shock.
Although, looking back, he could sort of see where there had been clues … the way she always wanted to meet after hours, away from the rest of the RSC crew, the way she stiffened when he forgot and touched her in public.
But they could figure that stuff out, he thought. It didn’t have to be the end of everything.
Giving her his best cocky grin, he flipped the wrist she’d touched and grabbed her fingers. “So if you miss me, and I sure as hell miss you, then hot damn! I’ve got just the solution.”
Claire blew out a breath that stirred the wave of auburn hair over her high forehead.
“You aren’t listening. Or perhaps you simply do not wish to hear. Fine. Let me be plain. Kane, what we have between us, it is … how do you say? De trop . Too much, of everything except common sense and rationality.”
Kane’s foolishly hopeful heart perked up. “I make you feel too much. That doesn’t exactly sound like a catastrophe to me.”
Her mouth quivered as if it wanted to laugh. “For you? I would imagine no. You are one of those men who lives at a faster pace than the rest of the world, always searching for the new thrill, the new sensation.”
He had to admit, she had his number there. “So I sky-dive and eat blowfish.” He shrugged. “I like to feel alive. Don’t you?”
Her eyes sharpened like arrows on his face. “Ah, but I don’t need to risk my life and sanity in order to feel alive. And in affairs of the heart, it is the same. You chase the big risk, the big emotion. For me…” It was her turn to shrug, and he watched with a stirring of desire in his gut as she made a much more elegant job of it.
“For you?” he prompted he when she fell silent.
A shadow moved across her face, like a curtain dropping over a well-lit stage, and she said, “You Americans. You suppress the body and its desires, and treat the heart as if it is a wild animal to be tamed, so that when those things are awakened in you, they have the strength of ravenous lions, too long imprisoned.”
Caught by the imagery, Kane felt a line of lyrics unspool in his head, perfectly shaped to fit the melody that had been rattling around in there for a day and a half.
Burning with it, he snatched the pencil he always carried in his back pocket and leaned across the table to steal Claire’s unused white paper napkin.
Scribbling furiously, he fought to get the words out of his brain and onto the paper before they vanished into the air. “Go on,” he said tensely, hand cramping from how tight he was holding the pencil. “I’m still listening. Lions. Go.”
Amusement colored her voice the same red as her cashmere sweater. “You see? Nothing is simple for you. But I learned, when I was younger than you are now, the way to happiness is balance and moderation—the needs of the body are important, yes, but they do not rule the entire self. Take your pleasures where you find them, enjoy them, then leave them there so they do not overtake you. I believe in this, Kane, the way some people believe in heaven and hell.”
God, that voice of hers. The way she used words. If he hadn’t already known she started out at Délicieux as their star feature food writer before being promoted to editor in chief, he would’ve been able to guess on the strength of this conversation.
Everything she said, every single image, slid between his ribs and pierced his heart. He didn’t want this to be the end of everything between them, but if it turned out to be, then he’d have one last reason to remember Claire Durand, because she’d made even this moment beautiful, and if there was anything Kane believed in as strongly as heaven and hell, it was the idea of beauty.
“So you took your pleasure with me.” His voice was more of a strangled gasp than his usual strong baritenor, but he forgave himself, this once. “And now you’re ready to move on. Just like that.”
Claire shifted in her seat, the leather creaking under
Although, looking back, he could sort of see where there had been clues … the way she always wanted to meet after hours, away from the rest of the RSC crew, the way she stiffened when he forgot and touched her in public.
But they could figure that stuff out, he thought. It didn’t have to be the end of everything.
Giving her his best cocky grin, he flipped the wrist she’d touched and grabbed her fingers. “So if you miss me, and I sure as hell miss you, then hot damn! I’ve got just the solution.”
Claire blew out a breath that stirred the wave of auburn hair over her high forehead.
“You aren’t listening. Or perhaps you simply do not wish to hear. Fine. Let me be plain. Kane, what we have between us, it is … how do you say? De trop . Too much, of everything except common sense and rationality.”
Kane’s foolishly hopeful heart perked up. “I make you feel too much. That doesn’t exactly sound like a catastrophe to me.”
Her mouth quivered as if it wanted to laugh. “For you? I would imagine no. You are one of those men who lives at a faster pace than the rest of the world, always searching for the new thrill, the new sensation.”
He had to admit, she had his number there. “So I sky-dive and eat blowfish.” He shrugged. “I like to feel alive. Don’t you?”
Her eyes sharpened like arrows on his face. “Ah, but I don’t need to risk my life and sanity in order to feel alive. And in affairs of the heart, it is the same. You chase the big risk, the big emotion. For me…” It was her turn to shrug, and he watched with a stirring of desire in his gut as she made a much more elegant job of it.
“For you?” he prompted he when she fell silent.
A shadow moved across her face, like a curtain dropping over a well-lit stage, and she said, “You Americans. You suppress the body and its desires, and treat the heart as if it is a wild animal to be tamed, so that when those things are awakened in you, they have the strength of ravenous lions, too long imprisoned.”
Caught by the imagery, Kane felt a line of lyrics unspool in his head, perfectly shaped to fit the melody that had been rattling around in there for a day and a half.
Burning with it, he snatched the pencil he always carried in his back pocket and leaned across the table to steal Claire’s unused white paper napkin.
Scribbling furiously, he fought to get the words out of his brain and onto the paper before they vanished into the air. “Go on,” he said tensely, hand cramping from how tight he was holding the pencil. “I’m still listening. Lions. Go.”
Amusement colored her voice the same red as her cashmere sweater. “You see? Nothing is simple for you. But I learned, when I was younger than you are now, the way to happiness is balance and moderation—the needs of the body are important, yes, but they do not rule the entire self. Take your pleasures where you find them, enjoy them, then leave them there so they do not overtake you. I believe in this, Kane, the way some people believe in heaven and hell.”
God, that voice of hers. The way she used words. If he hadn’t already known she started out at Délicieux as their star feature food writer before being promoted to editor in chief, he would’ve been able to guess on the strength of this conversation.
Everything she said, every single image, slid between his ribs and pierced his heart. He didn’t want this to be the end of everything between them, but if it turned out to be, then he’d have one last reason to remember Claire Durand, because she’d made even this moment beautiful, and if there was anything Kane believed in as strongly as heaven and hell, it was the idea of beauty.
“So you took your pleasure with me.” His voice was more of a strangled gasp than his usual strong baritenor, but he forgave himself, this once. “And now you’re ready to move on. Just like that.”
Claire shifted in her seat, the leather creaking under
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