What if you had a second chance to get it right with your one true love? What if your reunion was neither planned or welcomed? Yeah, it's complicated. Let's take a look.
Book blurb for Dancing Barefoot…
Jessica Moriarty appears to have it all—a successful career as an architect, a loyal group of friends, a gorgeous apartment, and an on-again-off-again affair with Boston's most eligible bachelor. Behind this “perfect life” façade, Jessica hides the loss she feels over giving up her dream career as an artist, copes with a destructive relationship with her alcoholic mother, and struggles with heartbreak over a lost love.
Jacques Sinclair only needs his cameras, a backpack, and a good pair of walking shoes. A world-renowned photographer, he is a man without boundaries. Despite fame and fortune, he still yearns for the woman who shattered his heart when she vanished from his life five years ago.
A chance meeting brings Jacques and Jessica back together. Reunions aren't always planned or welcomed, but chemistry has a way of revealing what is denied. Ensnared in a web of sabotage and conspiracy—carefully constructed by people who want to control their lives—Jacques and Jessica struggle to trust each other, break free from the status quo, reclaim their love, and build a life of extraordinary possibility.
Excerpt of first meeting...
He gripped the railing tighter than necessary. There she stood, the living embodiment of a recurring dream, Jessica Moriarty. Oversized blue eyes looked up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, short black hair emphasized her long neck and sharp chin, although familiar, she looked like a perfect stranger. Too put together, too thin, too hard. Not his Jessica any longer.
He missed her all
over again.
“You were going to
run again, weren’t you? Even after all this time?” His heart did a back
flip.
She took another
step backward without taking her eyes from his face.
“We’re going to be
late for dinner with Miranda Jenkins,” Kevin said. “We’re already behind schedule.” His
assistant looked between the two of them, confusion obvious in his eyes.
"Jacques, seriously. We need to go."
“Wait for me in
the car,” he said without looking away from her.
“But—”
“Go away, Kevin.”
He stepped down without looking away from those eyes of hers.
“I’m surprised you
recognized me,” she said.
“No, you’re
not.” He would know her anywhere.
“I thought you had
gone… the lady said…so you live in New York now?”
“You bought my
book.”
“The cover caught
my attention.” A quiver of uncertainty rippled beneath her voice.
“Rome.” The
word—the place—carried more meaning than he wanted to admit.
History brewed between
them with the intensity of a summer storm.
“I guess I can now say I knew you when.”
Tension pulsated off her like a force field.
“Yes, I suppose
you can.” Eloquence eluded him. Seeing her here hadn’t been a part of his
plan. Not that he had made a plan
exactly…but he had had an idea... a pitiful fantasy.
“I wondered if I
would see you,” he said.
“You did?”
“Being in Boston,
I wondered.”
“Um…well, I was
walking by and—”
“Why come
inside?”
“I wanted…” Her words tapered off as her gaze roamed over
his face.
“What did you
want?”
“Your book. I…you did this, you did what you set out to
do, I wanted to…see it.”
“Is that all you
wanted to see? A book of photographs?”
“Well, yes. I mean, no.”
Chemistry had a
way of existing despite the conscious mind’s wishes. The air between them moved
and shimmered like heat rising from pavement.
“Do you want me to
sign it?” He moved from the last stair
separating them.
“No, that’s not
it. I wanted to see you.”
“Why?” His gaze
skimmed over the straight hair that skimmed her chin in perfect symmetry.
Always a beautiful woman, she now looked fragile. Skin too pale, probably from that stable job
she had always wanted in her secure little world hidden away from sunlight and
reckless men like him. “Why did you come
inside, Jess?”
“Curiosity.”
“About how I
turned out? How I survived? Is that what you’re curious about?” He
clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides, determined to remain immune to
those eyes of hers. He had rehearsed
this scenario a million times since Italy.
Cool and aloof, he coached
himself, must remain emotionless.
“You’re not making
this easy.” Her back straightened while
her chin lifted.
“Easy? What do you expect? A hug?
A happy reunion?” He noticed the fighting stance and grinned. Feisty.
Maybe she hadn’t changed that much after all.
She shifted her
weight from foot to foot. “You’ve
changed.”
“For the better,
right? Do you smell the success on me
now? Is that what lured you inside? Am I suddenly more acceptable to you? Don't be too hopeful. I'm still a gypsy, this
is just a detour, kind of like Italy was for you.”
She flinched. Her hands shook when she shoved them through
her hair.
Deep inside his
chest, his heart stirred with protectiveness.
He didn’t want to hurt her. That
hadn’t been his intent. If he had his
way, she would be his wife today. But he
hadn’t had his way. She had deceived
him, manipulated him into falling in love with her as a summer plaything, and
disappeared one day without saying good-bye.
But, regardless of how she had felt about him, he had loved her. That’s why her leaving had hurt so badly, why
it still hurt. Five years wasn’t that
long ago, only a heartbeat in time.
