These characters don’t belong to me. I just borrowed them for a while.

Adult content.

It Was Always You

Part Three

by

Jan

Fran’s mouth went dry as she lowered her head and studied the closed doors before her. Thank God there were other people with them on the elevator. Maybe he hadn’t noticed her. "Yeah, right," she thought to herself. "Like he’s not going to recognize this voice." Hopefully, his floor was the twelfth, and she would be able to just slip out without having to acknowledge him. She looked up at the floor indicator—only the third—and prayed it would be the fastest elevator in history. Just then, there was a ding and the elevator slowed.

"Excuse us," said the woman behind her, and Fran stepped aside as the doors opened. Both of the other two people got off. Fran searched the hallway for more passengers to join them, but the doors slid closed leaving just the two. "God," she thought, "of all the thousands of people in Manhattan, how in the hell did we end up alone on an elevator?"

Then she heard that British voice and her heart practically stopped. "Hello, Miss Fine," it said. She turned around slowly and looked directly at him. His eyes were even greener that she had remembered.

"Hello, Mr. Sheffield," she said in an uneven voice. "And it’s Mrs. Sheehan." An uncomfortable silence hung between them. Finally, Fran took a deep breath before saying, "Oy, this isn’t too awkward or anything."

Max gave her a crooked little smile, and the tension between them seemed to ease a bit. "How have you been, Fran?" he asked warmly.

"Good. How about you?" she said, trying to sound casual.

"Just fine." He took a step forward to stand right next to her. "I hear you’re living in Great Neck now." She smiled and nodded. "Well, if it’s a three-bedroom split level, I must congratulate you on achieving your dream."

She smiled at him self-consciously and said, "Thanks." For a brief moment, another dream flashed across her mind. One of a mansion in Manhattan with a butler, three beautiful children, and a handsome millionaire. Pushing that thought aside quickly, she said, "I have my own business now—a boutique." She wondered if he could see her hands shaking.

"How nice for you," he said. "I believe Margaret mentioned something about that to me. What sort of things do you sell at your boutique?"

"Home décor, decorative items. You know, tsatchkes," she said with a bit of a coy grin.

Blushing slightly, Max smiled at the memory. Looking at her warmly, he said, "I’ll bet you have some beautiful ones." Fran averted her eyes quickly, wondering if the double entendre was intended.

Eager to change the subject, she took a deep breath and said, "So, how are the kids?"

"Fine, just fine. They’re all doing quite well." He paused pensively for a moment and then added, "Better than I expected, actually."

Fran got a puzzled look on her face. "What do you mean, better than you expected?"

Max cleared his throat. "Well, I mean, they seem to have gotten over your leaving them better than I expected."

Fran was taken aback at that. "My leaving them?" she asked, a bit indignant. She set her briefcase on the floor and took a deep breath. Pointedly, she stated, "May I point out to you, Maxwell Sheffield, that I did not leave your children? I may have moved out of your house, but I have spent plenty of time with those three kids over the last five years. I’ve remembered every birthday and Christmas. I’ve listened to their problems and given them advice on everything imaginable." The more she talked the more incensed she became. "They’ve been to my house many times. I didn’t leave your children." Her breathing came rapidly now as her finger darted out directly at his chest. "How dare you put the blame for any loss they might have suffered on me!"

Max reached over and hit the stop button, and the car came to a halt. As he turned to her with his eyes narrowed, he spat out, "Why shouldn’t I blame you? You blew into our lives, made us all fall in love with you, and then you just walked out!" Fran’s eyes opened wide in astonishment and her mouth fell open. "Oh, don’t look at me like that," he barked. "You knew perfectly well how I felt about you."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?" she practically screeched. "The one time you managed to say it, you took it back!"

He blew out an exasperated breath, unable to mask the accusatory tone in his voice. "You knew I needed time to come to terms with Sara’s loss. But you were in such a white hot hurry to get married, you couldn’t wait! So you walked out on all of us the first chance you got."

"White hot hurry? Oh, my God! I waited five years for you!" She held up all five fingers on her left hand and shoved them in his face. "And just how hard could it have been to get your head screwed on straight? Oh, I guess it wasn’t too tough. How long ya been married now?" she mocked.

Anger at her words shot out of his eyes. "How dare you make light of what I suffered losing Sara!"

She reached over and pushed the start button forcefully. She turned her back on him and willed her breathing to slow so he couldn’t see the effect his words had had on her. She had waited five long years for him to declare his love, and now he had the audacity to blame her for leaving him. Fran felt tears stinging her eyes, but there was no way she would let him know.

Max rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. How the hell could this woman exasperate him to such a degree? They hadn’t seen each other in five years, and in less than two minutes she had him ready to strangle her. And during all that time, he had truly missed her and mourned the emptiness her leaving had left. He had always thought that if he ever had the chance to see her, to talk to her again, he would let her know just how much he appreciated everything she had done for him and the children and how sorry he was that they had parted on such uncomfortable terms. He would tell her how much he had regretted not having her friendship over the last five years. And he had almost done it. There had been a moment there when he felt a sliver of hope that they could reconnect at least on some level. But he had blown it with that "better than expected" remark. He had allowed his hurt to come out, and that had drawn out hers. God, he was such a bloody fool!

He looked up at the floor indicator. The tenth floor. He had just a few more seconds, and he had to take the chance. "Fran, I’m sorry. I don’t want to leave things this way between us." She didn’t turn around. "Can we meet for lunch or coffee or something? I really think we need to talk."

Just then the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Without turning around, Fran stated coldly, "I think you’ve said plenty, Mr. Sheffield, and I’ve got nothing more to say to you." With that, she picked up her briefcase and stepped out of the elevator. She sucked in a cleansing breath and lifted her chin as she started down the hall.

"Fran, please, wait," he called out to her back. "Can I at least call you?"

