He could hear her breathing on the other end of the phone.
“What about your sculptures? I mean, I’d like to know how you do with everything.”
“Of course. I’ll let you know if I ever get a show, send you pictures. You’re my friend, Maddy. We’ll always be friends.”
Except it would kill him to see her, to talk to her, to hear about her life and how she was getting on without him. He’d do it, because he didn’t want to hurt her and she would be hurt if he cut all contact. But he needed some time between now and whenever he next saw her to get his shit together. To find a way of surviving the next little while with this ache in his chest.
“I’ll get your stuff together tomorrow and send it to you at the hotel,” he said.
“Okay. Thanks.”
She sounded as though she was crying. He closed his eyes and swore silently.
“I’ll miss you, Max,” she said.
“I’ll miss you, too, Maddy.”
There was nothing much else to say. He’d found a way for Maddy to continue living her dream. Now he had to work out how to live his life without her in it.
He ended the call and stood staring at the phone for a long time. Then he walked to the kitchen and dug out the last bottle of cognac from his father’s collection.
He poured himself a drink and took the bottle and the glass with him to the couch. Then he sat down and proceeded to get ball-tearingly wasted.
MADDY DIDN’T KNOW what to do with herself. She sat listening to the dial tone in her hotel room for a full five minutes before it occurred to her to hang up.
Max didn’t want to see her again. He didn’t even want her to come back to Paris to say goodbye properly. He’d just neatly excised her out of his life and waved au revoir without a backward glance.
She stood, then realized she had nowhere to go and sat again.
She simply hadn’t expected it. She’d thought—she’d assumed that what she’d been feeling had been mutual. How could it not be, when her own feelings had been so all-encompassing and compelling?
But apparently not. Apparently Max had decided that their little fling had run its course. He’d found her this opportunity, and now he was going to pack her bags and send her off into the world, their liaison a thing of the past.
Was that all it had been, all it had meant? A liaison? A few weeks of sex between friends, no strings, no emotions, no consequences?
She put her head in her hands and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. How was it possible to feel so happy and so sad all at the same time? Max had found a way for her to dance again, but he’d also gently nudged her out of his apartment and out of his life. Time to move on, Maddy, he’d said in all but words.
I’ll never forget it, Maddy. But we both know it only happened between us because of what was going on in your life.
What did that mean? That he’d been sleeping with her because she needed him? Because she’d been upset? Because she’d turned to him for comfort and, ever her friend, he’d given it?
Nausea swirled in her stomach as her memories of the past month were viewed through this new prism.
Max as her lover out of compassion. Max as her lover out of consideration and concern for a friend.
A sour taste filled her mouth. Surely not? Surely she hadn’t fallen for him while he’d been comforting her?
Then she remembered the look in his eyes when he’d walked toward her sometimes, all hard body and harder erection, ready to claim what he wanted. And the times he’d thrown her onto the bed and made love to her with a greedy passion that had made her knees tremble and her insides melt.
Not a man acting out of friendship or concern. Max had wanted her. He’d said it himself, hadn’t he? He’d always found her attractive. Always wanted to sleep with her.
Now he had. And, for him, their attraction had run its course. While for her, it had burgeoned into something far more profound and life-changing than mere sexual attraction.
She’d fallen in love with him, after ten years.
And he considered her nothing more than a friend.
She huffed out a humorless laugh. It figured that the only time she’d ever really, truly fallen in love she’d fallen for the one man who didn’t want to make demands on her or wrest her away from her career. Far from it. Max didn’t even care enough to make demands.
Like a child releasing a balloon, she let go of the idea, the hope that had been forming in her heart: a life with Max, good times shared with his family, standing proudly by Max’s side as he sent his art out into the world, dancing knowing he was in the audience, watching her.
None of it would happen. She would never again have a chance to hold Eloise’s warm, sweaty hands and look down into her joy-filled face as they danced together. She’d never again exasperate Charlotte with her failure to grasp the intricacies of handmade pastry. And she’d never wake up in Max’s arms again, his body warm and hard against hers.
Dry-eyed, she crawled beneath the covers and pulled the blankets tight around herself.
Thank God she had her dancing, because she honestly did not know what she would do without it.
MAX FROWNED in irritation as he registered the knocking at his front door. He sighed heavily and abandoned the chisel and file he’d been working with to answer the summons.
Charlotte glowered at him when he flung it open.
“I’ve been knocking for ten minutes.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
It was true. He’d been so absorbed in his work that he’d only registered the noise when he’d stepped back to check his progress.
Charlotte trailed after him as he returned to the five-foot-two-inch bronze figure poised beside his workbench. He was removing the marks from the sprues, the channels where the bronze had been poured into the mold made from his original clay sculpture. Two more bronze figures waited beside the first in various stages of completion.
He picked up his file, eyeing the shoulder he’d been working on. It still wasn’t quite right…
Charlotte was huffing and puffing beside him as she surveyed his apartment. He didn’t need to look to know what she was seeing: clothes piled on chairs, dishes overflowing the sink, newspapers in stacks near the door, take-out food containers and empty bottles of wine stacked beside the couch.
“You have to stop living like this. You’re like a caveman. You only come out to get enough food to survive then you hole up back here in your apartment. When was the last time you shaved or did a load of laundry or changed your sheets?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” he said, moving in to work on a molding mark.
“Will you stop that damned noise
