Reunited...in Paris!

How could he have forgotten how beautiful Tori was? He’d fallen in love with those classic features, perfect skin and twinkling emerald eyes. Fallen in a flash. One look across a frantically busy department had been all it had taken. Then he’d spoken to her and she’d laughed and that had been the ribbon on the box that was his heart. If he closed his eyes he could bring up the images of that morning right now. It had been her first day at Auckland’s specialist cardiac hospital, and she’d been sent to the department where he’d worked as a surgeon, trying to get up the hours and experience to go into private practice.

I’ve missed you, Tori.

His heart stalled. Got away, he had not. He’d refused to.

Yes, I have missed you. I’m only just beginning to admit it, but I have. I haven’t looked seriously at another woman since you. Haven’t wanted to.

As he watched Tori chatting to two conference attendees he felt a deep hunger opening up inside.

For Tori.

But they were finished. As in never-to-repeat-that-experience-again finished. Tori wouldn’t let him within a bull’s roar of her except in a crowded space like this. He’d hurt her beyond belief—for all the right reasons, or so he’d believed at the time. But later, when the flak died away and he’d had more than enough hours to reflect, he’d accepted he’d been lashing out at her for not believing in him, for not trusting him to be the consummate professional when operating on a patient—because she’d been right. His shame had been consuming him even before she’d questioned his integrity. Afterwards it had known no boundaries. If his wife couldn’t believe in him, who could? Not even his father had questioned his guilt, instead focusing on trying to hide it by laying the blame elsewhere, which had made the situation far worse.

Seeing Tori after all this time, touching her elbow, breathing the same air, had stirred up this intense hunger within him. Seriously? It couldn’t be hunger for Tori. They had far too many unresolved issues that they hadn’t been able to fix back when they’d been married. Even if he explained why he’d called it quits on their marriage there wasn’t a chance in Hades of Tori ever trusting him completely and thereby loving him again.

Even at the worst moments of their failing marriage he’d wished her the absolute best in her career, her private life, in everything she desired. Always. Then after their divorce he’d wanted it even more. He’d owed her for pushing her away at a time he’d desperately needed her. She’d known his need and he could still see the hurt in her eyes every time he’d denied her. He owed her for so many things, and at the same time he’d been slayed by her accusation. But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to admit the truth to her.

‘Ben, there you are. I’ve been searching this crowd from the moment we were released for coffee. How the blazes are you? It’s been a while.’

Ben turned to find John standing beside him and clasped his hand. ‘Released? You make it sound like a sentence being here. How’re things with you? It’s been a long time.’ Hell, John had gained a lot of weight since they’d last caught up.

‘Too long, but I guess it’s too far for you to hop a ride down to Sydney to play catch-up.’ John sounded like he wished for exactly that.

‘It’s not next door, that’s for sure.’ But it was his turn to visit and he should’ve made the effort. John had been a good friend to him while he’d lived in Sydney, trying to get back on his feet. ‘I’ll head your way next time I pull holidays. How’s that?’ Talk about an instant decision. There’d be no backing out once John’s wife, Rita, heard.

‘Deal.’ John’s gaze drifted sideways to where Tori stood. ‘So that’s your ex-wife.’

‘Tori.’ John would’ve heard her name when she’d been introduced at the conference. Because they shared the same surname, would everyone here think he and Tori were married? He didn’t know what to make of that. Her explanation for not changing back to her maiden name didn’t ring true of her. Not the Tori he’d known, who’d always done what had needed doing without delay. Whenever he’d read ‘Tori Wells’ in an article or, recently, on the forum programme, he’d know a moment of pleasure—before reality had set in. They were divorced. Sharing a name meant nothing, held no connection.

John was still yabbering in his ear. ‘Got a surprise when “Madame Wells” stood up. I knew she was coming, but you never said she was a looker.’

A change of subject was needed urgently. ‘Is Rita here, too?’

‘You don’t think I’d be allowed to come to France without her, do you?’ John grinned. ‘I hate to think what’s happening to the credit card right now.’