She kept walking toward David Brown’s office willing the elevator doors to close with Maxwell Sheffield on the other side of them. She stopped in front of the door to Suite 1103. As she reached out her hand to open it, she allowed herself a quick glance back at the elevator. Breathing a quick sigh of relief, she pushed the door open and walked into her lawyer’s office.

*****************

Max sat at his desk scribbling some notes on the budget for his upcoming play. Suddenly, his pen hung in mid-air as he tried to recall what he was about to write. Frustrated, he tossed his pen down. He was so distracted he couldn’t seem to make any headway on his work, and it was happening more every day since that incident in the elevator last week. Even now, five years later, she had the ability to creep into his thoughts and take over.

He leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath. What the hell was wrong with him? She was married now, and so was he. Jeff was a great guy. She had her dream house in Great Neck and a flourishing business. She had made a very nice life for herself, and he wasn’t part of it. Couldn’t he just let it go at that? And he had a wonderful life himself. Maggie, Brighton, and Gracie had all grown up to be happy, intelligent, independent young people. He had a warm, loving wife whom he cared for dearly and his production company was doing better than it ever had. He should just leave things the way they were.

But he just couldn’t. Something was bothering him. It just seemed a shame, after all they had once had together, to go through the rest of their lives not speaking. They had parted five years ago both hurt, their emotions too raw to have any kind of a relationship. But last week in the elevator there was a glimmer of hope—a remnant of their former friendship had surfaced, and it felt so good. And it had to be hard on the kids seeing them so far apart. Maggie, Brighton and Gracie had managed to deal with her leaving and maintain a warm and caring relationship with her. What kind of an example was he setting for them? It would be better for everyone concerned if he could show that he was capable of forgiving and forgetting so that they could all get together and enjoy each other’s company whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Max pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the contacts list. There was her number. His thumb hovered over the "send" button. He had already left three unreturned messages. She had made it clear when she left him standing in the elevator that she had nothing more to say to him. Why did he even think she would return his voice mails? When he had asked Brighton for Fran’s cell phone number, he had hoped her grand exit was just her anger talking, and that after some time to reconsider, she would agree to have lunch with him. He could just kick himself for turning what could have been a warm, nostalgic reunion into another hurtful exchange. He wanted to apologize—for many things. He needed to apologize—for everything. He took a deep breath and pushed "send."

Waiting for her to answer, he was suddenly panicked. What could he say that he hadn’t already said? What exact words could he use to sway her to agree to talk to him? Then he heard her voice mail greeting, and he wavered for a moment not sure if he should leave another message that she probably wouldn’t return anyway. Just then Laura came strolling into his office, and Max instinctively snapped his phone shut. He looked up at her, hoping his smile covered the fact that he felt as though he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Hello, sweetheart," he said.

"Hi, honey. Are you just about through for the day?" Laura stood in front of his desk and leaned toward him, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, I was just finishing going over some budget items. What’s up?"

"Well, I just wanted to remind you about the Harrison’s dinner party tonight. We should probably start getting ready soon if we’re going to be on time."

Max looked at his watch. "I didn’t realize it was so late. I should have gotten a lot more work done today than I did." He closed the file he’d been working on and slipped it into a drawer.

"I’ll lay out your tuxedo," Laura said as she turned to leave his office. Max stared at the cell phone in his hand. Slowly, he set it down on his desk. Then he picked up the photo of him and Laura on their honeymoon. He smiled to himself thinking about how wonderful the last few years with her had been. She was so warm and genuine, and their married life was everything he had hoped it would be.

And he was looking forward to the dinner party that evening, certain it would be an elegant yet pleasant evening. Laura was so charming and fit in so well with his circle of friends. It was nice not having to worry that she might wear something too revealing or say something inappropriate. Not like all those years when he never knew what to expect taking Fran to one of his elegant affairs. "Where the hell did that come from?" he thought to himself. There she was again, sneaking into his thoughts.

He set the picture down and heaved a huge sigh. He took off his glasses, stood up, and headed for the door. Yes, he had a very nice life now, and he was truly thankful for that. As he was reaching for the light switch, he paused and turned. He allowed himself a brief moment of reflection as he stood and stared at the corner of his desk. Then turning his attention to the evening ahead, he shut off the light and closed the door behind him.

***************

Max came down the back stairs and suddenly perked up as the sound of children’s voices greeted him. "Grandpa!" the two tots chirped as Max came on into the kitchen.

"Now, here are my favorite grandchildren!" he exclaimed, walking over to kiss them on their heads as they sat at the kitchen table eating cookies. "Margaret, I didn’t know you were coming over."

"Yeah," Maggie said, giving her dad a quick hug. "Laura, Niles, and I are making some plans for Brighton’s graduation party."

As Max reached into the cabinet for a coffee cup, Niles came into the kitchen. Taking one look at the cookie mess smeared all over the youngsters’ faces, he scooped one child up in each arm and headed upstairs for clean up. Max poured himself some coffee. Trying to sound nonchalant, he said, "Uh, Margaret, have you spoken with Fran lately?"

"Yeah, we had lunch a couple of days ago. Why?" she asked, curious.

"Oh, I was just wondering if she mentioned that we had run into each other last week," said Max taking a sip of his coffee.

Maggie tried to hide the look of mild surprise on her face. "No, she didn’t mention it. I thought you two weren’t speaking."

"Well, actually, we did visit for a few minutes, and she told me a little about her business. I was just wondering if you knew where it was located."

"It’s in Great Neck," Maggie told him. "You should see it, Dad. It’s really a cool shop. She’s got some great stuff—even some antiques. I’ve bought a few things from her. You know that cobalt blue vase I’ve got on the mantle? That came from Fran’s shop."

"Hmm—no, I didn’t realize that’s were you got that. Just where in Great Neck is her shop?" he asked, trying to keep his tone conversational.

"It’s on Bayside Drive, but she’s opening a branch here in Manhattan. On 57^th, near Third, I think. She promised to send me an invitation to the grand opening."

