could fly over and see her before then. After you spend about a week in the shower detoxing and de-fleaing yourself.”
“No.”
An idea was forming. He reached for his diary, flicking through the pages. There was almost enough time. Hell, he’d make the time if he had to.
“Max…”
“No. There’s something I want to do first. Something I need to do,” he said.
It was an idea he’d had for a while, something that had been tickling at the back of his mind ever since he finished the last model for his full-size bronzes. A smaller piece. An intensely personal, private piece to complete the series.
He crossed to his workbench, started assembling the materials he’d need.
“Here we go. The mad genius at work,” Charlotte said.
He barely heard her. He was too gripped by what he needed to do. Somehow, he needed to show Maddy how he felt, to make her understand. If he was going to declare himself, he was going to do it right.
MADDY CHECKED her lipstick for the fourth time as the taxi turned into the narrow streets leading to Place de Vosges. She was nervous. No point kidding herself. She had no idea how she was going to handle seeing Max again.
She’d spoken to him exactly three times since the night he’d told her not to return to Paris. He’d called to let her know when her things would be arriving, then she’d called him to ask about Eloise, concerned the little girl was missing her dancing lessons. She needn’t have bothered—Max had already stepped in to take her place and he’d reported Eloise was thriving.
The last time they’d spoken he’d invited her to his show. It had been awkward between them. She hadn’t known what to ask, where to start. The same question kept bubbling up inside her, begging for release.
Did it mean so little to you? Do I mean so little to you?
She tightened her grip on her purse as the cab rolled to a stop. She’d already pulled a twenty-euro note from her wallet and she handed it over then slid from the car.
Warm spring air danced around her calves as she slowly walked along the elegant, covered walkway of Place des Vosges. More than any other part of Paris it reminded her of the Hollywood ideal of a European setting—a huge square bordered on four sides by identical brick buildings, all uniformly five stories high, all in red brick. The square in the middle had been nothing but gravel and stark, bare trees when she left. Tonight, it was filled with Parisians enjoying the warm weather, picnicking on the grass, studying, kissing, laughing beneath arching green trees.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Paris until the taxi had hit the old center and she’d caught her first glimpse of cobblestones. Max lived here. That was why she loved it. Paris was the city where she’d fallen in love.
There were several galleries facing the Place des Vosges, but only one was filled with elegantly dressed people sipping champagne.
Max’s opening. She was full of so many different emotions she felt she might overflow. Pride, love, hurt—she didn’t know where one ended and the other began.
Her high heels tapped on the stone walkway as she made her way to the gallery entrance. She couldn’t see anyone she knew—Charlotte, Richard, Max—and she tried to calm herself. The gallery interior was stark white with high arched ceilings, all the better to show off the art, she guessed. There were so many people present she couldn’t see Max’s work, and she started to move into the crowd, determined to see at last the fruits of their time together.
She’d sat for him for hours in the end. When he told her he’d been offered a show, she’d wondered what his work would be like. If he had used her as his model, or if he’d found someone else. Yvette, or another dancer.
“Maddy. There you are!”
She turned to see Charlotte bearing down on her, arms wide, a glass of champagne in one hand.
“You look gorgeous, as always,” Charlotte said, holding Maddy’s hands out to the side so she could inspect her deep red velvet sheath.
“That can only be French,” she said with a knowing eye.
Maddy smiled. “Actually, it’s Italian,” she said.
Charlotte pulled a face. “We’ll keep it quiet, no one will know.”
Maddy’s eyes slid over her shoulder, searching the crowd.
“He’s toward the back. We both saw you arrive but he’s stuck with some boring arts patron who keeps fondling Max’s arm like a pet dog or something,” Charlotte said.
“Oh.”
“Ah. Here he is now.”
Maddy swiveled on her heel, her heart in her throat, her palms suddenly sweaty.
Her eyes ate him up, taking in his elegantly messy hair, the sharp lines of his face, the crispness of his white shirt and midnight-navy suit. Cuff links glinted at his wrists and his shoulders looked impossibly wide.
“Maddy,” he said.
His gaze scanned her face intently before finally his eyes locked with hers and they were staring at each other for the first time in three months.
A deluge of memories hit her: Max looking into her eyes as he made love to her in the shower, Max laughing at her disastrous attempts at cooking, the solemn watchfulness on his face as he’d told her about the opportunity in Amsterdam.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
Heat raced up her spine as his gaze skimmed over her breasts and down her waist. She still found him enormously attractive, even though they were only supposed to be friends now.
Not for the first time, she wondered how she would survive tonight with her pride intact. How was she going to stop herself from telling him how she felt, what she wanted?
“This is a wonderful turnout,” she said because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “You must be pleased.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been waiting for you to get here.”
Another wave of heat raced up her spine.
Don’t get carried away, Maddy. He’s just being friendly.
But there was something in his manner, the way he reached for her hand, the way he hesitated before threading his fingers through hers.
“There’s something I want to show you,” he said.
He led her deeper into the gallery, towing her behind him. She studied the strong column of his neck, the white collar of his shirt. Her gaze dipped to his backside, remembering the flex and contract of his hard muscles as he pumped into her. Her breath caught in her throat and her hand twitched in his.
Suddenly she was filled with an intense longing. She wanted things to be the way they had been during those magical few weeks in Max’s apartment. Even in the midst of her grief
