"She doesn't have a hold on me," he said quickly, perhaps too quickly, too insistently.

The memory of last night outside his apartment flashed before her, and she pressed on. "I think she does, though. She hurt you and seeing her reminds you of how deep that hurt is. Right?"

He sighed, then held up his hands in admission. "Fine. She hurt me. And, fine. I don't like seeing her. You got me on both accounts. Can we just talk about anything else?"

"We don't have to talk about her," she said. "But sometimes I want to talk about the past. I want to understand it. I want to move beyond it, and I want you to be able to as well. And maybe sometimes I want to do something physical to bring you back to the present, okay?" she said, staring hard in his eyes, refusing to let go of this issue. It was important to her. She didn't intend to let Joanna stand in the middle of them, whether they were friends or part-time lovers. "I hate that she hurt you. I don't want anyone to hurt you ever. But don't let the hurt define you. Don't let her define you. You have so much to give a woman, and I don't want you to lose out because of what she did, Nate."

He nodded slowly, then swallowed. "You're right," he said, as if the admission cost him something. "Seeing her just reminds of how stupid I was to ever trust her, and how I had no clue what she was up to. I had no idea that it was happening right under my nose. I was such a fool, Casey," he said, shame thick in his voice. "I went out to dinner with the two of them. They were at our apartment for a New Year's party once. He even thanked me for supporting my wife and putting her through the MFA program. The whole time they were having an affair. It probably would have gone on for another year if she hadn't left an email open on her computer when she asked me to check the movie times for a film we going to see that night," he said, cringing, and she rubbed a hand gently down his arm, as if that would somehow take the pain away. It wouldn't, but it was all she could do. "What if it happened again? How would I even know?"

"She's the exception. She's not the rule. Most people don't do that. I've never done that. I never would."

"I know you wouldn't," he said softly. "And yeah, I'd really like to keep moving past her too. So if you want me to be totally honest, this thing with you," he said, gesturing from her to him and back, then wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive fashion, "has done more for me than anything has to put her farther in the rear-view mirror."

Her lips curved into a smile. "Aha! So this isn't totally one-sided!" She pumped a fist.

He dropped his hands to her shoulder, clasping her firmly. "It was never one-sided. Get that through your head once and for all. It's all-sided. It's me-sided. It's two-sided. It's fifty-million sided," he said. "But if you want to start bringing up exes and talking about the past, I could say the same for you. Because Scott made you think you can't be true to yourself with a man. That you can't be forward. But some men love when you talk back and say what you want," he said, flashing her a naughty grin that was like a shot of sunlight in her chest when he pointed at himself. "Yet he somehow convinced you that you're not as beautiful or sensual or passionate as I've known you to be in just a few short weeks of playing your lover," he said, and she bristled at the word playing. Right now, she didn't want him to be playing. She wished they could stop playing, and he could simply be her lover. Not forever, not for all time, but for now.

For real, here in London.

But she focused instead on what he'd said about Scott. If she expected him to be honest with her, she had to do the same. "Yeah, he did a number on me. I felt like a failure in bed after him, and you've made me feel anything but," she said, and there it was again. That flash of vulnerability in his eyes. She'd seen playfulness in them, she'd seen laughter, she'd seen passion, and she'd seen anger. But now, there was something that seemed to go deeper; something that was usually reserved for someone who was much more than a friend.

He raised a hand to her face, softly brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "You didn't need to learn to let go. You didn't need to figure out how to give up control. You're perfect the way you are, and I love what you did to me in the dressing room. Giving up control isn't what makes for great sex. At least, that's not what does it for me."

Casey swallowed dryly. A swarm of butterflies flew in her chest. Things were changing with Nate, and she hardly understood what was happening, only how it felt inside her heart. Wild and free. "What does it for you?"

He locked eyes with her, and her insides flipped, a spark of desire swooping from head to toe. "What turns me on are two people who have to have each other. That's what makes for great sex-when you need to be as close to a person as you possibly can. It's about wild, sweatslicked, hot desire and your pulse pounding in your ear. It's about heat and need and want, and fucking in stairwells, and screwing standing up, and clawing off clothes to get at each other. It's about kissing her while you make love to her, and fucking her senseless at the same damn time."