Max thought to himself that opening a business in Manhattan would certainly explain her presence in the Flatiron Building last week. He cleared his throat and in a casual tone said, "Could you let me know when you receive that invitation? I’d like to send her a little something, you know, to wish her luck on her new business venture."

Maggie eyed her father. "What’s going on, Dad? I thought you and Fran never wanted to see each other again. I mean, she didn’t exactly leave here under the best of circumstances."

"You’re right, Margaret," he conceded, "and it’s a shame we’ve been at odds so long. After all, she was your nanny and a very important part of this family for five years. We’re both adults. There’s no reason we can’t be civil to each other."

Maggie shrugged slightly. "Ok, Dad, whatever you say. I’ll let you know about the grand opening." Just then, Niles reappeared with one squirming child under his arm and the other pulling on his pant leg. Max topped off his coffee and headed back to his office.

His mind was turning a mile a minute. He was trying to figure out why he was so determined to set things right with Fran. He only knew that seeing her last week at the Flatiron had relit something that had been missing in him the last five years. She had brought such fire and joie de vivre to his household when she had come knocking on his door with her Shades of the Orient cosmetics case, and that spark had been snuffed out the instant she left. And although Laura had brought a warm gentleness with her, Max now realized how much he had missed Fran’s vivacity. No matter what had happened between them, he still valued the friendship they had once had, and he missed that. For the sake of his children and his grandchildren, and for himself, he had to keep trying to get at least some small part of that back into their lives.

******************

Max’s brisk pace down 57^th Street slowed as he neared Third Avenue. There it was, just three doors down. "Fran’s Finds" the sign read. Then in smaller script, "Stylish Home Décor." He stopped at the edge of the plate glass window and peered in. The grand opening was still several weeks away, but he could see that there was already some activity inside. Boxes were stacked all over the floor while most of the shelves still stood empty. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the door, grasped the knob and gave it a twist. It wouldn’t turn. Cupping his hands to shade his eyes from the glaring sun, he looked through the glass door. He saw a young man come out of the back room carrying a large, cumbersome box. Max tapped lightly on the glass. The young man set the box down and looked up. "We’re not open yet," he called out to Max.

Max motioned for him to come over to the door. The boy repeated himself more loudly, and Max beckoned him to the door again. The young man sauntered over, flipped the lock, and opened the door slightly. "I said we’re not open yet."

"Yes, I heard you the first time," Max said, slightly exasperated. "I was wondering if Fran Fi--Sheehan is here. I’m an old friend of hers, and I’d like to speak with her if she has a minute."

The boy hesitated. After a few seconds, he decided that Max didn’t look much like a robber, so he pulled the door open and let him in. "She’s in the back. Hang on—I’ll get her," he said as he turned to head toward the back room.

After a few minutes, Fran came out of the back slightly out of breath. She was wearing jeans and an NYU t-shirt, her hair pulled up haphazardly with wisps of it hanging in her face. She reached up and swiped the back of her hand across her forehead. As she looked around the shop, she called out, "Josh, who did you say was--." Suddenly, she froze as her eyes landed on Maxwell. Her eyes narrowed and she didn’t move from her spot. "What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped out.

Max moved quickly toward her. "Fran, please, give me a couple of minutes. I just want to talk."

"I made myself clear. I have nothing more to say to you. There’s the door." She turned around muttering, "I’m gonna give that Josh such hell."

Max grabbed her arm before she could disappear into the back room. She stopped dead in her tracks and then turned her head to glare at him. Her mouth set in a determined line, she lowered her eyes slowly to where his hand squeezed her upper arm. Immediately, he released his grip. "I’m sorry, Fran. Please, I need to talk to you. Just give me one good reason that I can’t have a few minutes of your time," he pleaded.

"Ok, here are two. You’re an ass and you don’t deserve it. Now leave."

They both stood unmoving. Then, Max’s shoulders dropped in defeat, but Fran couldn’t tear her gaze away from his sad green eyes. Remorse literally poured from them for the things he had said in the elevator. He had been given one fleeting opportunity to replenish the emptiness her leaving had left, and he had blown it. He had allowed his hurt and anger to rule his emotions, and he cursed himself for it. He had always been a master at suppressing his feelings, and during the few minutes he had most needed to control them, he couldn’t do it. The loss he had felt over the last five years was destined to continue. Finally, he gathered himself enough to barely eek out, "I’m sorry I bothered you." Then he turned and headed for the door.

Suddenly, a vision of the warm smile and crinkling green eyes she had seen that day in the elevator flashed across her mind. And the memory of the tender rush of emotions that smile had sparked came flooding back to her. Just as Max reached out for the doorknob, she heard herself saying, "Wait." Max froze. He didn’t dare turn around, not absolutely sure he had heard her right. Fran took a deep breath, irritated with herself for being weak in any area involving Maxwell Sheffield. After all these years, how in the hell could he still hold power over her? "One cup of coffee, that’s all. Let me get my purse," she said.

Max let out a huge sigh of relief as he stood at the front door waiting for her to join him. Instantly, his mind started running through all the things he wanted to say to her, all the apologies he wanted to make. One cup of coffee? God, he was going to have to talk fast. And then she was there beside him and he opened the door and held it for her. They walked the block to the little coffee shop in silence.

They slid into the booth and the uncomfortable silence between them continued until the waitress filled both their cups and left. Fran looked directly at him. "Ok, I’m listening," she stated plainly.

Max cleared his throat nervously. "Well, first of all, I want to apologize for what I said the other day in the elevator. It was totally unfair of me to blame you for leaving the kids. I know it was my fault. I guess I didn’t realize how hurt and angry I was still feeling about it until I saw you again."

Fran just looked at him perplexed. "Mr. Sheffield—"

"God, Fran," he interrupted. "Please don’t call me Mr. Sheffield. Haven’t we moved way beyond that?"

