3 BOOK BUNDLE "Her Last Love Affair", "Her Last Love Affair: Breathing Without You" AND "Her Last Love Affair: The Final Journey" (13 page)

“Who knows,” Ros answered honestly. “You could be right. I
just...” she inhaled, realizing she needed to tread carefully. “Knowing you
like I do,” she resumed, changing tack. “It’s difficult to imagine you finding
happiness like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Allie, I know that to start with this was exciting, but is
it really making you happy?”

The reply came in a knee-jerk, “Long term happiness is
something that’s impossible for me now.” Allie’s eyes darted back to the computer
screen and she noticed that there was one new message in her inbox. Leaning
forward, she tapped the mouse pad and opened the email. “Excitement and living
for the here and now is all I’ve got,” she continued, while her gaze quickly
scanned the screen.

She only processed small snippets of the text, ‘...been
following your career...’ ‘...would love to see you...’ As her brain half took
in those words, she continued to speak. “That was something I could never have
with Reece, or in any proper relationship, because there would be the constant
reminder of what’s ahead.”

“I understand that,” Ros interjected quickly. “But...” she
faltered, before sighing heavily. “Oh, I don’t know. I just want what’s best
for you.”

Allie chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t know quite what that is
any more,” she admitted. “But I know what I want, and that’s all that matters.”

One Night in France

I
n preparation for her date, Allie had gone out
and bought a new dress and some sexy red, three-inch stilettos. She’d also paid
a visit to a beauty salon three days before she was due to meet Patrick, and
had a full Brazilian wax. It was not something she’d ever done before and
didn’t imagine she’d ever do; but for some reason she found herself wanting to
appear as attractive as possible to him.

On the night of the date, she felt slightly nauseous; it was
almost like her first date with Carl, when she’d wondered how on Earth she
would suggest a one night stand. Her palms were clammy and her fingers
trembled, as she got dressed and put on her make up. In fact, she was so
nervous that she resorted to downing a glass of white wine before leaving the
apartment.

He’d invited her to meet him outside a restaurant that he
co-owned, apparently his interests went beyond journalism and he’d founded the
place with a friend three years before. Allie knew of the restaurant, ‘Le
Jardin Bistro’, but had never visited, partly because up until a few weeks ago
she didn’t eat out regularly, and partly because she didn’t consider herself to
be a huge fan of French cuisine.

Nevertheless, as she wandered in, she had to admit that the
small place was attractive. It was an intimate, romantic setting with no more
than a dozen tables. And, it was clearly a popular spot, because every single
one was occupied.

A slender, young waitress, wearing a tight black skirt and
pristine white blouse approached her. She smiled broadly, as she greeted Allie,
“Welcome to Le Jardin, do you have a reservation?”

 “I’m here to see Patrick Branden,” she replied, her eyes
tracing over the couples smiling at each other across the small tables. “I
think he’s expecting me,” she added quietly.

“I’ll go and get him for you,” the waitress responded
efficiently, spinning on her heel and turning a corner into a small corridor.

Allie remained still, smoothing her hands over her dress,
and checking the paint on her nails one more time, before entwining her fingers
in front of her. Pressing her lips together, to ensure that her lipstick was
evenly coating them, she glanced down at her bright red shoes.

“Allie,” the deep, joyfully call of her name echoed loudly
across the quiet conversations of the diners.

She instantly lifted her head and smiled at the man who was
jogging toward her. She’d already guessed that he must be pushing fifty and his
once jet black hair was now spackled with gray, particularly around the
temples. His forehead was thinly lined, but other than that, he didn’t look any
different from the way she remembered him. As he got closer, he didn’t slow and
Allie instinctively opened her arms.

Patrick did the same, scooping her around the waist and
lifting her a few inches from the ground. He chuckled, as he spun her 180
degrees and then set her on her feet again. “It is so good to see you,” he
said, pulling back just far enough that he could study her face. “You’ve been
doing very well for yourself at the Chronicle,” he added, his hands resting on
her hips and remaining there.

“Thank you,” she replied, dipping her head as her cheeks
flushed. She was used to getting compliments about her work and usually she
thrived on them; but hearing praise from a man she’d placed on such a high
pedestal was very different. “It’s good to see you, too,” she added, trying to
force her eyes to his, but finding it difficult to hold them there.

“So, err, you hungry?” he offered.

“Yeah,” she responded, glad to have something else to talk
about. “Doesn’t look like you’ve got much room, though,” she noted, with a
smile.

