Page 46 of That Weekend in Paris
She pulls back, looking at me, and this time, she’s the one who puts a hand to my face and leans up to kiss me, softly, and with gratitude, at first. And then with increasing passion, pressing her body against mine. There is no hiding the fact that I want her.
I brush my hand across her flat stomach and then, upwards to the curve of her breast. She gasps a little, and I say, “Does that hurt?”
“No,” she says. “No. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just—I haven’t been touched since—”
And it is then that I would really like to choke the life from Josh Cummings. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yes,” she says.
“I never thought Josh deserved you.”
“You’re just saying that to be nice.”
“No, I am not,” I say. “You know that night at the Bluebird when you came up to me about the signing, and then we talked in the parking lot?”
“I remember.”
“I knew you were married, and yet, I still wanted to ask you to come home with me that night. And I would have if I’d thought you would say yes. I would have tossed you in my truck and taken you back to my place and not let you out for a very long time.”
She laughs. Surprised, and a little disbelieving. “No, you would not have.”
“Oh yes, I would have,” I say. “I could barely think about what you were saying about signing with Top Dog because I was too busy looking at your face and noticing how great you looked in that pair of jeans. And yeah, the sweater you had on that night, it was hard not to notice what was beneath that as well.” I drop my gaze to her swim top. “I’m looking at you now and thinking exactly what I thought that night.”
I raise my gaze to her face then, note the flush stealing up her cheeks. I keep my gaze on hers, not closing my eyes until just before I sink my mouth onto hers. Dillon releases an audible sigh, slipping her arms around my neck and pressing her breasts to my chest.
I slip back into the pool and anchor one hand on each side of her waist, sliding her forward into the water so that I’m standing between her legs. Luckily, there’s no one else around. It’s the middle of the night. I am aware that this could get out of hand fast. But I don’t want to stop kissing her, and I don’t.
We go on for several minutes until Dillon finally drops her head back, and says, “We have to stop. We’ll get arrested for indecent exposure.”
“I’m not exposing anything. Are you exposing anything?” I say, smiling.
“Well, no, but I could see things moving in that direction.”
I don’t bother to hide my disappointment. “Okay. You’re right. It’s almost morning, but why don’t we head to the room and get a couple of hours of sleep before we figure out what we’re going to do with a full day in Paris?”
She leans up and kisses me once more, and then, with clear reluctance, turns and climbs the steps out of the pool.
Josh
“There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.”
?Charles Dickens,Great Expectations
IT’S TEN IN the morning in Paris, nowhere near daybreak in Nashville, but I haven’t slept all night anyway, so I might as well make the call. Since Riley sent me that damn photo from that gossip rag magazine yesterday afternoon, I haven’t been able to think of anything else. I question her motivation, but it’s probably not that difficult to figure out. Klein broke up with her, and she’s jealous that he’s hanging out with Dillon and hoping I’ll have some influence over ending that.
Her attempt to get me to intervene should not have mattered. Dillon and I are getting a divorce, so why would I care what she’s doing with Klein aside from the obvious business interests, of course? The question is, then, why have I not been able to stop thinking about it? And what is this hammer of jealousy that keeps pounding me in the heart? I really thought I didn’t care what Dillon does anymore or who she’s with. I realize that I have no right to question anything she does. I know I’ve hurt her terribly. Maybe I need to be forgiven, to hear from her that she doesn’t see me as the monster she has every right to see me as.
I pour myself another cup of coffee from the pot I’d made over an hour ago. It’s not as good as it was fresh, but I take a fortifying sip and pick up my phone, calling Dillon’s number. By the fourth ring, I’m pretty sure she’s not going to answer. When I hear her voice, I’m silent for a long moment, not sure what to say.
“Josh,” she says, her voice groggy.
“Are you still asleep?” I say, and then taking the edge from the question, “Isn’t it like ten o’clock there?”
“Yeah,” she says, and I can hear her trying to wake up. “Late night.”
“Ah,” I say. “What kept you up so late?”
She sighs and says, “Josh, what do you want?”
