let that happen. Not now.
Paulo made a move to draw Claire to his side, but, sensing the tension building behind her, she gave a quick shake of her head then glanced over her shoulder. “No need for a public scene, Ryan.”
In silent plea she stroked her fingers across Paulo’s forearm. It was an intimate gesture, intended as much to appease her date as it was to send a message to Ryan.
Look at me. See how well I’m doing? See my handsome Italian lover?
Though as soon as Ryan left, she’d be working double time to worm her way out of the unspoken promise she’d just made—
Or maybe not.
What if she didn’t shut Paulo down? What if she just forced herself to give in? Do it. Allow this man to seduce her. Would it be the hurdle she needed to get over in order to finally feel again? To be whole? Complete. She was so close to having everything she’d lost … Some days she couldn’t even feel the cracks in this life she’d forged from the shattered remains of the one she’d had.
Her gaze shot the length of Paulo and back. Good looking by any sane woman’s standards.
Could she ask him to make it fast, like taking off a Band-Aid? Probably not. But maybe once they got going, she wouldn’t mind so much. And it couldn’t last forever …
Decided, she extracted herself from Ryan’s hold with an irritated brush of her hand at her shoulder and pushed to her feet. Peering up into the dark Italian features in what she hoped was an approximation of adoration, she rested her palm at the center of his chest.
“Please, Paulo,” she murmured. “Give us ten minutes to talk.”
The smoky intensity drained from Paulo’s face, leaving his expression flat. Hardly the sensual promise of a moment before.
“Pietro, Claire,” he answered. “Il mio nome non è Paulo.” With a cool indifference that put her dismissive smile to shame, he plucked her hand from his chest, brushed a kiss across her knuckles and let it drop limp at her side before walking away.
Not Paulo? Oh. Hell.
Claire stood immobile, watching her childish stunt stride off in true backfiring fashion, keenly aware that the man who’d crossed an ocean to see her wouldn’t simply evaporate and allow her shame to be swallowed in private.
No. Not a chance. Not Ryan.
“Wow, Claire. That was worth the flight over, right there.”
Hostility welled fast within her. It was unreasonable. Intense. And directed at the man who’d barely had the decency to cover his laughter with a cough. She spun on him, fists clenched at her sides, ready to lay in. “Ryan! You jacka—”
Only she stalled barely out of the gate, stunned by her first full on view of the man who’d once been her whole world. Ryan. Tall, broad and tapered in all the right proportions. Strong chiseled features and firm wide lips. Sharp brown eyes that could be as unyielding as frozen earth or as warm as melted chocolate, glinting amusement beneath a fall of straight dark strands incapable of laying flat.
He was all easy confidence, smooth charm and gorgeous man—everything she didn’t need, standing there before her in the middle of Piazza Navona.
He shouldn’t look so much the same. Not after all this time.
“Sorry about your boyfriend,” he offered with a wry twist of his lips that was anything but apologetic. Another day, around any other man, she would have been laughing at her own stupidity in trying to manufacture a relationship for what purpose she couldn’t even say. But around Ryan, she didn’t want to laugh. She didn’t want to revisit any common ground or shared entertainments. She didn’t want to think about what it had been like once upon a time.
She just wanted to move on. Which was why she’d had the petition to divorce drawn up.
Shaking her head, she asked him, “What are you doing here?”
The amusement faded from his features and Ryan met her with a level stare. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to bring you home.”
CHAPTER TWO
CLAIRE blinked up at him, her sky-blue eyes betraying an instant of vulnerability and confusion. Proof he’d gotten past her guard.
Good. She’d sure as hell gotten past his. First, filing divorce papers without so much as a single word of warning. Nothing like getting served in your office lobby while juggling a laptop, twenty ounces of scalding-hot coffee, three newspapers, smart phone, two messenger bags jammed with files, and holding a blueberry bagel in your teeth. Yeah, thanks for that, Claire.
And then, with that outrageous settlement proposal. And in typical Claire fashion, flatly refusing the smallest concession. Leaving that imbecilic lawyer of hers to stonewall him, even after he’d rather magnanimously offered to meet and discuss the situation in person. Going so far as to pole-vault across the Atlantic to dodge talking to him.
But as if all that weren’t enough, that first glimpse of her from across the square sure had been. She’d been sitting there in that legs-crossed, half-turned pose of feminine recline that extended all the right lines of a woman’s body—hands moving animatedly with her chatter, smiling beneath the warm sun. Smiling. Bursting with life. So different from the fragile thing she’d been the last time he’d laid eyes on her. He’d never expected it. Hadn’t been prepared for the sight of a woman he’d thought lost along with his marriage in a Boston emergency room almost nine years before. But there she was, radiant. Smiling while some lothario gave her his best go.
She’d tossed her hair over her shoulder in a simple, breezy gesture. One he’d always appreciated. The long strands came together like a fall of black silk streaming down her back, contrasting with the light complexion of her skin. Creamy pale but with a healthy blush of pink—and she’d laughed. She’d laughed and he’d felt it like the blistering relief of coming up for that first breath of air after a free dive.
And for a moment he was the guy he’d been when they met. Heart slamming in his chest as he ran off the track to chase down the girl whose lush lips had curled into that damn near criminal smile when he’d passed the stands. She’d knocked the wind from him more effectively than the six miles he’d just pushed through. And she’d kept him running, kept him chasing, until it was either have her or die trying.
Sweet, soft, sexy Claire.
Everything he’d wanted—and for a while she’d been his. He’d never burned so hot for a woman. Not before. Not since. But it hadn’t lasted. Things had broken between them that couldn’t be fixed. Claire had broken. They’d gone their separate ways and his priorities had changed. Eventually he’d gotten used to them being apart rather than together.
He’d gone on with his life. Done a bang-up job of it. But, seeing her again … she was too beautiful, and that smile—all he could do was stare.
And then that punk had gone and blown it. Pushing too hard and turning a smile Ryan hadn’t even dared to dream of seeing again into the cold untouchable twist of lips that wasn’t even in the same universe as what it replaced.
It made him angry. At the guy, at Claire. At himself for even noticing,