“Not a problem,” he assured her, shaking his head. Gently,
he released one hand from her, while slipping the other to the small of her
back. With just the pressure of his palm, he turned her around and guided her
down the hallway he’d just come from. “Our chef is great, you’re going to love
the food,” he said conversationally, as he led her to a tiny set of stairs that
was only wide enough for one person. He eased back with his own stride,
allowing her to go first, but he kept one hand on her at all times.

Allie liked the feel of his reassuring fingers, she also
took it as a positive sign; an indication that she’d impressed him with more
than just her journalistic talents. “I’m sure I will,” she acknowledged
quietly, taking the stairs at a steady pace in her new heels.

When she reached the top, she entered an open attic space.
It was dimly lit, just like the lower dining area, but there was only one
table. It was situated right in the middle and was covered in a long white
cloth. Two place settings were already prepared, with glasses of water sitting
beside each plate and a bottle of something rested in a champagne stand next to
the table. Smiling, Allie twisted her face over her shoulder and watched
Patrick climb the last couple of steps.

“I thought it would be nice to have somewhere quiet, so we
could talk,” he said, grinning.

Yet another good sign, Allie noted silently.

***

Over the course of two hours,
Patrick had encouraged Allie to try a number of things she’d never tasted
before. And, almost all of them, she’d enjoyed much more than she’d thought she
would. As each hors d’oeuvre was placed before her, she asked, “what is this?”
Much to her delight, the reply was never frog’s legs or snails. And, Patrick
had been right; he obviously had a very talented chef working for him, because
everything was delicious.

“Hmm,” she mumbled, swallowing the last morsel of steak au
poivre. “I can see why this place is so popular.”

Patrick chuckled, resting his fork on his plate and leaning
back in his chair. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he responded, reaching for the
champagne and topping up Allie’s glass, before pouring some in his own. “How
about desert?” he asked.

“Ahh, I think you’re going to have to give me a minute,” she
replied, resting the palm of her hand on her full stomach.

Conversation throughout the meal had mainly centered on her
internship at the Times, they reminisced over the stories they’d worked on
during that period, people they’d interviewed and the one night that they’d
stayed late at the office. Allie remembered that night well, because it was the
closest she’d come to reciprocating Patrick’s advances. He’d always been a
gentleman, none of his passes seemed harassing and she never felt uncomfortable
around him. In fact, that night it had been quite the contrary. With the office
entirely empty, she’d felt too comfortable; allowed herself, albeit briefly, to
imagine what it would be like to have sex with him right there on his desk. He
had seemed unaware of what she was thinking, his eyes were focused on his
computer screen. But the fact that he’d asked, on two separate occasions, if
she’d like to go for a drink with him, was enough for her to connect the dots.

At the time, the twenty-two-year-old Allie had become
increasingly wet, as she thought about being perched on the edge of his desk,
with his bulk between her thighs. But before her impulses could fully take
control and force her to make a move for him, she excused herself; went to the
bathroom and threw some cold water on her face. When she’d returned, Patrick
had made a break in the story and suddenly, she was too busy to let her libido
bother her further.

Sitting in front of him, eight years later, she felt a stab
of regret. She had no way of knowing whether the encounter would have lived up
to her fantasy, but there was no question it would have been hot; and it would
have been a memory. “So,” she breathed, realizing that throughout their
conversation, there was one thing that they hadn’t discussed. “Are you married
now?”

A smile crept onto his lips, as he sipped on the champagne.
Allie wasn’t sure whether that was because the question struck him as amusing,
or whether he realized the purpose behind it. “I...err...” he began, his eyes
taking on a reflective gaze, as they moved from her face to the table cloth. “I
was married briefly,” he admitted, nodding. “It was one of those stupid
impulsive things. So, needless to say, it didn’t last very long.”

“Sorry,” Allie softly said, sensing that it wasn’t something
that caused him a great deal of distress, but not knowing what else to say.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I wasn’t a very good husband,” he
added, shaking his head. “Never really got the hang of that whole fidelity
thing.” The acknowledgment was made with openness and no great degree of guilt,
but it was also not something he appeared to be proud of. It was a flaw that he
was able to admit to. “But I suppose I’ve always been happier in shorter
relationships, you know?” he continued, the thought coming out of his mouth, just
as it came into his head. “That way, people don’t get too close. They don’t get
to know you too well. It’s safer.”