"Look, Max, I guess we’re both still feeling a little hurt and angry over what happened. But we’ve both moved on with our lives. You’re happily married, I’m happily married. We have our own lives. The past is just that—the past, and it should stay there. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll accept your apology, but I don’t really see what the big deal is."

He picked up the spoon and stirred his coffee uneasily, trying to find the right words to make her understand why this was so important to him. "Five years is a long time."

"Ha! Tell me about it!" she shot out, rolling her eyes. "Damn it!" she thought to herself. "Why do I still let him get to me like this?"

"All right. I had that coming," he said. "What I meant was we’ve gone too long being at odds. It’s hard on the children, and you have to admit it’s hard on us too. I’ve really missed your friendship. You and I used to support each other, confide in each other, give each other advice. If we could get some of that back, I just think it would be better for all of us. It would be like being a family again."

"Aren’t you forgetting something?" she asked. "There are a couple of extra people in this ‘family’ now."

"Yes, I know, and I truly am happy for you. It seems that you’ve got everything you ever wanted. But there’s simply no reason I can think of that we can’t all be friends," he stated earnestly.

Fran thought for a minute while she stared at her coffee cup. Although she couldn’t see any clear way to recapture the close friendship they’d once had, at that moment there was no logical argument she could come up with to counter his suggestion. He seemed so intent, and she did have to admit that it would be better for the kids if they were all at least on speaking terms. She sighed resignedly. "I guess we could try. If you and I can agree to put aside our painful past, maybe we can have some kind of future together."

Max breathed a big sigh of relief. "Thank you. Say, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you and Jeff come over for dinner one evening next week? Sort of a celebration for your new business venture. It will give you a chance to meet Laura, and I can get reacquainted with Jeff. Niles will be thrilled to see you again."

"It sounds lovely, but I’m leaving first thing Monday morning for Paris," she told him. "Maybe we can do it another time." Fran was glad to have an excuse to decline the invitation. She had just barely had time to entertain the notion of accepting his apology. She wasn’t anywhere close to being ready to start restructuring their friendship, even if it only meant dinner.

"Of course," he said, trying to hide the note of disappointment in his voice. He was really hoping to get some kind of a promise out of her. "Just let me know a date that would work for you and Jeff." Then his curiosity got the better of him. "Paris, huh? Vacation?"

"No, it’s business. I’m going to buy some French antiques for the shops. I make the trip once a year."

"You said, ‘I,’" he pointed out. "Jeff’s not going along?"

"No, he has to work. And so do I. I told you it was business," she explained.

"Well, that sounds very exciting. You know, you should look up Nigel while you’re there. He’s opened a second night club."

"Yes, I know. He was talking about it last time I was in Paris."

"You saw him?" Max couldn’t figure out why a sudden and intense stab of jealousy clutched at him.

"Yeah, we’ve kept in touch," Fran told him matter-of-factly.

There was an awkward minute as Max ruminated on the fact that everyone except him seemed to have enjoyed a meaningful relationship with Fran over the past five years. She couldn’t help but notice how ill at ease they had both become in each other’s company and began sliding out of the booth. "Well, thanks for the coffee. I really need to get back," she said, suddenly anxious to leave.

Max looked up at her a bit startled. "So soon?" he stammered. "But we just got here. I was hoping we could catch up a bit." What he was really hoping was that he could get some kind of an indication from her that she might be open to rebuilding their friendship. Then he noted the look of impatience that crossed her face and realized that for now he’d have to be satisfied with the fact that she’d accepted his apology and that they appeared to be back on speaking terms. He stood up and tossed a few dollars down on the table as he said, "Well, I’m sure we can catch up another time." He looked at Fran to gauge her reaction, but she was looking at her watch and grabbing her purse.

They left the coffee shop and headed up 57^th Street toward her boutique. As they walked along, Max thought about what Fran had told him about her Paris trip and it took him back to the glorious day they had spent together there. He was overcome by a strong sense of longing for they way things used to be between them—the easy laughter, the sense of adventure, the shared excitement in the little things. As they reached the door of her shop, she stopped and turned to him.

He reached out and took her hand in his, suddenly realizing that he had almost forgotten how soft her skin was. "Have a wonderful time in Paris next week," he told her. "I know you’re going on business, but I hope you take some time to see the sights. It really is a beautiful city, you know."

"Yes, I remember," she said, understanding full well what he was alluding to. "Good-bye. Give my love to the kids."

"Of course," he said as her hand slipped from his. He watched her go inside the store before turning and walking away, wondering if he even dared to hope that they could ever recapture the warm and nurturing friendship that had once been such an important part of both their lives.

*******************

Max studied his watch trying to calculate the time difference between New York and Paris. He picked up the phone and dialed Nigel’s number hoping to catch him at home just before he left to spend the evening at his new nightclub. After a few rings, Nigel picked up.

"Hello?"

"Nigel? It’s Max. How are you?"

"Max! Good to hear from you, bro. How’s everything with you?"

"Just fine. Say, how’s that new nightclub of yours doing?"

"Splendid. I was just on my way there. Say, when are you going to pop over and check it out for yourself?" Nigel asked.

"Actually, that’s why I was calling," Max told him. "It looks as though I’m going to have a few days next week that I can get away, and I was thinking about doing just that."

"Next week? That sounds great." There was a silent pause. Then Nigel spoke up hesitantly. "You know, bro, I must warn you about something. Fran’s coming to visit next week. I don’t know if you know this or not, but she’s got a shop where she sells French antiques. She comes over on a shopping trip once a year, and she’s scheduled her trip for next week. I know the two of you aren’t on the best of terms. Just thought I’d give you a heads up."

Max thought for a second about explaining to Nigel that he and Fran were back on speaking terms—sort of. But their relationship was so tenuous at that point, he could barely get a handle on it himself, much less explain it to anyone else. "I appreciate that, Nigel, but Paris is a big city, you know. Surely, she and I can keep from running into each other for a few days. When is she going to be there?"

