Fling in Paris (10 page)

Morning rush hour traffic was a bitch. Drivers leaned on their horns, filling the air with a cacophony of sounds and curses. Roberto ignored it as sang along to the Italian music playing on his radio. Not even rush hour could bring his good mood down.

Sherry, however, was less than pleased. She looked out the window in silence waiting for Roberto to say something to her, but he continued to sing along, obviously so happy about what she’d said last night that his head was in the clouds. After ten minutes, she decided to break the silence—the guilt was killing her.

"Roberto, what I said last night wasn't true."

Roberto stopped singing. “Excuse me?”

Sherry cleared her throat. “I don’t really love you.”

He stared hard at her for a long moment, then returned his eyes to the road. “So, you’re telling me it was a lie?” he asked carefully.

She felt like her heart was breaking, but she had to get the words out. "Yes. It was stupid. I said it in the heat of the moment, but I didn’t really mean it. I like you a lot, but love? No. It’s just sex.”

"I understand,” he said, his eyes still on the road. “Don’t worry about it, Sherry. It's no big deal."

Roberto turned the music off and continued to drive. They arrived at OS International and parted ways, he to his office, she to the training room.

She didn’t see him at all for the rest of the day, and when the office closed up she took a cab home, alone.

Chapter 8

Sherry lay on the couch, a paperback in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She’d settled down with the intention of losing herself in someone else’s fictional world, but had been staring at the first page for the last twenty minutes and the wine glass was nearly empty. No matter how hard she tried to focus in on the murder mystery, thoughts of Roberto were all that filled her head.

Dammit, she thought, setting her wineglass on the glass coffee table and allowing the book to slip from her fingers and onto the floor. It seemed that no matter what she did in regards to her relationship, guilt was there to greet her at every turn. Have sex with Roberto—guilt about her relationship with Nick. Tell Roberto she loves him—guilt about her relationship with Nick. Take it back—guilt about hurting Roberto’s feelings.

What the hell was she supposed to do? Should she just walk away from everything? Leave and go somewhere else entirely to get a fresh start away from the men in her life? Or should she just go back to Toronto now to try and start over with Nick as they’d agreed?

Her new doorbell chimed, startling her, and she went to the door and peered through the peephole, then gasped. Nick was standing outside her door. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be in Toronto! Was she ready to face him?

“Sherry?” he called through the door. “Are you home?”

She sighed. She could go hide under the covers now and avoid him, but she was pretty sure that would backfire—he’d just come to see her at work, which would be a disaster. Steeling herself, she opened the door.

He stood there in jeans and a t-shirt, bouquet of roses in hand, looking as handsome as ever with his slicked-back blonde hair, deep brown eyes and killer smile that had never failed to melt her heart in the past. She wasn’t sure how she’d feel when she came face to face with him again—anger, grief, pain—and was surprised that she felt nothing. Nothing at all.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, taking the roses when he held them out for her. “You didn’t tell me you were coming out.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he answered, then craned his neck, trying to see past her. “Mind if I come in?”

“Of course not.” She stepped back and allowed him to brush past her.

“This is a nice place,” he remarked as he strolled around, his practiced eye moving over the walls and furnishings—Nick always had a taste for décor. “Looks like you’ve got it fully decked out, which is surprising. I thought you were only staying a few months?”

Sherry cleared her throat. “That hasn’t changed. I’d only planned to purchase or rent the bare necessities, but my boss had different ideas.”

Nick turned to face her, eyes narrowed. “Your boss paid for all this? That seems a little… extravagant.”

Sherry laughed nervously. “Yeah, well, he seems to have a thing for me.” Oh, hell. She couldn’t stand here and lie to Nick, too. “Nick, I have something to say…I’ve been sleeping with him for the past few weeks.”

There was a very pregnant pause in which the two of them simply stared at each other. Sherry was the first to look away—she couldn’t stand the accusatory look in Nick’s eyes. She didn’t understand how, when he’d cheated, she was the one who felt like a dirty slut—but Nick always was good at making her feel guilty regardless of whether or not she deserved it.

“It’s okay,” he finally said, and she whipped her head back to look at him. His voice was steady, but she could see the flash of hurt in his eyes—thank you, guilt trip. “I understand, and I really can’t blame you. I was the one who cheated, not you. If you felt you had to go looking elsewhere for… companionship—” for whatever reason he didn’t seem to want to say ‘sex’, “—that’s my fault, not yours.”

Sherry sighed in relief. “I’m glad you understand, Nick. I really do want to try and work things out with you when I come back.” The words sounded hollow even to her, but she forced them out anyway.

“If you want, we can start trying to work things out now.” Nick took a step toward her. “There’s no need to go running to another man now, Sherry.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“Oh.” He stopped. “Well then… I guess maybe I should go.” He turned away from her and towards the door. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Wait.” She stepped forward and took his arm, the guilt eating at her. “You’ve come so far. Why not stay for a little bit? I can show you around Paris.”

He turned back to her and flashed that dazzling smile of his—which still wasn’t dazzling her, dammit. “That sounds like a plan!”

Across town, Roberto lounged in his flat, lingering over a meal of lasagna and bread. He’d done his best to avoid Sherry, not trusting himself to speak to her without grabbing her by the shoulders and demanding that she take back what she’d said earlier about their relationship being just about sex.

How could she say that to him? Sure, the sex was great, but they’d also spent time simply talking and enjoying each other’s company—or at least he had. And he’d even gone out of his way to help her find a flat, and then to help her move into it. Admittedly he could see how she might feel as though he were simply setting her up as a mistress, but he couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel a bond forming between them the way he did.