Her skin sizzled. Her heart tried to fight its way out of her rib cage. Her fingers ached to touch him. The way he gazed at her made her feel as if all those words were meant for her. Maybe he was talking in general terms, or maybe he was talking about her. Her throat was dry, but she pushed past it. "Tonight? I have a request for tonight."

"Anything." His voice was raw.

"I want you to make me crazy. Drive me wild. I want to feel that abandon I've only felt with you. I want to be so wound up with desire that I practically beg for it," she said, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He licked his lips, and blew out a long stream of air. "Would you do that for me?"

"Don't you know by now? I'd do anything for you."

"Then on that note, I need you to let me slip away from you to shower," she said playfully, and he lifted his hands and she slid away. She grabbed her clothes for her meeting along with her makeup, then she rooted around in her bag for her toiletries, hunting for her Alba Botanica shampoo, but the search was fruitless. She cursed. "Crap. I did it again. I forgot my favorite shampoo."

She headed into the bathroom and reached for the hotel shampoo on the vanity. It was a good brand. She really couldn't complain about Aveda, even though it wasn't her favorite. His hand wrapped around her wrist, and he gently removed the Aveda bottles, and turned her around. Her eyes widened and she grinned like a fool to see him brandishing two small bottles of Alba Botanica. They were in a Ziploc bag and he dangled them from his fingers high above her head.

"Oh my God! Did I put them in your bag?"

He shook his head, looking as pleased as a cat that had captured a mouse.

"How do you have them then? Don't tell me it was in my bag and I didn't even notice."

He continued to shake his head. "Wrong again."

"Well?"

"I brought it for you."

"You did?" she said, her jaw going slack.

He nodded. "It's your Achilles' heel when you travel. You sometimes forget to bring your shampoo. And you're kind of obsessed with your hair."

"That's putting it mildly."

"So I brought some along just in case you forgot," he said, handing her the bag.

It was only shampoo. But it was so much more than shampoo. Her heart started a stampede again, galloping closer to him. To this man she was having some kind of strange, friendly, temporary affair with. A man who knew so much about her, and who seemed to embrace all her quirks, her habits, her needs, and in the last few weeks, her desires.

Her lips parted, and she was about to say all these things, but the clock was ticking. She tipped her forehead to the shower. "Thank you," she said, and then stripped to her birthday clothes, and stepped under the spray.

When she finished her shower, he handed her a towel, and as she started to dry off she knocked playfully on the shower door.

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" he asked.

"Dewey."

"Dewey who?"

"Do we really have to use a condom?"

He blinked once, like she'd caught him off guard. "I'm clean. I was tested before you," he said.

"Me too. And I'm on the pill," she said, trying to keep the conversation casual as she toweled off water droplets on her legs. But standing naked before him, having just showered, discussing the sex they planned to have, and sharing a room with him? It hardly seemed that what had started as casual could be classified that way anymore.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

London, afternoon . . .

Sofia showed Casey the new display at the signature retail location in Hyde Park, gesturing proudly to the shelf of white boxes emblazoned with the silver J for Joy Delivered.

"Look at all my babies," Casey said, pretending to grab at the boxes.

The tall and statuesque British woman flashed a bright smile. "And they've probably helped make a lot of babies too," she said with a wink.

"Good one."

"In any case, I wanted you to see our gorgeous new display. It's increased our foot traffic too, and boosted word of mouth. We're so excited to carry your products at the locations we're opening soon. Can you just imagine how smashing it will be to have the LolaRing join all her friends here?" Sofia said, clasping her hand over her heart, as if she truly was enthralled about the addition of a new vibrator to the crew of high-end pleasure devices the fancy pharmacy sold.

"I'm sure Lola will be delighted to keep such good company," Casey said, continuing the banter now that they'd finished the business details. The I's had been dotted and the T's had been crossed upstairs in Sofia's office, and the boutique was on board as another one of the exclusive launch partners for Joy Delivered's newest toy.

