Chapter 31 Turn Around
TURN AROUND
Michelle
A fleet of nerves settled down in my belly as I waited in the wings.
Julien, a therapist and the editor of the journal that was hosting the event, was on stage introducing me.
Taking a few deep breaths, and checking to make sure my shirt was still tucked into my skirt—it was—and that my hair was holding up in its twist—not a strand was out of place—I told those butterflies in my stomach to get the hell out of town.
“And now it is my pleasure to introduce one of our esteemed colleagues from the United States, Michelle Milo, whose research and insight into this topic is at the very forefront. We are delighted to have her here in Paris for our conference,” he said, holding out his arm grandly as I walked onto the stage.
The audience clapped routinely, the sort of welcoming sound you receive before the crowd knows if they like you.
But forty minutes later, at the end of my talk, the clapping was real, and strong, and it reverberated.
True, the standing ovation didn’t happen.
But something better did. The whole conference room at the convention hotel in Montparnasse listened.
They paid attention. They didn’t check their phones.
They even laughed at the occasional joke I dropped in.
I’d brought my A-game, and judging by the crowd gathered at the front of the stage, many had questions ready to ask me.
I stayed for them all, listening and answering until it was time to clear out the room for the next speaker.
Julien, ever the gracious host, waited patiently and escorted me off-stage.
“I have one more person for you to meet,” he said, then guided me down the hallway to a tall, thin and balding man who extended a hand for me to shake.
“This is Denis Garnier. He runs a practice here in the 6th, and practically begged me to introduce you.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, as I shook his hand.
“I am so impressed, and we don’t have many therapists here in France with your background, so I wanted to talk about your findings. Ask some questions. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course,” I said, and then found a nearby couch and sat down.
I was due to meet Jack soon, but I’d simply have to be a few minutes late.
I gave Denis my supreme focus as we chatted.
The conversation grounded me. My work was my anchor; it had kept me going through good times and bad.
It was my rock; it had been there for me during the ups and downs of grief and unrequited love.
Men were different. They came, and they went.
Jack looked relaxed and devilishly handsome in the crowded lobby bar, drinking a scotch, one arm resting on the back of an emerald-green couch.
He wore jeans and a button-down white shirt.
No tie today, and I missed my favorite accessory on the man, but then he looked good in anything and in nothing.
He’d texted me that he’d be waiting at the bar, and to take my time when I said I was running late.
He watched me the whole time as I walked over, his eyes roaming me from head to toe.
My skin sizzled from the heated way he stared hungrily.
This man didn’t hold back. He didn’t hide his desire.
He wasn’t afraid to check me out, to stare, to look at me as if he wanted to eat me up.
Good—that’s what we shared. A deep, and bottomless desire.
The couch he was seated on was next to a marble fireplace, and the plush wine-red carpeting gave the lobby bar a rich, old-money feel to it. It was like a private club. He rose and planted a kiss on one cheek, then the other. Then, a deep, possessive kiss on my mouth. As if he were marking me.
When we pulled apart, I felt dazed. My head was foggy. The details of the day, of my talk, of my chat with Julien and Denis scattered on the ground. I didn’t mind, though; my day had been amazing, and now I was going to take my reward. Jack would be my dessert.
“Did you bring down the house?” he asked, as he gestured for me to sit next to him. I did, crossing my legs. He watched me.
“You’re staring at my legs,” I said.
“I know. I’m thinking about them draped on my shoulders.”
I laughed. “I need a scotch.”
He signaled the waiter, and ordered a drink for me as well. “So?” he asked, returning to our conversation.
“It was amazing. I was so energized. I really felt like I was connecting with the audience, and they were responding and learning. It was incredible,” I said, and I couldn't wipe the smile from my face if I tried.
Professional pride coursed through me. “Days like this remind me that I am so utterly lucky to be able to do what I love for a living.”
He held up his glass in a toast. “To the smartest, sexiest, most wonderful woman I know. Congrats on a job well done,” he said, and a minute later, the waiter brought my drink, so we toasted once more.
I took a swallow, then shared more details of my day.
