They both knew about the luck, or lack of it. There was no conceit in his voice any more, just a quiet belief in himself. A steadier version of the man she’d married, that belief tempered with reality. But, then, he’d learned the hard way to be humble as far as his career went.
Rita grinned like she’d won a prize at the carnival. ‘Ben, sit down, for goodness’ sake. Snap those fingers and get us some drinks ordered. Tori and I have some serious talking to do.’ She turned her formidable gaze onto Tori. ‘Where did you get that dress? It’s amazing. I want one just like it. Maybe make that almost like it. Can’t be wearing the same, can we?’
Because of Rita’s forthrightness, Tori felt herself relaxing. She had nothing to hide from this woman. Except the same old story she hid from everyone. She shivered. Especially from Ben. ‘I went shopping yesterday straight after I arrived and had a shower to wash off the travel skin.’
‘Travel skin? I like that. I know what you mean. Spending all that time confined in a plane does make you feel less than clean, doesn’t it? You weren’t jet-lagged?’
‘Absolutely, but I’d arrived in France. I wasn’t spending the first hours sleeping. They have the most wonderful shops here. The shoes are amazing. How could I ignore those?’ She felt Ben take his seat, his thigh bumping against hers before he quickly shifted away, putting a small gap between them. Her teeth slammed shut. Even the slightest touch, unintentional as it had been, shot her temperature over the moon.
‘So tell me, where are these shops?’ Rita asked. ‘Or do you have time in your schedule to come with me?’
‘I hope so. I have a few gaps in my schedule. Let me look at the programme after dinner and get back to you on that. There’s a jacket I couldn’t make my mind up about. I’d value your opinion.’ Shopping was always a great way to spend an hour or three, and she’d also like to get to know Rita some more. Hopefully Ben wouldn’t see a problem with that, considering that Rita and her husband were his friends.
Then pine scent caught at her as Ben leaned forward. ‘What do you want to drink?’
Looking around, she saw a waiter hovering. ‘Sparkling water, please.’ Ben looked so cute when his eyebrows rose like that, sort of how she’d imagined he might’ve looked as a boy. Of course, he might be surprised she had given up drinking. He didn’t know that she’d believed her drinking had caused the miscarriage so she hadn’t touched a drop since that awful night. He hadn’t known she was pregnant at all.
Anyway, she’d only started drinking heavily in the first place when their marriage had been going pear-shaped and the alcohol had seemed to help her forget for a while, and had had the added benefit of sending her to sleep every night when thoughts of Ben and their failing love had otherwise kept her tossing and turning until the alarm had gone off in the morning. They’d been leading such separate lives by then that Ben probably hadn’t even noticed how reliant she’d become on alcohol to numb her sadness.
Everyone else ordered wine, and then introductions were made between the other guests seated around the table and as the conversation became general Tori began to enjoy herself.
Until, ‘Forget fabulous. You look beautiful tonight,’ Ben said quietly in an interlude between the main course and a speech from the leading French cardiologist. ‘Rita’s right. That dress is superb on you. Black always did suit your colouring.’
But it wasn’t the colour he was staring at. His gaze was locked on her cleavage.
‘Drop it, Ben,’ she muttered. If she’d known she was going to be seated beside him she’d have worn a sack. Yes, and he used to say you could make sacks look like fashion statements. Her nails dug into her palms. There were far too many memories unlocking in her brain. They’d obviously been hovering, waiting for this day to spring up and remind her of things that weren’t going to do her any good remembering.
When he finally raised his head there was only sorrow in his eyes. He used to be so smug, to the point of arrogant, because he’d always got what he’d wanted. But this Ben appeared different, softer and more careful of others’ feelings. She’d loved him to bits, and had been so proud of him when he’d refused to take the easy option his father had presented to save him from a blot on his CV. Doing that had to have taken guts, and obviously he’d done a lot of soul searching on the way. He’d grown, changed and yet was still her Benji. Benji? Who’s Benji? This man is Ben.
Why did her eyes keep slipping sideways to stare at the only man she’d ever loved? The man she’d once believed she’d be spending the rest of her life with. Benji. Or Ben. Whichever. The package was the same. Sexy albeit with a healthy dose of intellect in those mouth-watering eyes.