“Jacques, we
really need to leave. We have dinner
with Jenkins then our flight back to New York.
We can’t—” Kevin ended his statement with a broad gesture of
frustration.
He nodded and
shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. If ever he needed an
escape, it was now. “Bring the car
around. I’ll meet you outside.”
“Well, if you’ve
got to go, I'll get out of your way," she said.
“People are
waiting for me.” He winced at the verbal
acknowledgment of his compromises.
His gaze drifted
over her again. “Corporate America treating you well? Let me guess…you always work late, are
committed only to your career, have given up art, have a stable boyfriend who
wears suits and talks about the stock market, are still trying to please a
mother who never understood you, have compromised to the point of losing
yourself completely…am I close to the truth?”
Her smile faded. “Five years is a long time to hold a grudge.”
“It isn’t long
enough.” He wished this rendezvous could
go differently, but bitterness tainted his words. He reminded himself of his immunity to
her. Cool. Aloof.
“I never said I had a grudge against you. Why would I? That would mean I think about
you and I haven’t in years.”
“I can see that you haven’t given me a thought
at all. You must have forgotten who this
was, then?” She held his book up to his face.
Brains and beauty,
a combination he now avoided.
“Perhaps I did
forget it was you. Hundreds of women and even more photographs…” He ripped his
gaze from the cover of his book. He had
used that photograph hoping she would see it some day and be hurt by the
memory.
It had been taken
the morning after he had proposed to her in Rome. They had ridden down from Florence on his
motorcycle, splurged on a fancy hotel, drank wine out of plastic cups, fed each
other bread with their fingers, laughed as they made love over and over again.
“Why are you
lying? You—”
“Of the two of us,
you are the expert liar.” He thrust the
book back into her hands. “What do you want?”
She slid the book
into her messenger bag. Unshed tears
glistened in her eyes. When she looked
away, he could almost see the fight for control within her. When she looked back, eyes were dry. Scary
control. When had she learned that
disturbing skill? Not that he should
care, he didn't. Her life. Her choices.
They'd both moved on.
“You’re good at
that, aren’t you?” he asked despite himself.
“Good at
what?” Her gaze slid to his chest.
“Hiding what
you’re really feeling. What an actress you are.” Even as he said the words, he
wished he could reach into the air and stop them from being heard.
Her blue eyes
hardened like a frozen glacial lake. She
stood tall. “I almost didn’t come
inside, but now I’m glad I did. You’ve
turned into a real ass. Fame must have warped
your brain. It’ll be much easier to
forget you now.”
“You’ve had years
to forget me,” he said.
“I failed.” Her chin trembled. She shrugged in defeat. “I failed, okay? Is that what you need to hear? I haven’t forgotten Florence, Rome, our
apartment, you...any of it. I think
about it all daily.”
"Do you ever
stop lying?" he asked, wishing he'd left the gallery on time to avoid this
all together.
Their gaze
connected and held.
Irritated by her
presence, his lack of control and life in general, he strode toward the door. Time
to leave.
He stopped in the
doorway and turned, unable to simply leave her behind even though he knew he
should. “You were going to run away from
me again when you realized I was still here, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Guilt for his
behavior settled in his heart and sickened him. She'd mattered to him, had been the center of
his world...once upon a time not too far in the past. “I’m sorry for treating you badly. You took me
by surprise."
She walked toward
him, a hesitant grin on her trembling lips.
She looked foreign to him in her crisp white blouse, red skirt and high
heels.
“I wish we had
more time, we could talk, get a drink, catch up. That wouldn't be so terrible, would it?”
“I need to go
before Kevin has a nervous breakdown.”
Irritation snapped through his nervous system. He wanted to take her to dinner and force her
to eat pasta, mess her hair up, make her laugh and see...well, see what had
happened to the woman he had loved, find out the real reason she'd given up on
their future together. But getting
involved in her life again—even in a small way—would be detrimental to his heart
health. So why did he want it so badly? “Kevin’s like you, always worried about
being late.”
“How do you stand
him?” Her tentative grin became a smile.
“I fire him daily
but he refuses to go away.” He would not meet her eyes again as they walked together
onto the street. Awkwardness stretched between them.
“You don’t have a
few minutes? Just to talk? Catch up?
We could have coffee or a drink?
After your dinner?” She kept his
pace, stood too close, looked at him with those big blue eyes. Damn her.
He wanted more
than a drink. He wanted hours. He wanted an explanation.
When she rubbed
the back of her neck, he noticed the ring on her finger. Hurt and anger took their rightful place in
his heart. Resolve restored, he looked
down the block for any sign of Kevin and the get away car.
“We have said all
there is to say,” he said.
“We could—”
“Could what? Talk about old times over a cold drink in a
crowded bar?” He closed the space
between them. “Do you know how many women
want to have a drink with me, Jess?”