The conversation helped keep the focus on the type of relationship we were having—a temporary one.
“I’m not exaggerating when I say I think this day is one of the highlights of my career,” I added.
I was tempted to bring up last night, if only to let him know he should simply forget what I’d said, to free him of any sense of obligation.
I didn’t want him to worry that I’d misunderstood our arrangement.
I was a modern woman; I could handle this.
I could adhere to the fine details of our verbal agreement.
But I’d have to find the right moment for that, because whatever I had to say, I had to say it lightly.
It had to be believable when I told him to forget I’d ever tried to bring love into the equation.
I needed to be able to laugh it off, as if it were in the heat of the moment only—the rain, the perfume, Paris.
“Do you have any idea how unbelievably attractive it is that you love what you do so much?”
“Thank you. I could say the same about you.”
He nodded. “For all the companies I’ve helped and let go, I can’t imagine not working with Joy Delivered. I’m a lucky man to be able to do what I love, and to do it with my sister, who’s pretty much my best friend.”
“That calls for another toast. Just because,” I said, smiling as we clinked glasses once more, keeping our focus on matters of business and pleasure. “Did you approve any fantastic new vibrators today?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “No. I did this instead,” he said, reaching into his pocket and handing me a small velvet bag.
“You have a thing for shopping, it seems.”
“For you,” he said. “Open it.”
I tugged at the drawstring and peeked inside. Immediately, my eyes widened, and my cheeks felt like they must be turning a deep shade of crimson.
“Are you embarrassed?”
“No,” I whispered, closing the bag. “I’ve never used one.”
“Wear it to drinks,” he said in that confident, controlling voice that sent hot tingles racing down my chest, settling between my legs. “It’s part of the preparation.”
“I’m suddenly very thirsty,” I said, losing interest for the moment in conversation. My focus narrowed solely to pleasure. That was Jack’s true forte, after all. That was what he was good for. That was the only way he could be in my life for these last few nights.
I wanted to make the most of them. To savor every second of these nights with him.
He knocked back the rest of his drink, and I did the same.
“Let’s go upstairs first,” he said, and we made our way to the elevator, then to our room.
In the shower, I washed the day off, and he did the same. Then he lathered up his hands, and slid them around to my ass, running the soap over my cheeks, then gently near my rear. My breath hitched as he teased at me.
“Not yet,” he murmured, then turned me around, rinsing me thoroughly.
Holding my face gently in his hands, he leaned my head back under the hot stream, letting the water wash away the conditioner.
After he turned off the shower, he handed me a thick, soft towel and I dried myself.
He wrapped his towel around his waist. Then he took the towel from me, hung it up on a hook, and walked me over to the vanity.
“I’m naked and you’re not,” I said with a pout.
“If it were up to me, you’d be naked all the time with me, so this seems like the way things should be,” he said, reaching for my body lotion, pumping some into his palms then dropping down to his knees and smoothing the lotion into my bare legs.
I sighed happily, relishing the way he was taking care of my body.
That was his specialty, and he knew it so well.
He was a master at turning me on, even in the more gentle ways as he moved up to my belly, my hips, then my arms, rubbing lotion into my skin.
He cupped my butt in his hands, smoothing lotion across my ass as a groan escaped his throat.
Then he spun me around so I was facing the mirror.
He met my reflection in the glass. “Look at how beautiful you are,” he said, dropping his mouth to my shoulder, planting a kiss, then gently biting my skin. I felt beautiful as he looked at me. That could only be helpful, feeling beautiful, I reasoned. It could only help me to keep moving on.
He reached for a small clear bottle on the white marble vanity, drizzled some lube onto a few fingers, then returned to my backside once more, all the while keeping his eyes locked on me in the mirror.
“If anything doesn’t feel good, just tell me to stop. At any point,” he said as he teased at my back entrance. I lifted my ass for him, giving him all the access he needed.
I shook my head. “I know it will feel good,” I said, as he pushed a finger into me. I gasped from the pressure, closing my eyes from the quick hit of pleasure that burst through me.