‘Go, Rita. I hope she blows the budget big time.’ Ben knew the diminutive woman who was the light of his friend’s life would be very circumspect. She came from a poor background and having money on tap hadn’t made her a spendthrift, though being in France might tempt her to have some fun. He’d always liked Rita, and had felt envious of the relationship she and John shared. The kind of relationship he and Tori had had in the beginning—before his monumental error of judgement. Stop thinking about Tori. It wouldn’t get him anywhere. Focus on John. ‘How’s life at Sydney Hospital?’

‘Muddling along. Never enough time to see all the patients I’d like to, but otherwise no complaints. What about you? You’re still happy on Harley Street?’

‘Absolutely. It takes up most of my time.’ And filled in the end of the day when everyone else was at home with family while he only had a solitary meal prepared by his housekeeper to look forward to. ‘It’s turned into a twenty-four-seven career.’

Except for the next few days. Hopefully he’d get to relax a bit. He was exhausted and needed a break before he made a mistake. Another mistake. A shudder rolled through him. He had learned the hard way to routinely take leave to recharge his batteries. An overtired surgeon made mistakes. Shifting his balance from one foot to the other, he noticed John grinning at him. ‘Did I miss something?’

‘I don’t believe it. You’re working all hours. No play time? What about the ladies? Surely you’re keeping up with them?’

Ben’s eyes were drawn to that perfectly coiffed red hair a few metres away. Now, there was a lady, a real lady. One whose agenda had never been to want to hang off his arm because he’d been endowed with good looks, or to make use of his wealth, or to be ‘seen’ with Mr Benjamin Wells, surgeon. No, she’d loved him for himself, including all his faults. Or so he’d thought until those last months. Seemed he might’ve got that wrong, given she was obviously over him.

He turned back to John. ‘I haven’t joined the monastery, if that’s what you’re inferring.’ But he kept every encounter light and friendly. No one ever had to teach him the same lesson twice.

‘You ever think of heading back down our way permanently? Or are you firmly ensconced in England?’

Ben contemplated the question. He’d enjoyed his time in Sydney where the culture was so similar to home that he’d fitted in easily. London was different. He loved the city with its shows and nightlife, the history and art. His apartment overlooking the Thames was a dream come true. But he never felt he belonged. ‘When the rain doesn’t stop bucketing down for days on end, or there’s a polar blast happening, then, yes, I give the idea a glance. But, no, I’m a Londoner now.’ Or so he tried to convince himself. Especially on the days when homesickness for Auckland turned him sour.

Before he could stop himself, his gaze cruised over Tori again, and his mouth dried as he glimpsed her creamy throat as she tipped her head back to laugh. He couldn’t see it under that ivory blouse and green jacket but there was a small mole centimetres below her right clavicle. Anyone watching her wouldn’t know how wild that abundant red hair was when let loose from the restraints she currently had it held in, how it spilled across the pillow and felt like satin in his hands.

‘Time we returned to our seats,’ John said. ‘Want to meet Rita and me in the bar before the dinner tonight?’

‘Six-thirty suit?’ A couple of drinks and some relaxed conversation with good friends were just the ticket to put Tori out of his head for a while.

Not that he expected to be totally free of her for the duration of the conference, but right now any time without her within sight, disturbing his carefully put-together equilibrium, had to be good. Didn’t it?

CHAPTER TWO

IN ANOTHER NEW pair of gorgeous shoes, red this time, Tori followed the waiter to her table for the formal dinner. Across the crowd already seated she saw Benji standing in the distance, a distance that inexorably became smaller and smaller until she was led right up to him. ‘There has to be some mistake.’

But there on the table, in black on a gilt-edged card, was written ‘Madame Wells’ in calligraphy, marking her place. Right next to the card naming the one person out of more than twelve hundred she did not want to sit with.

Apparently totally unperturbed, Ben gave his gut-twisting smile as he pulled out her chair. ‘Would’ve been more interesting if the same mistake had been made over our hotel rooms.’

‘In your dreams, Benji.’ Gulp. ‘Ben.’ Too late.

That smile went virile, wide and open and full of laughter. Then he leaned closer to whisper, ‘I can’t believe you just said Benji.’ Then his smile dipped and that sadness she’d witnessed in the morning was back, his cheeky streak taking a hike.

