Heated Rush Part 19

Though it was only the middle of the afternoon, Sean couldn't help opening the minibar. He needed a drink. And he wanted her to have one...because he had the feeling she'd soon need it, too.

But she declined with a brief shake of her head, waiting while he opened a small bottle and poured himself a shot of whiskey. Not particularly good whiskey, since it didn't come from Ireland, but it would do.

He finally answered her question. "Yes, she knew. Despite appearances, she's a very nice woman."

Annie nodded, not doubting it, obviously having seen the genuine regret in Constance's face over her faux pas. His former a.s.sociate wasn't stupid-she'd taken one look at Annie and had realized that she'd stepped right into the middle of a very personal personal relations.h.i.+p. Because anyone could see that the beautiful young blonde sitting across from him would never need to hire any man to give her what she needed. relations.h.i.+p. Because anyone could see that the beautiful young blonde sitting across from him would never need to hire any man to give her what she needed.

"She owns a gallery and had just gone through a bad divorce. She was in Munich attending some auctions, wanted someone to keep an eye on her and on her purchases...and hired me to be that someone."

Annie thought about it for a moment, her head tilting in obvious bewilderment. "You mean, you were her...bodyguard?"

"Yes, actually. That's what she asked me to be, at least at first."

"I'm confused. I thought you were a businessman."

He sipped his drink, then laughed harshly. "I'm in the people people business, Annie. Wining and dining, wheeling and dealing, mostly for big corporations business, Annie. Wining and dining, wheeling and dealing, mostly for big corporations these these days. But back then, my clients usually wanted something other than a good translator or negotiator." days. But back then, my clients usually wanted something other than a good translator or negotiator."

"Like what?"

She still didn't get it. Didn't see the truth he was laying out in front of her.

So he made it a whole h.e.l.l of a lot more clear.

"Like a lover."

She gasped.

"Though, love certainly had nothing to do with it. Attraction, yes. And money. But not love."

He saw the exact moment when understanding washed over her. Annie's pretty pink mouth trembled, then fell open in a nearly inaudible gasp. Her blue eyes grew huge in her face and her sun-kissed cheeks went pale.

Oh, yes, she understood.

Sean made no effort to explain, to backpedal his way out of the truth. Or even to make it clear that his business dealings now were much more normal and impersonal than they'd once been. Nor did he use the justification that he'd never had s.e.x with a woman he wasn't attracted to, no matter what he was offered.

Because none of that mattered. The reality was, he'd done exactly what she thought he'd done.

"You were a prost.i.tute."

He flinched. But didn't duck from the verbal stone. "Yes." Smiling with absolutely no humor, he clarified, "Though I preferred to be called a male escort at the time."

Annie rose, walked on shaky legs to the minibar, and helped herself to the bottle she'd refused before. She twisted the top off, brought the thing to her lips and drank straight from it, ignoring the clean gla.s.ses nearby.

When she was finished, she blinked a few times, cleared her throat, then met his stare. "So the auction last week. That wasn't such an unusual thing for you."

Feigning a nonchalance he didn't feel, Sean leaned one hip against the standard hotel-room desk and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Actually, it was quite unusual. No woman ever paid five thousand dollars for an evening with me."

She frowned, then, understanding, muttered, "No, I imagine they paid a lot more."

The kind of women he'd been dealing with? Oh, yes. They most definitely had.

As if she couldn't bear to look at him, Annie crouched down, reaching out to her cat. Though usually aloof, the animal seemed to sense her need, because he immediately came to her, curling against her, letting himself be stroked by Annie's hand.

Her beautiful, vulnerable, shaking shaking hand. hand.

He turned away, unable to watch. Sean wanted to bend down and lift her to her feet, to kiss away her shock, to tell her the whole story-why he'd done it, what had driven him-everything.

Something stopped him. Maybe it was the way she'd repeated her mother's words in the car. Almost whispering, sounding stunned-and maybe a little wishful.