"She’s arriving Monday night and I think she’s staying most of the week. It rather depends on how well her shopping goes, I should think," Nigel said.

"She won’t be staying there with you, will she?" Max asked.

"No, I offered, of course, but she said she didn’t want to impose. I believe she told me she’d be at The Ritz." Max couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the time he had spent with Fran at that beautiful, elegant hotel. Then Nigel inquired, "Laura’s coming with you, isn’t she?"

"No, unfortunately, she’s finishing up a big job for a very important client and she just can’t get away. Perhaps she and I will come for a visit later this spring."

"That sounds great. Say, I need to get going. I’ll see you next week, bro." Nigel hung up.

Max sat at his desk and slowly replaced the receiver. He stared into space for a minute and then ran both sets of fingers through his hair. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but all he knew for sure was that ever since Fran had told him that she was going to Paris, he felt an undeniable compulsion to follow her there. Maybe it was part of this drive he had to reestablish their friendship and he thought that going back to the city where the spark between them had first ignited would do the trick. Maybe he just wanted a chance to reminisce and recall the things that had drawn them together in the first place without the shadows of their spouses hovering nearby. He truly didn’t know the reason, but he did know one thing for sure. Nothing in the world could keep him from getting on that plane and following her to Paris.

He breathed a satisfied sigh thinking how easy it had been to get the information he needed out of Nigel. And he thought about how fortunate the timing was—Fran in Paris the very week that he could take some time off but Laura was too busy to get away. He felt a strange exhilaration course through his body—a mixture of emotions that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Deep emotions that could only be stirred by one person, and that person would be with him on the other side of the Atlantic in just a few days.

****************

The chime of the seat belt signal roused Fran out of her light slumber. She sat up and looked out the window of the plane. Night had just fallen, and she drew in her breath as she thought to herself that it was no wonder Paris was called the City of Lights. The view before her was spectacular.

Fran loved Paris and always looked forward to her antique hunting trips there. The city was so beautiful and exciting. She never knew what treasure from the past she might encounter.

She put her seat upright and fastened the buckle of her seat belt. Glancing at her watch, she quickly calculated the time difference between Paris and New York. She thought to herself, "Two o’clock in the afternoon—Jeff’s still at work." She made a mental note to call him as soon as she got through baggage claim. He always worried so much when she traveled alone. Being a detective, he couldn’t help imagining all manner of ills that might befall her.

Debarking and getting her luggage went more smoothly than she thought it would. She stepped outside and was happy to find an available taxi right at the curb. The driver tossed her bags into the trunk while she settled into the back seat. "The Ritz," she instructed as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the meter. Fran pulled out her cell phone and pushed the speed dial button for Jeff’s cell phone. He answered immediately.

"Fran?" he said anxiously.

"Hi, sweetie. I’m on the ground, safe and sound. Everything’s fine."

"Oh, thank God," he sighed in relief.

"Honey, would you stop worrying? You know this isn’t my first trip to Paris. I’ll be just fine."

"I know, sweetheart, but I can’t help it. I trust you, it’s everybody else I’m worried about. I mean, who knows who or what you could run into over there?"

"Sweetie, you’re getting all worked up over nothing. Now, I’m on my way to the hotel. I’ll call home as soon as I get checked in and leave my room number on the machine."

"What time is it over there?" Jeff asked.

"It’s a little after eight o’clock. I’m just going to relax and get a good night’s sleep tonight so I’ll be all rested up for a big day of shopping tomorrow. I’ll call you tomorrow night," she promised.

"Ok, honey. Be careful. I love you."

"I love you too," she said before snapping her cell phone shut. Fran smiled to herself thinking about Jeff and how much she loved him. He was so sweet to worry about her so much. She felt so lucky to have found such a great guy whose love she could always count on. He loved her so completely, and he showed her constantly in a million ways. She laid her head back on the seat, thinking about her wonderful husband and enjoying the city sights as they passed by the taxi window.

The taxi pulled up in front of her hotel. The driver set her bags on the curb and as she was paying him, the bellhop appeared. She entered the lobby and headed for the front desk. After a quick check-in, Fran looked around and took a deep breath as a sudden rush of memories came back to her. She paused briefly drinking it all in as she recalled the day seven years ago when she had checked into the same hotel with Maxwell Sheffield. It had been her first trip to Paris, even though she had arrived there by pure accident. But that was a lifetime ago, and now she was there now as Fran Sheehan, and she had important business to do.

She started across the lobby with the bellhop close behind when her cell phone rang. Sure that it was Jeff again, she flipped it open and said, "Sweetie, did you forget to tell me something?" She kept walking toward the elevators.

"Fran? How are you, love?" came a familiar British voice.

"Nigel? I’m fine. I just got to the hotel."

"Oh, good. Then you’ll have plenty of time to rest up before coming to my new club tonight," he stated cheerfully.

"Oh, Nigel, I’m kinda tired. I think I’ll just take it easy tonight so I can put in a full day of shopping tomorrow." She arrived at the elevator and reached out to press the "up" button.

"Come on, love. You’re in Paris! You can’t waste a beautiful evening in your hotel room. I’ve already got your table reserved," Nigel urged.

Fran hesitated. She really wasn’t that tired after her nap on the plane. And it would be fun to see Nigel again. She smiled to herself as she thought about how hard it was not to be impulsive around Nigel. "Ok, I’ll come by later for one drink, but I really have to make an early night of it."

"Splendid! Shall I send the limo ‘round for you?" he asked.

"No, I’ll just take a taxi. What’s the address?" Nigel rattled off the address just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. "Gotta go, Nigel. I’ll see you later tonight."

"Au revoir, love." Nigel hung up the phone. Then, he turned to his brother.

"Well?" Max looked at him expectantly.

"Come on, bro. Did you ever doubt me? She’ll be here tonight."

Max breathed a sigh of relief. Nigel looked at him, unsure if he should voice his concern. Finally, he ventured, "Are you sure this is a good idea, Max?"

