see the life he’d chosen to live as doing penance. He saw it as taking responsibility in a way he’d failed to do so long ago. “I think we’ve already discussed how well-matched that makes us.” Were they really well-matched? If he were on the outside looking in, he wouldn’t have thought so. And now he wondered how that thought made him feel.