I remember every detail of that body. How you liked being caressed just above your hip. How your muscles tightened when I licked a trail down your stomach. Oh, hell. Stop this. I’m at a dinner surrounded by hundreds of other people. With my ex-husband whom I got over years ago. It’s obviously time I found a man and had a good time between the sheets.
Except that didn’t cut it with her. She couldn’t raise any enthusiasm. Swinging back to face across the table, she reached for her empty glass. Where was the waiter? If ever there was a time she wished she drank alcohol, now was it.
* * *
Desperate for fresh air and a little solitude, the moment the formal dinner had finally drawn to a close Tori hurried to her room to change into trousers and a blouse, and slipped on flat shoes. Her toes needed a rest from those amazing shoes.
Back in the lobby she saw Ben talking with a group of specialists from New York, but the moment he spied her walking towards the front entrance he excused himself and joined her.
‘Going for a stroll along Quai des États-Unis?’ he asked.
Despite wanting to remain aloof, she chuckled at his butchering of the French words. ‘Yes, the fresh air is appealing, and anyway it’s Nice. Why sit in my room and miss all that?’ She waved a hand in the direction of the road and the Mediterranean beyond. ‘I’ve waited most of my life to come to France, I’m not going to waste precious time hiding away.’
‘What would you have to hide from, Tori?’ Ben took her elbow and ushered her through the door being held open by the concierge.
You. Us. The memories you’ve brought with you. Easing her elbow free the moment she stood on the pavement, Tori drew warm air into her lungs, thinking fast for an answer. She didn’t want to offend him, or be rude. Neither did she want to expose her vulnerability. Not when she had only just realised it was there, undermining her determination to be friendly but uninvolved with him.
‘Please, don’t say it’s me. I don’t want to spoil your time here.’ Again that sincerity threatened to undermine all her intentions to keep him at arm’s length.
Finally she went with, ‘I find conferences tend to take all my attention so that I’m unaware of anything else around me.’ It was true, but not why she wanted to keep to herself here. ‘I could be in a hotel anywhere. But not this time. I’m going to make the most of every free second I have.’
Tori began walking along the promenade and Ben stepped out beside her. When had she said she’d like company? His in particular? But the words weren’t there to tell him to leave her to walk alone.
‘I know what you mean. These things are often held in exotic settings and yet, like you say, the participants don’t get to appreciate their surroundings.’ He was speaking in that low, gravelly voice that heated her right down to her toes every time. Did he know that? Had she ever told him? She must have. ‘But I’m glad you haven’t stayed upstairs. It’s not like you. Going for a walk at nearly midnight is the Tori I remember.’
Not for a long time. ‘I’m exhausted but I don’t plan on sleeping much at all until I get on that plane to go home again.’
‘This is too good to miss, I agree.’ Ben slipped his jacket off and hooked it over his shoulder on his forefinger. His tie h
ad disappeared and the crisp white shirt—they’d always been his favourite attire with jackets—was unbuttoned at the top. His free hand was pushed into the pocket of his black dress trousers.
Benji at his sexiest. And most dangerous. Looking like every woman’s dream come to life, he was impossible to ignore. Impossible. But she had to ignore him. He might have a hot bod, be more tempting than a sugar fix, but she could not put herself out there to be hurt.
Automatically caressing the thin gold band she wore permanently on her wrist with her finger, she let other painful memories slip into her mind, bringing tears with them. A tiny baby, nine weeks in her womb, gone in a rush of blood and anguish, to be missed for ever. The final nail in what had become a dreadful year, and Ben had never learned about their baby, hadn’t known of their child’s existence.
‘Tori? You still with me?’ Ben asked, with a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘Or are you star-gazing, like you always did?’
No, I’m hurting here. Not a day had gone by that she didn’t feel guilty about losing their baby. But he did not need to know that. There was nothing Ben could do to change the past, so why put him through the pain? She’d plaster on a smile and go with happy and, who knew, she might make excited before she got to the end of the promenade. ‘I’m taking it all in, absorbing the atmosphere.’
Many tourists were making the most of the balmy, early summer evening, laughing and talking in different languages, which made her smile with delight. She and Ben nodded to an occasional person they recognised from the conference, but kept away from being drawn into conversation.
Eventually some excitement softened her taut muscles. Nice. Wow. It was so...foreign. Even the air smelt different—full of history and wealth and promise.