“Stop talking about sex or we’re going to need an ambulance for poor Pam.”
“I thought we were just having a lovely visit and talking about Paris,” she says faintly.
“We were.” James gives us a dark look, then focuses on me. “You’re just like your mother.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Declan’s protective streak kicks in.
“She can’t have a conversation without making it about sex.”
Dec opens his mouth to argue, frowns, and turns to me.
“He has a point, honey.”
“You’re the one who accused him of carrying a phallic piece of chocolate around! Not me!”
“She has a point, Declan,” James says.
“Shut up, Dad.”
“Hey, now—”
I half-drag poor Pam over to a small bench while Dec and his dad argue. “You okay?” She reaches out for Spritzy, who looks like he’s watching tennis, eyes bouncing between Pam and James.
“I think so. Is there really a three-foot piece of chocolate in the shape of a...you know...here at the hotel?”
I nod. “Yeah.” She makes me think for a second. “You definitely don’t want to go anywhere near the convention center right now. Steer clear.”
“Why?”
“There’s a sex toy and adult product industry trade show going on.”
“They have conventions for those? Like a software convention?”
“Well, there’s software...”
I think about the electro-conductive oil and the smartphone app for boner tracking and decide not to describe it. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” I add, backpedaling. “But...”
She shrugs. “Your mom insisted I should come along, so I did. It’s still Sunday, and I telecommute, so I went home, got my laptop and some clothes, and joined the entourage.”
“Entourage?”
“Me, Jason, Marie,” she ticks off people on the fingers of her right hand. “James.” She blushes.
I say nothing, but I tuck that reaction away for my future gossip-fest with poor Amanda.
“All four of you flew out here?”
“With Andrew and Amanda, yes. Six of us on the ‘lesser’ corporate jet.” Pam laughs. “Those were Andrew’s words.”
No wonder Andrew and Amanda are so eager to get away from everyone. My flight with Declan involved a private jet with a bedroom. They got to spend their first few hours of reunion at a medical facility and then on a long flight with their parents.
Not the best way to celebrate new love.
“You definitely don’t want to join Mom right now,” I warn Pam.
“Really?” She’s surprised. “Marie keeps saying I need to come check out some big food convention in the ballroom.”
“No,” Declan jumps in, palm out. “Don’t do it.” I find his sudden concern for Pam touching.
James frowns, looking at the Eiffel Tower. “You mean the sex convention?”
Pam whips around on him, her face somehow both pale and pink. “You knew about it?”
“Of course. It’s my resort. I know about everything.” James puffs up like a grey peacock.
Declan clears his throat and flexes his neck and arms. “Technically, Dad, it’s my resort.”
I cringe, but say it anyhow. “It’s actually Andrew’s. He’s CEO.”
You ever have two highly-attractive men pissed off at you simultaneously?
Yeah. It’s not as much fun as you’d think.
Declan fake-yawns. “I think I need to go to my room now. I need a nap. We’ve been through a lot.”
Nap. Right.
His fake yawn triggers a real one in me. I stretch up, blood flowing into sore, exhausted muscles, my movement catlike and thorough, a little vulnerable. My body doesn’t care, though, so I go with it and stretch all the way, not worrying if people watch.
Declan watches, all right. Mad at me or not, he can’t help it.
Knowing that is a gift. Being adored isn’t a state of being. It’s a process, and understanding it in your soul takes time, love, nourishment, and the endless, ongoing attentions of a horny guy who really does make you the center of his world, every day, by choice.
Every day.
The same damn choice.
Thank God.
“A nap sounds great,” I agree. He smiles. I really do mean that a nap, with actual spooning and sleeping and no sex, would be fabulous.
James and Pam pick up on our cues immediately, and with cursory hugs and handshakes, Dec and I are relieved to find ourselves headed back to the room.
“Don’t you have work to do? Calls to fend off from Southeast Asia? Nine hundred text messages from Grace to manage?”
“No. You’re what I’m managing now.”
“I’m a pretty major project.”
“My best work yet. Like any great project, I learn more about myself than I do about you.”
“What do you need to learn about yourself?” I ask, yawning halfway through the sentence, sounding like a tired lioness. “You’re so grounded. Focused.”
He nods contemplatively, biting the corner of his mouth. “Good. My cover’s intact. I fooled you.”
The elevator dings. We say nothing as we ride up, my arm around his waist, his around my shoulders, the feeling complete.
We enter the suite, walking past new racks of clothing I don’t care about. Declan crashes on the bed, eyes closed, on his back, legs hanging off the edge. He kicks off his shoes.
“Be back in a minute,” I tell him, going into the bathroom. The Shannon I see in the mirror isn’t the same woman I studied yesterday morning.