Sofia exuded class and sophistication from her understated black pumps, to her sleek navy dress, to her brown hair, twisted in a chignon. She was the head of the company named after her, and Casey wondered briefly if Sofia was a so-called alpha female too, and if she'd ever struggled in her social life because of it. Her gaze drifted briefly to Sofia's left hand-no ring. But then, the presence or absence of rings proved nothing. Sofia could still be in a committed relationship. Perhaps someday, the two women would chat about love and the challenges of its pursuit as women in business. For now, the focus remained on the products they peddled.

Sofia's voice turned more earnest. "I'm truly delighted to add the LolaRing to the lineup. I know you're choosy with your retail partners when rolling out new products, and I'm glad to be on the short list."

Casey bowed her head slightly. "I assure you, the honor is all mine. I couldn't be more thrilled to continue our partnership. It also looks like," she said, crossing her fingers, "we'll have a hotel chain on board too. I'll share names when it's finalized."

Sofia gave an approving nod. "Excellent. I'm sure I'll be wowed, since already it's an impressive short list," she said, lowering her voice as if they were discussing state secrets. "I hear Grant Abbot is on it. I only wish I had a reason to be in business with him." Sofia pretended to fan herself. "My, he's a handsome devil, isn't he?"

Casey laughed politely. "Yes. He is."

"I love Entice lingerie, of course, too. I had drinks with him at a conference once. He's such a flirt, and I even told him as much," Sofia said, as they walked away from the display.

Flirt. Yeah, that kind of described Grant. Flirty, and charming, and incredibly savvy, he was also a good business partner. The man had been fantastic so far to work with, delivering contracts on time, lining up the right people, and planning the details for marketing. Soon, she'd be seeing him so they could put the finishing touches on the rollout at his boutiques, and perhaps too exploring the possibilities of other partnerships. Her shoulders tensed at the thought. She wasn't quite sure how to behave with him. It had been a while, and so much had changed, hadn't it? She furrowed her brow, momentarily trying to recall her last meeting with Grant. But it had grown fuzzier, and much more muted, and she was going to have to do something about that very soon.

Casey tapped her foot and peered down the street. The early evening crowds weaved past her-men in suits and ties, women in smart dresses and business slacks. The workday had ended and Londoners were moving onto their nights, walking briskly along the chic New Bond Street in the heart of the West End. She stood under the black awning of the famed auction house with its elegant white facade, searching for Nate in the crowd, seeking out his familiar frame, his broad shoulders, his golden brown hair, his amber eyes. He'd texted her that he was running late, then texted her again to let her know his car had dropped him off several blocks away. The roads were so clogged with traffic that he'd get there faster on foot. The auction started in ten minutes, and if he didn't make it soon she'd have to go in solo. Which was fine by her because she didn't want to miss a chance to vie for the painting she'd been coveting.

She flipped open the catalogue to look at the image again.

Unfinished Love-a simple, but sumptuous image, the painting's story was told in broad brushstrokes and bright colors, depicting a man in a white shirt and a woman in a black dress kissing under a red umbrella. The best part was the woman's reaction. The leg pop. Ah, that got to Casey every time. The heel in the air, the one-legged kiss-the flamingo, she liked to call it. Such a symbol of the power of a certain kind of kiss, of the way it could undo a woman. To be kissed like that had always been her dream, and so this image was her quest, and she wanted it badly.

Like a gambler ready to lay down bets, she was poised to bid. She'd already registered and picked up her paddle. The clock drew nearer to the start of the auction. Another glance at her phone, another scan down the street, but still no Nate.

She reread the details, and the expected starting price for the painting: 3000. She could manage that. Extravagant, yes. But not wildly insane. Besides, art was her indulgence. Art like this made her happy; it made her heart sing. It was an uncomplicated love, one that fed her soul, and her hope for that kind of love someday. She sighed wistfully, wishing that that someday would come soon.

Until then, there was art, and that kept her going.

She thumbed through a few more pages to pass the time, then she gasped out loud. There was a new painting in the catalogue, and it called to her, with outstretched arms. Casey ran her index finger longingly over the photo. A late addition to the lot, the image was of that same man and woman, but this time without an umbrella, staring up at the sky, caught in the rain-big, buoyant raindrops that shone like stars.