"What? Surprising her? I guess I’ll find out when I see the look on her face."

"No, bro, I mean you coming to Paris while she’s here. This whole thing could really backfire on you—in more ways than one," Nigel said warily.

Max took a deep breath. "I know," he admitted. "And, no, I’m not sure it’s a good idea. In fact, the only thing I know right now with absolute certainty is that there’s no way in hell I could be anywhere else."

******************

Fran stepped through the door of the smoky lounge and looked around. The place certainly had Nigel’s stamp on it, she thought to herself. A very cool, hip crowd mingled about and gathered over tiny tables. A smooth blues trio was performing on the small stage, enhancing the atmosphere. She looked up to see Nigel coming toward her with a warm smile and arms outstretched.

"Fran, love," he said, wrapping her up in his embrace.

"Nigel," she said, hugging him back. "This place looks great."

"Thanks," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Let’s find your table." He took her by the hand and led her to a small table at the edge of the dance floor. Nigel’s barely perceptible nod to a waiter had a tall flute of French champagne in front of Fran as soon as she sat down. He pulled up a chair and leaned in toward her.

"So, how have you been, love?"

"Just great. Looks like you’re not doing so bad yourself."

"Yeah, this place is really taking off. I hope you’re not going to be too busy this week to come back another night when you can stay later. I’ve got some great bands lined up for the rest of the week," he told her.

"Well, we’ll have to see how my shopping goes, but I think I’ll probably be able to spare an evening for you." She took a sip of her champagne and looked around, taking in the snapshot view of Paris nightlife. She looked back at Nigel thoughtfully, and it was obvious she had something on her mind. Finally, she couldn’t resist asking, "Uh, Nigel, have you talked to Max lately?"

Not sure how to answer, he said, "Why?"

"Well, we ran into each other last week. It was the first time we’d seen each other in five years," she explained.

"Wow, that must have been awkward. How’d it go?"

"Well, actually, it started off kinda nice," Fran told him. "But then he said something that really pissed me off and we ended up screaming at each other. Then he came to my new shop a few days later and apologized. He wants to be friends again."

"What do you want, love?" Nigel asked gently.

"I don’t know," she sighed, shaking her head. "I mean, on the one hand it makes sense for us to at least try to be friends. I’m still friends with you, the kids, Niles. It seems silly for Max and me to just ignore each other. But on the other hand, there’s still a lot of pain there for both of us. We’ve worked so hard to put that behind us and move on with our lives. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to try to go back. It’s all very confusing—it was easier just to hate him." She let go another big sigh as she stared at the bubbles in her champagne making their way to the surface and breaking free.

Nigel reached across and placed his hand reassuringly over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Come on, love. You’re in Paris. Don’t be so down. Let’s dance." He stood up and pulled her out onto the dance floor. She smiled as she moved into his arms and began swaying to the rhythm, recalling the time they had danced that way when she was his Welcome-to-New York ambassador. She lifted her head and looked into his warm, smiling eyes.

Suddenly, she caught a familiar aroma. Her mind must be playing tricks on her, she thought. Here she was talking about Max, and now she thought she could smell his Aramis.

Then she heard that voice, and she was sure she was imagining it. "May I cut in?" She turned and looked into those green eyes, and her mouth fell open. Nigel stopped and looked back and forth between Fran and Max. He waited for Fran to acquiesce, but saw that she was too surprised to react, so he gently placed her hand in Max’s and faded into the background.

Staring at him, Fran slowly brought her other hand up to rest lightly on his shoulder, and he placed his gently at her waist. She was still too overcome for words, so he simply began turning her gently and she followed his lead as they moved to the bluesy rhythm.

He looked directly into her eyes, but still could not decipher her reaction. After a few minutes, he prompted her, "I take it you weren’t expecting me."

Finally, Fran found her voice. "No, but I’m beginning to think you’re stalking me. The elevator, my shop, and now Paris. What are you doing here?"

"Well, Nigel’s been after me for some time now to come over and check out his new club," he explained. "And it just so happened that my schedule opened up this week."

Fran peered over his shoulder scanning the crowd. "Where’s your wife?"

"New York. She couldn’t make the trip this time—too busy," he answered.

She looked at him a bit skeptically. "So, tell me, did you decide to make this little trip before or after I told you I was coming to Paris on business this week?"

"I assure you, Fran, it all came about very suddenly. You know how full my schedule always is. I had to take advantage of the opportunity when it arose," he declared.

His explanation seemed plausible enough. She studied his face, but could find no hint that he wasn’t being completely honest with her. "All right," she conceded, slightly shrugging her shoulders. "So it’s pure coincidence. How long ya staying?"

"Oh, I don’t know. A couple of days at least. Maybe we’ll run into each other again while we’re here," he suggested.

"Well, I’m going to be very busy. I’ve got lots of appointments the next few days," she told him.

"That’s too bad. When I saw you here, I thought we might have a chance to work on that friendship thing we talked about last week." He hoped he didn’t sound too pushy. He sure as hell didn’t want to scare her off.

But all Fran could see was the warm smile and the expectant look in his eyes. Gradually, she began to warm to the idea of spending time with him in the city where they had once had such a wonderful day. He felt his heart speed up as he watched her mouth begin to turn up into that gorgeous smile of hers.

"We’ll see," she said. "Maybe I will have a little time later in the week." Just then, the song ended, and he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her back to the table.

When they were seated, there was an uneasy moment between the two of them. Five years was a long time to catch up on. Where to start? Finally, Fran spoke up. "So, tell me about your latest production."

"Well," he said, leaning forward, "it’s a review of Marvin Hamlisch music. We were very lucky to line up some terrific musicians and dancers, and right now we’re ahead of schedule. That’s why I was able to get away for a few days. I think it’s going to be a great show."

"That’s wonderful," she said sincerely. She paused for a moment, thinking. "By the way, I guess I should congratulate you on the success of your play last year. How many Tony nominations?"