Was it just the Italian blood in him, making him out to be a romantic, sentimental fool?

Disgusted, he got up from the table and went to stack his dishes in the sink—a maid would come by to clean them up later. This was all supposed to be a quick fling, a distraction until Simone returned to his arms. He should be glad that Sherry was trying to keep their relationship strictly sexual. When Simone did come back to him—and there was no doubt in his mind that she would—he was going to have to let Sherry go. While many considered him to be a bit of a playboy, he wasn’t a fan of juggling more than one woman at a time, together or separately. And he knew that Simone wouldn’t be interested in sharing, either.

He contemplated sitting in front of his flat screen and flipping through channels, then decided that he needed some fresh air to clear his mind. He walked down rue Belgrande for a while, simply losing himself in the crowds, then decided he wanted a change of scenery.

He hailed a cab—the walk was a little too far for him—and told the driver to take him to Champ de Mars. As he was stepping out of the car, he caught sight of a couple entering through the park gates—and froze.

It was Sherry. And she was holding hands with another man.

He worked his jaw for a moment, but found that he couldn’t even make a sound. He didn’t understand why he felt betrayed. Neither of them had made it clear they were exclusive. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Yet he wanted to run after her, grab her by the shoulders, and demand to know who that man was, how long she’d been fucking him for, and if he was a better lay than he was.

Instead, he shook his head and slid back inside the cab. “Rue Belgrande, sil vous plait.”

****

“Hey, it was really nice of you to show me around.” Nick told her as he walked her back to her flat. “I really had fun. We haven’t spent time just hanging out like that in a long time.”

“I’m glad,” Sherry told him as they stopped outside her flat, forcing a smile on her face. “You’re right—we haven’t done anything like that in a long time.” The entire time she’d been out with him she’d been wishing it was Roberto at her side. At one point she could have sworn that she felt Roberto near her, but when she’d looked around there’d been no one familiar around. She’d even almost slipped up a few times and called Nick Roberto while she was talking to him—that would have been a disaster.

“I’m going back to Toronto tomorrow morning, so this is goodbye.” Nick touched her cheek and smiled. “I’ll be waiting for you back in Toronto.”

He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips, and Sherry wanted to cry. She felt absolutely nothing—there was no warm feeling in her chest, no curling of her toes or tightening of her nipples like when Roberto kissed her. How was she ever going to make this work?

“Bye Nick.” She drew away from him and opened the door to her flat. “I hope you have a good flight back.”

He nodded. “See you later. I love you Sherry.”

“Love you too,” she said, the words dry as dust in her throat. He smiled, then walked away. She shut the door behind her.

The next day Sherry walked into OS International, determined to put last night behind her. She was not going to be conflicted about this—she wasn’t. Like she’d promised herself earlier, she would take this time in Paris to enjoy her time apart from Nick, and to get Roberto out of her system. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, so she wouldn’t try to fight it. She would fuck his brains out, then once she was finally satisfied she would leave. Men did that all the time, and if what she’d heard from both Monique and Roberto himself was true, Roberto had done it to more than his fair share of females. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge her. He might’ve been a little angry the other day, but he’d had time to think about it—what she’d said made sense. A playboy like him wouldn’t take this relationship too seriously.

She reached her office without incident, then startled with surprise as when she found Roberto waiting inside.

“Good morning, Sherry,” he greeted her, standing up from the visitor’s chair he’d been lounging in. “And how are you this morning?”

“Fine.” Sherry frowned. “Did you need to see me about something?”

“Nothing in particular.” Roberto shrugged. “I just wanted to say hello before you started your workday.” He paused. “I was going to say hi when I saw you at the Champ de Mars last night, but you looked preoccupied with your… friend, so I refrained.”

“I didn’t realize that you were there,” she managed, her heart sinking into her shoes. He’d seen her with Nick? So he had been there last night after all.

Roberto laughed, and the sound sent chills down Sherry’s spine—it held no warmth. “I didn’t expect you too. Don’t worry bella,” he added. “I’m not mad at you. Have a good training session.”

He walked out of her office and she stood there for a minute, staring after him. His tone had been easy, she thought. Surely he didn’t resent her. It’s not like he knew who Nick was.

But if he wasn’t upset, then why were his eyes so cold?

Roberto stamped another report with his seal of approval, set it on top of his completed stack, then sighed as he looked toward the much larger stack of reports he still had to go through. On any other day he would have been finished with this task an hour ago, but he’d found it difficult to concentrate—his mind was on Sherry, as per usual.

For a woman who was trying to treat their relationship as a casual, open-ended affair, she had looked guilty as all hell when he’d mentioned seeing her in the park last night. He wondered why. Could it be that she regretted spending time with a man who wasn’t him? A part of him, the irrational part that wanted to mark her exclusively as his own, hoped so. It was a good sign; it meant she was thinking about becoming exclusive with him. And damn, he really wasn’t a possessive man but he hated the idea of her crying out her passion in another man’s arms, of her letting someone else stroke their fingers along her silky smooth, caramel skin, feeling her, tasting her. Rage burned in his heart even as his cock hardened at the thought of her naked and writhing in passion.

He didn’t want to go crawling back to her, but damn if she didn’t make him burn and it infuriated him almost as much as it fascinated him. Usually women panted after him and he indulged, not the other way around.

The intercom buzzed and he pressed the button on his business line. “Oui, Monique?”

“Simone is outside, demanding to see you,” Monique told him. Her voice was crisp and efficient as always, but something about how she said it made him pause. Was that disapproval he heard in her voice?