what he had really underestimated was his own reaction.
He thought heâd come to terms with all the choices heâd made, good and bad, all those years ago. But seeing her again, in the flesh, instead of on TV or in some papped snapshot in a magazine, had proved what a whopper that was. Because despite the gloss and the glamour and the Carolina Whatever-her-name-was designer suit, all heâd been able to see for a moment was the girl he had once fallen arse-over-tit in lust with.
The lush curve of her hips in the fitted skirt, the peaks of her full so-sensitive breasts beneath the silk blouse, the rich honey-blonde hair, which looked soft and tactile despite the ruthless updo, and even the sparkling intelligence behind the brittle contempt in her golden brown eyes.
Heâd been reeling from that shock when sheâd delivered another sucker punch to the gut. That not only wasnât his infatuation with her as dead as it should be, but he wasnâtas sorted about the rest of it, either. All the stuff heâd had years of therapy to overcome.
Because if he was, how could the misplaced pride and the defensive anger that had screwed him up so royally as a kid have popped out of hiding like a demented jack-in-the-box as soon as sheâd slapped him with that insulting offer?
Jean-François left him to finish his lukewarm espresso and full plate of pastries on his ownâand reconsider his plan.
Getting Halle to come to Tennessee with him had seemed like a no-brainer when heâd thought of the idea a month ago.
Having Halle in tow at Monroeâs resort would not only mean he could finally force her to talk to him about Lizzie, but the resulting articleâwhich he planned to be a clever exposé of exactly why Monroeâs eccentric methods didnât workâhad the potential to be huge.
The guy had come from nowhere to end up with endorsements from a host of Hollywood A-listers within a year. And was causing a storm with his bestseller,
The Extreme Path to Love and Reconciliation.
Getting the goods on the celebrity charlatan could even win him an award, if he pitched it right.
He stirred another sugar into his coffee, topped up the cup from the fresh pot the waiter had deposited on the table and took a fortifying sip. But the sugar-loaded caffeine hit did nothing to disguise the unpleasant taste of apprehension beginning to clog his throat.
Unfortunately, after his first merry meeting with the new, improved ball-busting Halle, he couldnât help wondering about the advisability of getting stuck for two whole weeks in the Tennessee wilderness with a woman who had lookedat himâwhen she actually bothered to meet his gazeâas if she wanted to stuff his reproductive organs through an industrial-grade mincer.
Chapter 4
âI canât believe it. You got Mr Perfecto to babysit us
both?
That is so humiliating.â
Trey Carson sawed the tuna sandwiches he was making for Aldoâs packed lunch in half while attempting to tune out the argument raging in the hall. He wasnât having much success, given that he had become the subject of Lizzie Bestâs latest spat with her motherâand her shrill angry tone could slice through lead.
He heard the muffled conciliatory tones of her motherâs reply, and even though he couldnât make out the words, he had to give his employer points for patience. Halle Best never raised her voice to her children. Especially Lizzie. He often wondered if she had a secret stash of weed in the house to keep her so calm in the face of so much provocation. His own mother would have given him a backhander if heâd dared to speak to her the way Lizzie spoke to her mum. Before she got sick that was â¦
He cut the sandwiches into quarters.
âLike I care that youâre going on some stupid book tour.â Lizzieâs lead-slicing tone echoed round the large open-plan basement kitchen again. âSo what else is
He thought heâd come to terms with all the choices heâd made, good and bad, all those years ago. But seeing her again, in the flesh, instead of on TV or in some papped snapshot in a magazine, had proved what a whopper that was. Because despite the gloss and the glamour and the Carolina Whatever-her-name-was designer suit, all heâd been able to see for a moment was the girl he had once fallen arse-over-tit in lust with.
The lush curve of her hips in the fitted skirt, the peaks of her full so-sensitive breasts beneath the silk blouse, the rich honey-blonde hair, which looked soft and tactile despite the ruthless updo, and even the sparkling intelligence behind the brittle contempt in her golden brown eyes.
Heâd been reeling from that shock when sheâd delivered another sucker punch to the gut. That not only wasnât his infatuation with her as dead as it should be, but he wasnâtas sorted about the rest of it, either. All the stuff heâd had years of therapy to overcome.
Because if he was, how could the misplaced pride and the defensive anger that had screwed him up so royally as a kid have popped out of hiding like a demented jack-in-the-box as soon as sheâd slapped him with that insulting offer?
Jean-François left him to finish his lukewarm espresso and full plate of pastries on his ownâand reconsider his plan.
Getting Halle to come to Tennessee with him had seemed like a no-brainer when heâd thought of the idea a month ago.
Having Halle in tow at Monroeâs resort would not only mean he could finally force her to talk to him about Lizzie, but the resulting articleâwhich he planned to be a clever exposé of exactly why Monroeâs eccentric methods didnât workâhad the potential to be huge.
The guy had come from nowhere to end up with endorsements from a host of Hollywood A-listers within a year. And was causing a storm with his bestseller,
The Extreme Path to Love and Reconciliation.
Getting the goods on the celebrity charlatan could even win him an award, if he pitched it right.
He stirred another sugar into his coffee, topped up the cup from the fresh pot the waiter had deposited on the table and took a fortifying sip. But the sugar-loaded caffeine hit did nothing to disguise the unpleasant taste of apprehension beginning to clog his throat.
Unfortunately, after his first merry meeting with the new, improved ball-busting Halle, he couldnât help wondering about the advisability of getting stuck for two whole weeks in the Tennessee wilderness with a woman who had lookedat himâwhen she actually bothered to meet his gazeâas if she wanted to stuff his reproductive organs through an industrial-grade mincer.
Chapter 4
âI canât believe it. You got Mr Perfecto to babysit us
both?
That is so humiliating.â
Trey Carson sawed the tuna sandwiches he was making for Aldoâs packed lunch in half while attempting to tune out the argument raging in the hall. He wasnât having much success, given that he had become the subject of Lizzie Bestâs latest spat with her motherâand her shrill angry tone could slice through lead.
He heard the muffled conciliatory tones of her motherâs reply, and even though he couldnât make out the words, he had to give his employer points for patience. Halle Best never raised her voice to her children. Especially Lizzie. He often wondered if she had a secret stash of weed in the house to keep her so calm in the face of so much provocation. His own mother would have given him a backhander if heâd dared to speak to her the way Lizzie spoke to her mum. Before she got sick that was â¦
He cut the sandwiches into quarters.
âLike I care that youâre going on some stupid book tour.â Lizzieâs lead-slicing tone echoed round the large open-plan basement kitchen again. âSo what else is
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