Charlotte promised herself she wasn’t going to look at Jacob any differently after the late-night confessions, but she couldn’t help it. She’d bet anything that he hadn’t realized there’d been tears on his cheeks when he’d told her about Jacinta. That he’d trusted her with such a traumatic secret was monumental. And yet, as she set about making coffee, she knew that their relationship—what there was of it—was going to be short-lived. Even if their lives weren’t completely different, Jacob was not in any way ready for a relationship. For one, she was sure he still loved this Jacinta woman. Her death and his self-blame assured that there wouldn’t be room for anyone else until he found a way to put it in the past.
She poured water over the grounds in the press and sighed. The kicker was that she wouldn’t care for him as much if he were different. His pain showed a depth of feeling she couldn’t ever remember seeing in any other man, other than her father. Her throat tightened. After having her heart broken, it had been her father, Cedric, who had dried her tears and then given her the support to stand tall again. Oh, how she missed him. Perhaps this week hadn’t just been about Fashion Week. It had also been the result of years and months of stress—to live up to her father’s faith in her, to do right by the business. What would Cedric say now?
He’d tell her to give herself a break, she realized, and could almost hear his voice in her head. The realization brought with it a small wave of grief, though these days the memories filled her heart rather than leaving her bereft. Time did heal, it seemed.
“Good morning.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice behind her. “It’s nearly noon. Not really morning anymore.”
He looked down at his watch and swore. “But your itinerary...”
She laughed at the expression on his face. “Screw my itinerary. I took the morning off. I only have today and tomorrow anyway and then it’s back to Paris. This morning I’m having coffee and taking my time with it. Then I’m going to go meet with the Paris team. They’re flying back tomorrow and then taking a week of vacation. They worked extremely hard only to have their efforts ruined.”
“They must be disappointed.”
“And angry,” she added. “Rightly so. They need to know they are valued and that their places are secure at Aurora.”
“That’s not a PR person job.” He went to get a mug as she pressed down the plunger in the coffee press.
“No, but I’m the Aurora representative that’s here. And maybe I do PR but I’m also invested in their success.”
His smile widened. “You sounded like your mother just then.”
“Imperative and regal?”
“Just so.” He came closer, looped an arm around her waist and tugged her against his body. “And beautiful. And kind.”
“My mother is kind. Though not many realize it.”
“That bit was a guess for me, but I’m glad to hear it.” He looked down into her eyes. “I’ve told myself a million times I shouldn’t do this. That it can’t go anywhere.” He nuzzled at her cheek, sending a th
rill down her spine.
“It doesn’t have to go anywhere. It can stay right here in New York.” She lifted her chin, rubbing her face against his soft, warm lips. “We have two days. I know you’re not looking for anything...permanent. And neither am I. My schedule isn’t exactly conducive to a relationship. And we live in different cities...”
“And in different worlds,” he added, sliding his mouth over to her earlobe. For a second, she forgot how to breathe.
“How could you be so damned stoic all week? How could you stay so I’m here to do a job when you’re so sexy underneath all that professionalism?”
“I’m off the clock now. Not working. I can be stoic if you want, though. Might be fun.”
Her whole body was humming now, loving this freer side of him. “Hmm, maybe later. First, let’s have coffee.”
She poured both cups, and he fixed hers the way she liked. After only a few days, he’d remembered that little detail. They took their coffee into the living room, where they could look out over Central Park and what was, in her mind, the most beautiful part of Manhattan.
He’d taken several sips before he let out a breath and said, “The right thing for me to do would be to hop on a plane. My job is done and it wouldn’t look right for me to stay.”
She eyed him over the rim of her cup. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who worries about appearances.” She’d half expected him to say such a thing, though. To feel the need to run. What had happened between them—the talking as much as the sex—had to have freaked him out. It was freaking her out a little, too.
“My professional reputation—”
She held up a hand. “Be honest. Your self-preservation is at work here, not concern for your reputation.”
He coughed and she was glad she’d spoken up. No matter how they left things, she would know she’d been honest with him.
“Do you always say exactly what you think?”
“Of course not. I’m in PR. I hardly ever say what’s really on my mind.” And then she grinned at him.