"Three."

"Well, I was very happy for you when I read about it."

"You didn’t come to see it?" he asked.

"No." She tried to come up with some reasonable explanation as to why she couldn’t bring herself to attend one of his shows. It would have just been too difficult after everything that had happened. How could she put that into words now?

Sensing her discomfort, Max quickly changed the subject. "So, how do you like living in Great Neck?"

"Oh, we love it," she told him. "We’re in a great neighborhood. Jeff’s doing well on the police force there. He just got another promotion."

"That sounds wonderful. And I guess your business must be doing very well if you’re opening a branch in Manhattan."

"Yes, it seems I’ve found my niche," she said smiling.

Max looked at her wistfully. "I always thought you found your niche as a nanny."

She dropped her eyes and blushed slightly. "Thanks." She sighed deeply as a flood of memories from her nanny days with her three beautiful children came back to her. It seemed like ages ago, but she had been thinking about those times more and more ever since she’d run into Maxwell in that elevator last week. Taking another sip of her champagne, she said, "I really need to be going. I’ve got an early day tomorrow."

Max stood up as he said, "I’ll see you back to your hotel."

"That isn’t really necessary. It’s not that far—I can grab a cab," Fran said, standing up.

"Nonsense. Nigel’s limo is right around back," he insisted.

Max walked her outside and they waited together for the limo to be brought around. When it pulled up to the curb, they climbed in and settled into the back seat. The limo took off and the two of them enjoyed the scenes of Paris after dark passing by the window. Once, Fran glanced over at Max and caught him staring at her. Embarrassed, they both looked away quickly.

Max chastised himself for making her feel ill at ease. Then he sighed deeply. This friendship thing was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Maybe there was just too much history between them, maybe the emotions they had once shared were buried too deep, maybe it was impossible for them to ever go back to the warm and friendly relationship they had once experienced. But he wasn’t anywhere close to being ready to give up. He had seen a spark of it in her eyes while they were dancing, and when he had seen that smile—God, how he had missed that smile—he knew for certain that he simply could not go another five years without her as a part of his life.

Just then the limo pulled up in front of the Ritz. Max got out and reached his hand back to help Fran. As she gained her feet, he offered her his arm and turned toward the lobby doors. "Max, you don’t need to see me all the way up to my room. There are lots of people around—I’m sure I’ll be fine."

"No, I won’t hear of it. As I told you when we were in London, I’m a bloody gentleman, after all." His shining green eyes accompanied his little smirk, and there was no way she could resist him further.

They crossed the lobby and stepped into the waiting elevator. As the door slid closed, Fran quipped, "Well, it seems we keep ending up on elevators together."

"Let’s just hope this time goes better than the last," he said. Neither could help laughing out loud at that.

When they reached her room, Fran turned to him and said, "Thank you, Maxwell, for being such a gentleman."

"The pleasure was all mine," he said, the warmth emanating from his eyes. "The only thing that would please me more is for you to tell me that we can get together again later this week."

She smiled that smile that made him melt, and he wondered if she had any idea the effect it still had on him. "I’ll let you know. Can I reach you at Nigel’s?"

"Yes, but let me give you my cell phone number." He reached into his pocket, but couldn’t come up with a pen.

"Here," she said, reaching into her purse. "Just program it into mine." She handed him her cell phone and waited while he pushed the necessary buttons to add himself to her list of contacts. He felt a small triumph that she had made him a permanent part of her call list. He told himself not to place too much emphasis on it, but still, it made him feel as though they had taken an important step in the right direction.

"You call me if you need anything, and I mean anything," he urged her.

"All right. Good night," she said.

He paused for a moment, not sure how to end their evening. He felt an urge to kiss her cheek, but was afraid she would think him a little too presumptuous. What he really wanted was for her to invite him in so they could continue their conversation and he could find out more about what had been going on with her these last five years. Suddenly, he was hungry to know everything about her that he’d missed out on. She noted his hesitation and reached out her hand. "Good night, Max," she repeated.

He took her hand and kissed the back of it lightly. "Good night. Call me if you need anything." He waited until she had unlocked the door and was safely inside. Then he turned and headed back down the hall toward the elevator.

As he rode back down to the lobby, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Now, he could answer Nigel’s question. Now, he was sure of the answer. Yes, he was absolutely positive that coming to Paris while Fran was there was a good idea. In fact, it was the best idea he’d had in a very long time.

******************

Fran came walking out of the bathroom of her Paris hotel suite after having just put the finishing touches on her make-up. As she walked around the room service cart, she reached down and grabbed her coffee cup to polish off the last sip. Striding over to the desk and opening her briefcase, she took out the list of antique dealers with whom she had appointments that day and double checked the times. Snapping her briefcase shut and grabbing her purse, she was headed for the door when she caught her reflection in the elegant French provincial mirror. She stopped to check her lipstick and instinctively rubbed her forefinger across the top row of teeth. Then she paused to take in the whole picture, and declared herself ready for the day’s business.

Glancing at her watch to make sure she was leaving in plenty of time, she made quick strides toward the door. Just as she reached for the doorknob, the room phone rang. It had to be Jeff—he was the only one who knew her room number. "Why would he be calling at this hour? I told him I’d call him tonight," she thought to herself. She scurried over to the phone and grabbed the receiver. "Sweetie? What’s up?"

"Fran?"

Fran tried to hide the surprise in her voice. "Oh, uh, hello, Mr. Sheffield."

Max winced a bit at the way she referred to him. It was going to be tough to establish this new friendship if she kept referring to him as if he were still her boss. Brushing that aside, he said, "I’m glad I caught you. I was just wondering if you could use a little company on your shopping trip today. I’m free until dinner with Nigel tonight, so I just thought—"

"I appreciate the offer," she interrupted him, "but I really have a full day scheduled. And I’m a little crunched for time already. It’s too late to meet you anywhere before my first appointment. And I still need to get a cab—"

"Well, you’re in luck then. I’m right downstairs in the lobby and I’ve got Nigel’s limo for the day. Why don’t you let me be your taxi?" There was no way Max was going to let this opportunity slide by.

