The S Before Ex. Mira Lyn Kelly
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The smoky intensity drained from Paulo’s face, leaving his expression flat. Hardly the sensual promise of a moment before.
“Pietro, Claire,” he answered. “Il mio nome non è Paulo.” With a cool indifference that put her dismissive smile to shame, he plucked her hand from his chest, brushed a kiss across her knuckles and let it drop limp at her side before walking away.
Not Paulo? Oh. Hell.
Claire stood immobile, watching her childish stunt stride off in true backfiring fashion, keenly aware that the man who’d crossed an ocean to see her wouldn’t simply evaporate and allow her shame to be swallowed in private.
No. Not a chance. Not Ryan.
“Wow, Claire. That was worth the flight over, right there.”
Hostility welled fast within her. It was unreasonable. Intense. And directed at the man who’d barely had the decency to cover his laughter with a cough. She spun on him, fists clenched at her sides, ready to lay in. “Ryan! You jacka—”
Only she stalled barely out of the gate, stunned by her first full on view of the man who’d once been her whole world. Ryan. Tall, broad and tapered in all the right proportions. Strong chiseled features and firm wide lips. Sharp brown eyes that could be as unyielding as frozen earth or as warm as melted chocolate, glinting amusement beneath a fall of straight dark strands incapable of laying flat.
He was all easy confidence, smooth charm and gorgeous man—everything she didn’t need, standing there before her in the middle of Piazza Navona.
He shouldn’t look so much the same. Not after all this time.
“Sorry about your boyfriend,” he offered with a wry twist of his lips that was anything but apologetic. Another day, around any other man, she would have been laughing at her own stupidity in trying to manufacture a relationship for what purpose she couldn’t even say. But around Ryan, she didn’t want to laugh. She didn’t want to revisit any common ground or shared entertainments. She didn’t want to think about what it had been like once upon a time.
She just wanted to move on. Which was why she’d had the petition to divorce drawn up.
Shaking her head, she asked him, “What are you doing here?”
The amusement faded from his features and Ryan met her with a level stare. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to bring you home.”
CHAPTER TWO
CLAIRE blinked up at him, her sky-blue eyes betraying an instant of vulnerability and confusion. Proof he’d gotten past her guard.
Good. She’d sure as hell gotten past his. First, filing divorce papers without so much as a single word of warning. Nothing like getting served in your office lobby while juggling a laptop, twenty ounces of scalding-hot coffee, three newspapers, smart phone, two messenger bags jammed with files, and holding a blueberry bagel in your teeth. Yeah, thanks for that, Claire.
And then, with that outrageous settlement proposal. And in typical Claire fashion, flatly refusing the smallest concession. Leaving that imbecilic lawyer of hers to stonewall him, even after he’d rather magnanimously offered to meet and discuss the situation in person. Going so far as to pole-vault across the Atlantic to dodge talking to him.
But as if all that weren’t enough, that first glimpse of her from across the square sure had been. She’d been sitting there in that legs-crossed, half-turned pose of feminine recline that extended all the right lines of a woman’s body—hands moving animatedly with her chatter, smiling beneath the warm sun. Smiling. Bursting with life. So different from the fragile thing she’d been the last time he’d laid eyes on her. He’d never expected it. Hadn’t been prepared for the sight of a woman he’d thought lost along with his marriage in a Boston emergency room almost nine years before. But there she was, radiant. Smiling while some lothario gave her his best go.
She’d tossed her hair over her shoulder in a simple, breezy gesture. One he’d always appreciated. The long strands came together like a fall of black silk streaming down her back, contrasting with the light complexion of her skin. Creamy pale but with a healthy blush of pink—and she’d laughed. She’d laughed and he’d felt it like the blistering relief of coming up for that first breath of air after a free dive.
And for a moment he was the guy he’d been when they met. Heart slamming in his chest as he ran off the track to chase down the girl whose lush lips had curled into that damn near criminal smile when he’d passed the stands. She’d knocked the wind from him more effectively than the six miles he’d just pushed through. And she’d kept him running, kept him chasing, until it was either have her or die trying.
Sweet, soft, sexy Claire.
Everything he’d wanted—and for a while she’d been his. He’d never burned so hot for a woman. Not before. Not since. But it hadn’t lasted. Things had broken between them that couldn’t be fixed. Claire had broken. They’d gone their separate ways and his priorities had changed. Eventually he’d gotten used to them being apart rather than together.
He’d gone on with his life. Done a bang-up job of it. But, seeing her again … she was too beautiful, and that smile—all he could do was stare.
And then that punk had gone and blown it. Pushing too hard and turning a smile Ryan hadn’t even dared to dream of seeing again into the cold untouchable twist of lips that wasn’t even in the same universe as what it replaced.
It made him angry. At the guy, at Claire. At himself for even noticing, let alone caring about it. She’d definitely gotten past his guard, but it wouldn’t happen more than once.
Claire blinked again and with the lift of those thick black lashes all signs of vulnerability were gone, leaving a challenging confidence shining in their stead. “Take me home?”
He opened his mouth to clarify, but let it slip into a grin when she went on without bothering to wait for his response.
“Are you insane? On some medication? I’m not going to the corner with you.”
“Keep your panties on, Claire. I’m talking about sitting down to work out a settlement. An acceptable settlement. Because there’s not a chance in hell I’ll let you get away with this.”
He’d had enough of Claire’s unwillingness to consider any perspective beyond her own. She’d wasted enough time already. Their lawyers’. His. And he was through sitting idle while she cut him off and closed him out. He wanted the settlement wrapped up. Packaged in a way where he’d be able to go on with a clear conscience. And since Claire clearly wasn’t broken anymore, he was taking off the kid gloves to do it.
Arms folding across her chest in a slow, steady show of determination, she glared up at him. “Let me?”
Okay, that may have been a poor word choice, but when it came right down to it … He firmed up his own stance, letting his expression fall into its natural state of no-nonsense command. “Yeah, let you.”
Claire stood staring up at him, her eyes widening with dawning recognition that he wasn’t interested in game play. Or maybe not, because then those wide eyes began to narrow in what appeared to be shrewd assessment. As if she was … sizing him up?
Taking a deliberate step into his space, she glared at him. “I don’t need you to let me do anything, Ryan. I haven’t for years. In case you missed the news flash, I’m an independent professional who’s built a successful career out of knowing my own mind. I know what I want. I know what I need. Just like I know what I don’t.”
She let the implication hang, the jab finding its mark without the benefit of voice.
“Yeah, kudos on the independent thinking, Claire, you’ve done a bang-up job with the gallery in New York. But I don’t care what you think you want or don’t want—”
“What part of I don’t want