Sean couldn't make those wishes come true. Not now that she truly knew who he was...who he had been.

"I never expected to tell you any of this," he admitted. "Never dreamed there would be a reason."

She looked up, her eyes s.h.i.+ny with unshed tears. "And now there's a reason?"

"Yes. There is." That whole "cruel to be kind" motto had always annoyed him, but he suddenly knew that was the way this had to go down. He didn't want her crying over him, shedding a single tear. He simply wasn't worth it.

"I saw it in your eyes when you told me what your mother had said."

Her lashes lowered a little in pure self-defense.

"Don't mix up s.e.x with emotion, Annie," he urged. "It's obvious you're a little confused, and considering what that a.s.shole Blake did to you, that's pretty understandable. But you aren't in love with me."

He did not continue. Did not say the next natural sentence, And I'm not in love with you either. And I'm not in love with you either.

Because Sean was many things, but he wasn't an outright liar. Saying that would, he believed, be lying not only to her but also to himself. Though he'd never completely understood the emotion, he knew what he was feeling for Annie was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He wanted to be with her, wanted to make those dreams of hers come true, wanted all the things he'd been running away from for so long.

But when it came right down to it, she was just too d.a.m.n good for him.

This way was best. It would end now, they'd both save face. They'd put their relations.h.i.+p back on a level they could both handle-that it had been a wild and wonderful fling, not soon forgotten, but nothing to write love songs and vows about. He'd walk out of her life, and she'd find someone else who fit into it much better than Sean Murphy ever could.

She finally rose to her feet, her throat visibly working as she swallowed down whatever emotion had risen up inside her. Her tone hard, she said, "I can separate s.e.x from love."

It had worked. He'd hurt her, challenged her, and she'd reacted as he'd hoped she would. So why his throat felt as though he'd swallowed a mouthful of gla.s.s, he had no idea.

"But there's something you should know."

Seeing a sudden stiffening in her spine, he waited, wondering if he'd been congratulating himself-and mourning at the same time-a bit too soon.

"Despite what you think you know about me, I'm not easily shocked. And what you just told me...well, I don't like it, but I certainly can't hate you for things you did long before I ever met you."

"Don't you get it? Those things say a lot about who I am."

"Who you were, were," she clarified.

"Semantics."

She stepped close, brus.h.i.+ng the tips of her fingers across his lips. "No, they're not. I don't know how many women you slept with in the past, but if you think I find it disgusting to imagine the number, well, you're wrong. Every single man I've met in Chicago has given it away for free to any women who'd let him."

"For free," he insisted, forcing the words through his clenched jaw.

She cupped that jaw in her hand, holding him still so he had to meet her eye. "I. Don't. Care."

d.a.m.n.

"I don't care about your past and I don't believe you truly think the choices you made when you were practically a kid have any genuine bearing on who you are now."

There she was wrong. At least, she was today. A week ago, he would have agreed with her. Now, though, feeling the awfulness of it-seeing the way her hand had shaken after he'd told her the truth about himself-oh, yes, it most definitely had bearing.

"I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work."

"What won't?"

"You won't convince me that you're an emotionless, overs.e.xed user who is only out for money and self-gratification."

He thrust a frustrated hand through his hair, hearing tenderness in her tone. This was not going the way it was supposed to. Annie should be walking out the door right now.

"I don't know what you feel for me, but don't you dare tell me I don't know my own feelings toward you." Her voice shook with emotion. "I'm not saying we're going to live happily ever after, or that you'd ever even want to, but I sure as h.e.l.l want to give it a try. Because I am am falling in love with you, whether you want to believe it or not. And nothing you tell me about your past, your present or your future is going to change that." falling in love with you, whether you want to believe it or not. And nothing you tell me about your past, your present or your future is going to change that."

He stared at her, saw the feelings she could not hide, heard the intensity-the certainty-in her voice. And knew she meant it. He was too late. She had fallen for him.

Jesus. This sweet, lovely, genuine woman had fallen in love with him. When he so completely didn't deserve it. He'd screwed up her life, almost as much as he'd screwed up his own.