She turned her back on him. What else could she do? He’d totally unnerved her with that flip comment about their rooms, and yet it shouldn’t have. Being stuck at the same table didn’t mean she had to spend all night concentrating on Ben—even when a part of her wanted to do exactly that. Glancing around the table to see if she knew anyone else, she found a woman of similar age to her watching the whole incident with amusement. Tori felt her blood begin to boil. Why did strangers enjoy other people’s discomfort? The dinner hadn’t begun and already she wanted to leave.

Then the woman stuck her hand across the table. ‘Hi, I’m Rita McIntyre. That’s my husband, John, next to Ben.’

Tori drew on her reserves to push away her negativity and took the hand being offered. It was as warm as the friendly expression on Rita’s face. ‘I’m Tori Wells.’

Rita nodded. ‘I thought so. It’s really good to meet you. We’ve known Ben since he moved to Sydney from New Zealand. He and John worked together at Sydney Hospital and we all became firm friends, though we haven’t seen enough of him since he shifted to London. We’re trying to entice him back Down Under so we’re able to catch up more often. Our kids miss him a lot.’

Too much information. Instantly a picture of Ben kicking a ball around a yard with children filled her head. Ben cuddling an unhappy child. Ben buying the biggest ice creams available for kids. He’d have been a wonderful dad, given the chance. Tori gulped, nodded and looked around for a waiter. A glass of water wouldn’t go amiss. I don’t need to know any of this. It’s his life, nothing to do with me. But I wanted that with him, too. Nearly had it, in fact.

Ben grumped at Rita, ‘I’m not sure Tori wants to talk about me.’

Rita was made of sterner stuff. ‘Of course she does. Bet she’s kept an eye on your career, as you have hers. Isn’t that right, Tori?’

Eek. Ben’s kept up to date with what I’ve been doing? Now what? Tell the truth. It can’t hurt. ‘You’re right. I have.’ By the surprise on Ben’s face she should’ve kept quiet. ‘He’s done extremely well, but that was probably a given from the day he started med school.’ Whoa, Tori, haul on the brakes, will you?

She glanced around. Where was a waiter when she needed one? So Ben had also followed her career, which explained how he’d known she hadn’t changed her name. Seems neither of them had let go of the other entirely. Suddenly she felt warm inside. It was kind of interesting that Ben did want to know what she’d been up to, hadn’t written her off completely.

Glancing up at her ex standing beside her, Tori felt that warmth spread farther out into the corners of her body.

‘Thank you for your compliment. I’ve been lucky to have done well recently,’ he said.

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 had 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.

‘Is France living up to your expectations so far?’

Again that voice skidded over her skin and set her heart tapping a different beat, adding to the strange mix of emotions she was feeling tonight. Tori struggled to banish that and find that happy mood she’d promised herself, finally found a modicum of control—enough to fool Ben, she hoped. ‘Oh, yes. Absolutely.’

A quick glance sideways at him and she nearly tripped over her own feet. She hurriedly righted herself before Ben could make a move to catch her. She did not want to feel his fingers on her skin. No, she did not. They’d send heat waves throughout her sex-starved body. But he was hard to ignore. His beloved face still had the power to divert her from all her good intentions to remain impervious to him. She’d seen love and pain written all over that face, laughter and tears, understanding and bewilderment. For her it had shown the deep hole their relationship had become—a place where they couldn’t talk to each other. Ironic when she remembered how often Ben used to tease her about how much she yakked his ear off.

This wasn’t getting her any peace from those memories. ‘I like your friends from Sydney.’

‘You and Rita hit it off fairly quickly.’

‘Does that make you uncomfortable?’ she asked.

‘Why should it?’

‘We might talk about you,’ she teased, desperate for light and carefree, not deep and meaningful.

‘You’ll fall asleep in the first five minutes,’ he told her. ‘I heard you and Rita planning a shopping expedition. You’ve already been indulging your shoe fetish, if those red ones you wore tonight are anything to go by.’

So he’d noticed her footwear. Did that mean he remembered kissing her toes after removing her beautiful white lace wedding shoes on their wedding night? I won’t glance his way for fear he does remember every last little detail. ‘It wouldn’t be much of a fetish if I didn’t buy shoes in France.’ Two pairs were only the beginning. She had plenty of time to source more beautiful creations. And buy a second case to take her purchases home.