“I’m not a
stranger.” She stood her ground,
straightened her spine and tilted her chin as if willing to go toe-to-toe with
him. Maybe she hadn't changed so much
after all.
“What do you want
from me?” His gaze pierced hers looking
for a glimpse of truth beneath the facade.
“I don’t want
anything from you.”
“What did you
expect when you came here? You expected
something. Deny it.” The temptation to
yank the ring from her hand boiled beneath his skin. She had no right to wear it.
“I don’t know what
I expected.”
“You’re
wrong. I knew this would be hard. I—”
“And you couldn’t
come during scheduled hours, you waited to catch me off-guard, to…” he struggled
for the right word. A native French
speaker, sometimes English escaped him when he needed it most.
“I worked
late. I thought I'd missed you, hoped I
had.” She stepped within inches of
him. “I was scared, is that what you
want to hear?”
He silently cursed
Kevin for taking so long with the car.
“That was your excuse in Italy, too.
Scared little Jessica. Haven’t
you grown up yet?”
Her head jerked
back as if he'd slapped her.
“I shouldn’t have
come.” She stepped backward.
“No, you shouldn’t
have. I’m better for not knowing you.”
He shook his head. He had had
enough. Of all the scenarios he had
played out in his mind, this conversation was all wrong. He hated himself for
the words he said.
“So am I.” She faced him on the sidewalk, black hair
tossing away from her face in the breeze and eyes snapping blue fire. “I don’t need to know an arrogant jerk who is
so wrapped up in his bitterness that he can’t see when he’s wrong. I mean look at you.” She gestured widely at his chest. “You can’t even tuck in your shirt. You’re an overgrown boy.”
He glanced down at
the shirt that had come loose from his jeans.
With a laugh, he met her gaze. “I
usually have a woman inspecting me before I go into public.”
Jaw clenched, she
watched the passing traffic. Profile to
him, she nodded. “I know you hate
me. Fine. I accept that. But because I’m here, because it’s obvious
this is the last time I'll see you, I need to say something.”
He patted his
jeans for a cigarette. He had picked the
wrong time to quit. “Say it then.”
Her hand seized
his wrist. The contact stopped his frantic search and ceased his
breathing. He dragged his gaze to her
face.
“I’m sorry.” She squeezed.
“You were the last person on earth that I ever wanted to hurt. I truly am sorry. It wasn’t a lie. I know you think that the entire summer
together was a lie, but it wasn’t.”
He yanked his hand
free from her touch. “I don’t hate you.”
Eyebrows arched
over eyes filled with doubt. “Now who’s
lying?”
A honking horn
snapped his attention from her. Kevin waved from a double-parked sedan. “Jacques, really, we can’t keep Ms. Jenkins
waiting."
“You have a
showing here next week, I hear.” She
followed him to the car.
“Yes, I do."
“Are there more
photographs of me on display? Shouldn't I have had to sign a release or
something? Miranda's my friend, people I know will be here. I have a right to
know.”
“And we both know
how important your reputation is, don't we, Jess? What will people say?” Coming to Boston had been a huge mistake. He
opened the door to the rented car. “Sue
me.”
“Let me meet you
later,” she said again, surprising him.
"I thought I
was an overgrown boy and an arrogant jerk that you're better for not
knowing." He squinted at her, one
foot in the car and one out. Cars honked
on the busy Boston street. Why wouldn’t
she go away? The idea that she wanted
something from him needled at his consciousness. She still wore his ring. She looked gorgeous, yes, but hollow as if
all the life had been sucked out of her somewhere along the way. Not his problem, though.
“What the hell is
going on, Jacques? Get inside. We need to go.” Kevin leaned across the seat
and looked at him.
“I want a do over
in the worst way.” She didn’t make a
move to leave; instead she stared at him as if willing him to read her
mind.
"Do
over?"
"Jacques,
seriously, get in the car." Kevin laid on the horn again.
"Well, I
guess I'll let you go." She stepped back, collided with the parked car,
which sent off the alarm. Cursing, she shoved her hands through her hair.
“You let me go in
Florence.” He sat inside the car and slammed the passenger door closed.
“No grudge,
huh?” Her grin didn’t reach her eyes.
“Buena sera, bellezza
mia."
“Ciao, caro,” she
answered, Italian slipping off her tongue as if they had been speaking it every
day together like they had once done.
He leaned his
elbow on the open window and watched her step onto the sidewalk. He bit back a smile at how naturally she'd
replied in Italian. He leaned back in
the seat and motioned for Kevin to drive.
The car maneuvered from the curb and into traffic. He adjusted the side mirror to watch
her. Head bent, she walked down the
block. He watched in silence until he
lost sight of her.
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1 comment:
Loved this Amber. My heart ached for both of them. Beautiful writing.
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