Just Fooling Around(50)

They said goodbye to Jean and walked down Royal in silence, not speaking until they’d turned the corner.

“You moved to England,” she said, unable to keep the accusation out of her voice. But it wasn’t the move that bothered her; it was what it represented.

“You moved to New Orleans.”

She closed her eyes against the harshness of his words, the tightness of his body, and, mostly, against the heat she saw reflected in his face, a desire that was so familiar, a desire she had assumed she would never see again.

“I had to,” she said, her voice breaking. “We’ve had this conversation before. You wouldn’t…and I couldn’t stay, not if staying meant waiting forever.” What she couldn’t say out loud, though, was that the distance hadn’t mattered. No matter what her motives, she hadn’t stopped waiting. Not really.

He reached out his hand for her, then pulled it back quickly as if the gesture had been unintentional and foolish. “I couldn’t risk you. Not you.”

She stopped walking, the emotion in his voice making her feel both cherished and angry. Cherished, because she truly believed that he cared. Angry, because he obviously hadn’t cared enough to keep looking.

And angrier still because he’d taken the choice entirely upon himself, never letting her have a say.

“Anne?”

“You stopped looking,” she said, her words an accusation, a weapon.

The weapon hit home; she saw him flinch.

“I couldn’t stand it anymore,” he said, and there was real pain in his voice. “Not knowing where to go next. Thinking I’d found a lead only to have it dry up in my fingers. I’d gone down every avenue, searched every place, and I knew it would never be over. And yet each time I found a possibility, I thought of you. And I hoped.” He closed his eyes, his throat moving as he swallowed. “After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I knew I had to stop. Just stop.”

“Without me,” she said, then mentally kicked herself for sounding so openly, desperately needy.

“What I believe hadn’t changed,” he said. “Marrying into a curse…” He trailed off with a shake of his head.

“Hadn’t changed?” she asked, because she was an English professor, and a subtle change in tense or word choice could somehow make all the difference.

He didn’t comment, but started walking again. Despite herself, hope flared within Anne. She hurried to keep up.

“I hear Cam and Jenna are doing well,” she said casually, as they turned onto Bourbon street.

“They’re very happy,” he said, after a short pause. She wondered what the admission cost him.

“And Devon and Chance,” she continued. “I haven’t talked to them myself, but Darcy says they’re doing fine. She was at Tulane for a seminar a few months ago. Apparently she’s doing great, too. What’s his name? Ethan?”

“Evan,” Reg corrected. “And they’re all doing great.”

“Hmmm.”

“They’re not you,” he said. “And I saw the woman I love broken and battered, and dammit, I couldn’t stand it.”

“I’m not battered anymore,” she whispered, hanging on to another key word: love. And in the present tense.

She barely dared to hope.

They’d reached the entrance to his hotel, and he slid past the doorman, not answering, and headed straight for the front desk. “Reg Franklin,” he said. “I’m here to check in.”

Anne leaned on the counter beside him, knowing it was time to say goodbye. This was his fight, and if he didn’t want her—or if he wasn’t willing to admit he wanted her—then she needed to leave. This man had already broken her heart once. She really didn’t want to stand by while he did it again.

For some reason, though, she didn’t leave.

“Franklin?” the clerk was saying as she tapped on her computer. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Franklin, but we don’t seem to have a reservation for you.”





3




REG STARED AT THE WOMAN behind the counter. “Could you repeat that?”

“I said we don’t have a reservation for Franklin. I’m sorry. Could I get your confirmation number?”

He clenched his fists at his sides, mentally kicking himself for not having the earlier girl write it down or print him a receipt. “I don’t have one.”

She looked at him as if he were something she’d scraped off her shoe. “I see. One moment.”

She started to type, and he leaned against the counter, as if proximity would result in a room. Beside him, Anne stood frowning.

“I was here earlier. I talked to a woman standing right where you are now. She said my room would be ready at eleven. Your people checked my bag.”