"Let me love you," she whispered, rising on tiptoe to try to kiss him. "Let yourself love me."

He stepped back, shaking his head.

She followed. "Let it happen."

He remained as rigid as a statue. Maybe if he didn't care about her, if his emotions hadn't been as fully engaged as he believed they had, he could have been weak. Could have let her persuade him that the past could be forgotten and that he wasn't too sordid to a.s.sociate with.

But he did care. Far too much to drag her down to his level.

"No, Annie. I'm sorry. I can't let it happen."

She was silent for a long, heavy moment, studying him, gauging the truth of his words. Acknowledging his resolve.

Then, after what seemed like ages, she stepped away and nodded once. "I understand."

At last.

Annie bent down and picked up her cat, tucking him into his cage, then grabbing her own overnight bag.

"Let me..."

She held a hand up, stopping him. "I'm fine." Turning on her heel, she walked to the door and put her hand on the k.n.o.b. But before she twisted it, she spoke again, her words not much more than a heartfelt whisper.

"I'll be waiting."

And then she left.

11.

THE FIRST LETTER arrived two weeks later. arrived two weeks later.

Annie was sitting at her desk an hour after Baby Daze had closed. Everyone else had left, and she was sorting through bills, making up the next week's schedule. The usual.

Life had returned to normal, busy and fulfilling.

It was not happy. Not yet. Maybe she would be again, but getting over Sean wasn't proving to be the easiest thing she'd ever done. More like the most difficult.

But then she saw the white envelope with large, spiky black handwriting, addressed to her. It was postmarked from Paris.

And she began to have hope again.

"Sean," she whispered, touching the tip of her finger to her own scrawled name.

She'd heard nothing from him since that day in his hotel room, when he'd done his d.a.m.ndest to push her away. It had taken every ounce of her strength to let him do it, rather than continue to fight him. But in the end, she'd known she had to.

Only by letting him go-letting him come to terms with his own life-would she ever be able to hope he'd come back into hers.

Annie opened the envelope, and removed the single sheet of paper within. Unfolding it, she read the first few words aloud, her own voice the only sound in the silent building.

"Dear Annie,I am looking out my bedroom window, seeing through the evening mist the familiar outline of the Eiffel Tower. As always, it stops the heart for just a moment, the lights brightening the darkness, such a symbol of romance and love.It's a hot night-steamy and awash with the scents of this city. Tourists and perfumeries. Car exhaust and fine wine and freshly baked bread. And life. So much life.I thought that you should see it."

She sighed softly, closing her eyes for a moment to envision every last detail. Then she opened them again and read the rest of the letter.

As she did so, Annie found herself discovering the City of Lights through the vivid words of a man intimately familiar with it. She also discovered more. With growing certainty, Annie began to understand what Sean was really trying to say.

He was acknowledging the possibilities. Keeping open the chance of a future between them.

Though not overt, his words were letting her know that he was out there, considering...still trying to find a way to let his past and his future come together, and somehow include her.

And he was doing it by giving her the gift he knew she dearly wanted-a glimpse of the big, wide world.

Over the next few weeks, the letters continued. They were sporadic-sometimes several days apart, sometimes two or three in a row. The postmarks varied. He was obviously working-traveling around, being the globe-trotter she knew him to be. And yet he still maintained that connection.

He painted pictures with his words. Amusing her with his descriptions of the driving conditions in Malaysia. Thrilling her as he shared his first impression of the Taj Mahal, the world's great monument to eternal love.

Then one day he wrote from London, describing yet another view from his own bedroom window. Without him saying it, she knew his business was done for a while. He'd gone back to one of those cold, lonely places he called home.

Funny, her own home, which had seemed so empty since he'd left, had begun to feel warm again. Alive. If only because of the way Annie kept reading and rereading the letters, knowing that each one meant she was still on his mind, hopefully, in his heart. Each was worth waiting for, as she'd promised him she would.