Allie nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. He’d
articulated precisely the way she’d been feeling; and explained more eloquently
than she ever could why things with Reece had become so painful so quickly.
They knew each other too well, they were too close.

“Anyway,” he quickly sighed, shaking his head and breaking
the reflective mood that had descended over the pair of them. “What about you?”

“Hmm?” she asked, finding it difficult to follow the sudden
change of topic. “Oh,” she added, her brain making the connection. “Oh, no. I’m
still very single.”

“Too busy for all that, huh?” he asked, with a half-smile.
“You weren’t letting anyone near even for a short time, were you?”

Leaning forwards, Allie wrapped her fingers around the stem
of her champagne flute and lifted it to her lips. She quirked an eyebrow at
him, as she sipped slowly on the drink. “I was very focused,” she argued good-naturedly.

“Don’t I know it,” he countered.

“I made a decision,” she added. “It wasn’t that I didn’t
feel tempted,” she stated, regarded him closely. “But I’d convinced myself that
other things were more important.”

“Tempted, huh?” he grinned warmly.

His expression and the timbre of his voice stirred up
sensations she’d spent hours fighting at one time in her life. “Yes,” she
confirmed, in a whisper.

“How tempted?” he probed, leaning forward in his seat and
resting his elbows on the edge of the table.

“I used to think about you when a laid in bed at night,” she
admitted, surprising herself with the brazen way she could make that profession
and the complete lack of inhibitions she felt in doing so. “I’d touch myself
thinking of you,” she added, her voice growing more sultry. “I’d imagine they
were your fingers and when I came, it was your name I called out.”

Patrick looked very pleased with himself, as he settled back
in the chair. Despite his smile, he shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you,
Allie,” he said. “And I don’t think I can give you what you want.”

“How do you know what I want?” she countered, unfazed by his
change in demeanor. She already knew that he was still attracted to her,
everything up until that point suggested it and the broad grin and sparkle in
his eye when she’d mentioned masturbating left her in no doubt.

“I’m selfish Allie, I can’t be in a relationship.”

“You think that’s why I got in touch?” she chuckled. “You
think I had some great romance in mind, followed by marriage and children.”

He tilted his head, watching her features and realizing that
she was genuinely dismissive of the suggestion. “What did you have in mind,
then?” he asked.

“I was hoping you’d be able to show me how the real thing
rated against my fantasy,” she hummed, toying with the strap of her dress, and
running her fingers along the edge where it caressed her cleavage.

Again, he shook his head. “I mean it, Allie,” he argued. “I
can be a total asshole. We do this and I probably won’t ever call you. If you
call me, I’ll do my best to avoid you, because I’ll panic that you suddenly
want more from me.” Flashing her, his best smile, he shrugged. “It would be a
complete fucking mess.”

“No it wouldn’t,” she insisted. “Because I want exactly what
you want. Nothing too close, just one night; just sex.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “I’ve known women say that,”
he commented, “but they never mean it.”

“Well, I do,” she stressed. “Have you ever known me to say
something I didn’t mean?” she challenged him.

“Just sex?” he echoed, cynically.

“What can I do to prove it to you?” she giggled, reaching
out and covering his wrist with her perfectly manicured fingers. “All I want is
to spend a couple of hours screwing,” she whispered, lifting his hand from the
table and dipping her face towards it. Carefully, she parted her lips and
guided his index and middle fingers into her mouth.

“Jesus,” he gasped, his whole body jerking, as she began to
suck on them.

Allie ran her tongue along the length of his index finger,
pausing when she reached the knuckle and rubbing a small circle. She flicked
her eyes to his face and watched a muscle twitching in his jaw. Slowly, she
pulled her head back, allowing the pads of his fingers to linger on her lower
lip, before finally leaving her mouth. “I want these fingers inside me,” she
murmured.

Patrick struggled to swallow. “There’s a different side to
you, Allie McLaren,” he huskily stated, fidgeting in his seat as he suddenly
found his pants too tight.

“Doesn’t everybody have different sides to them?” she asked,
extending her tongue and lapping at the tips of his fingers.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. “Yeah, I guess so,” he added, answering
her question with no small degree of difficulty.

Smirking to herself, Allie released his wrist. She had him
now. “Let’s do it right here,” she suggested, pushing her chair back and rising
to her feet. Saucily, she swayed her hips as she made the short journey around
to his side of the table and lowered herself into his lap. “Let’s fuck,” she
whispered, wriggling her hips and feeling the warm bulge of his groin pressing
into her buttock.