She read the description.

Miller Valentina hadn't told anyone he was working on this new painting and had simply delivered it, along with his other works, to Sotheby's as part of this auction of modern art. Titled Big Love, Sans Umbrella, the catalogue entry contained a note from the artist: "This work took me by surprise. I hadn't planned to paint it, but perhaps Unfinished Love truly was unfinished because I had the insistent feeling that the sky had broken open and that there was more of their story to tell. So I told it."

She didn't entirely connect with the kind of metaphors and art-y language that painters told their tales in, but even so, something about this work touched her. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it-for the couple, the painter and the sky.

She read the price. It was more than Unfinished Love, but not by too much. Did she want both? Would that be too greedy? She craved the pair, but she talked herself down. They were just paintings. She didn't have to buy both. She'd do just fine with the one she'd come for. Even though they fit together, like a perfect match.

But where the hell was her date?

Then her spine straightened, and goosebumps rose on the back of her neck. She spun around, or maybe he spun her. It all happened so quickly, she couldn't tell where one moment ended and another began, only that this-her waiting-had blended into her being kissed, one second sliding seamlessly into the start of something ever more wonderful.

The kiss told her so much-that he was sorry for being late, that he'd missed her for the last several hours he'd been without her, and that this was the best part of his day.

Hers too.

This kiss was air, it was breath, and it was her heart on her sleeve. In the soft, slow sweep of his lips, in the hungry sighs they both made, in an instant, the kiss was everything.

Her heel popped up.

There it was. The final proof that no one had ever kissed her like he did, and no one probably ever would.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

London, evening . . .

Green.

All he saw was emerald green hugging every luscious curve.

Clinging enticingly to her body, a lure for him, and him alone. Like she'd clothed herself in the secret of their affair-the dress that drew him back to New York, and into the first night he'd made love to her. It was a private message in a language only he could understand.

"You wore it," he said, and something dangerously close to hope dared to surface inside him.

She nodded. "I told you I'd wear it for you. I keep my promises. Let's go," she said, pointing inside Sotheby's. She walked quickly, guiding him up the stairs, down the hall, and into one of the sales rooms that was abuzz with activity. The hum of hushed voices filled the air, and the auctioneer presided over the podium at the front of the room.

She pointed to a row in the middle and he slid in next to her. As she sat down and adjusted her skirt, he dipped his head to her neck, and whispered, "All day long, Casey. All day long."

She turned to him. "All day long what?"

The auctioneer spoke. "Good evening, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to tonight's sale of modern art."

"All day long I thought of driving you wild," Nate said, finishing the thought.

She shivered against him, pressing her shoulder closer to him. My God, touching her was such a high. She was like a cat, arching her back to be pet. Every move of her body in response to even the slightest touch drove him mad with lust. He dropped his hand on her knee, tracing lazy lines across her bare flesh as the first item went up for bids. It was a lithograph by a Belgian artist, and nothing she was keen on. She showed him her paddle, and said in a hushed tone, "Would you like to use this on me later?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I guess you'll have to see," she said, that taunting look in her eyes. It threw him off for a second; he wasn't sure if she'd returned to their games of seduction. Was she playing a part again, that of the tease, the temptress? He had no interest in those roles anymore. He'd need to rid her of all interest in them too. One more night of driving her wild might do the trick.

"Sold for four thousand pounds," the man said, and his assistants promptly brought a new work to the stage. "And now we have a sculpture from Franz Dubliner."

Casey shot him a concerned look at the word sculpture.

He leaned in. "I'm fine. Don't even think about it," he said. To keep proving his point, he brushed his finger along the inside of her knee, heading in the direction he craved. The woman next to Casey had her gaze locked on the item on display at the front of the room, but he honestly didn't care if anyone noticed that his hands were all over the woman in the emerald-green dress.

Casey's eyes fluttered closed as his finger drifted north. He continued his travels, a grin working its way across his face at her reactions. The subtle hitch in her breath. The sweet, sexy sigh she tried to hide. The press of her thigh against his as she moved her leg closer, seeking any kind of contact as art buyers surrounding them bid on a sculpture.