Fran thought for a minute. It would be so much more convenient being limoed around the city. And besides, being with Maxwell last night had been rather nice, she had to admit. Maybe this was a good way for them to get back on track and recapture a little of their friendship. "Ok," she heard herself saying. "I’ll be right down."

As she rode the elevator down to the lobby, she found herself looking forward to spending the day with Max. She couldn’t keep her mind from replaying scenes of last time the two of them had been together in the beautiful city, ironically to check out Nigel’s first nightclub. At one time, she and Max had been such close friends and had enjoyed each other’s company so much. And, she realized, she had really missed that over the last five years. It was definitely time, she thought to herself, to put the painful memories aside and accept that they had both grown beyond them and could come together now as friends on a new level.

Just then, the elevator doors opened and Fran stepped out scanning the lobby for him. She spotted him leaning casually on the front desk and started walking toward him. He looked up and saw her, and his face broke out into a radiant smile. And when his green eyes crinkled, she couldn’t help the catch in her breath. "Oh, my God," she thought. "I had almost forgotten just how gorgeous he is."

He reached out and took her hands in his, placing a warm kiss on her cheek. "Ready?" he asked, putting his hand lightly on her back. They walked out together into the warm Paris sunshine. Max held the door of the limo for her and then climbed in after. They settled comfortably into the backseat as Max looked over at her. "Where to?" he grinned at her. "Jean Pierre and I are at your service today."

Fran gave him the address of the first antique dealer on her list, and the limo pulled out into traffic. The conversation between Fran and Max was light-hearted as they looked out the window at the busy city sights. Max pointed out a store where they had shopped on their first trip to Paris seven years before. Fran suddenly realized that, although she had been to Paris since that time, when she was with Max, the city seemed to take on a whole new patina.

Jean Pierre brought the limo to a stop outside the antique shop. Fran gathered her things and then looked at Max. "You’re coming in with me, aren’t you?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Of course. Whatever you want," he agreed eagerly.

They went inside and Fran greeted the dealer. She got right down to business as Max browsed the shop, looking over the wares but not straying too far from her. The dealer spoke very good English, and Max couldn’t help listening in on their conversation. The more he heard, the more impressed he was with Fran’s knowledge of antiques and confidence in her business skills. No wonder her shop is such a success, he thought.

After about forty minutes, Fran came to find him. "I’ve got to go sign the order, and then I’ll be ready."

"Don’t worry. Take your time."

"Take my time? I’ve got another appointment in twenty minutes!"

Soon they were back in the limo and on their way to the next dealer. Max was starting to wonder if coming with her had been such a good idea. Fran had made it clear that she was there on business and had a full schedule. It was starting to look as though he was really just going to be in the way, as she was definitely focused on what she was there for and not on him.

When they entered the second shop, Max stayed by her side. He watched, again impressed, as Fran’s eyes scanned quickly over the items the man had to show her. She pointed assuredly at the things she wanted, and wasn’t swayed when the man tried to talk her into some other items he was anxious to get rid of. At one point, she did waver just a bit and held a small statuette out to ask Max his opinion. He looked at it and wrinkled his nose. "My thoughts exactly," she said, handing it back to the man.

Back in the limo, Max looked over at her. "Whew! I’m tired already, and we’ve barely started. I don’t know how you do it."

Fran just looked at him with her eyebrows raised. "Maxwell Sheffield, are you telling me that you don’t remember the last time we went shopping together in this city? Are you saying that you’ve forgotten my drive and stamina when it comes to buying things?"

Max rolled his eyes. "Oh, my God, how could I forget? Please forgive me." They laughed together, both noticing how good it felt to be so comfortable back in each other’s company. Then he added, "But, I must say I am getting a little peckish. How about you?"

Fran just stared at him. "How long ya known me?" Again, laughter filled the car. Then she reached over and took his hand in hers. With a nostalgic look and a gentle voice, she said, "It seems you’ve forgotten some things about me. I guess five years is a long time."

He returned her smile, and replied in a warm, tender voice, "Yes, too long. But I sincerely hope that we never go this long again without being a part of each other’s lives. I’ve truly missed you." He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it lightly. Fighting the small lump that had formed in his throat, he turned and looked out the window, studying the street signs as they went by. He was trying to figure out where they were. Suddenly, his face lit up and he leaned forward to say something in French to Jean Pierre.

Fran had to grab onto Max as the limo made a sudden and sharp u-turn. "What the hell was that all about?" she nearly shouted, slightly alarmed.

"You’ll see," Max replied with confidence.

Soon Fran could tell they were nearing the Champs Elysees, and she looked over at Maxwell and smiled. It was her favorite part of the city, and she always made a point to see it each time she traveled there. The limo glided to the curb, and Max got out and held his hand out to her. After she stepped out, he didn’t let go, and they walked hand in hand until they reached the Montecristo Café. When Fran looked up and saw that they stood in the shadow of the Arc de Triumphe, she couldn’t help the feeling of nostalgia that washed over her. It was the same sidewalk café where they had lunched seven years before. She looked at him, touched beyond words.

"See there?" he said smiling. "I haven’t forgotten everything."

They took the same table as the last time, and their waiter appeared instantly. After ordering, Max asked about her schedule for the afternoon.

"Only two more appointments for today. Even I have my limitations," she laughed.

Their lunch appeared, and Fran dug in. Max smiled wistfully recalling how much Fran loved her food, and it was nice to know that some things about her hadn’t changed. She took the first bite and exclaimed, "Mmm—this is delicious!" Without hesitation, she scooped up a forkful and held it across the table for him. He took the bite and agreed that it was indeed delicious, and then he gave her a bite of his.

After they finished eating, Max picked up the bottle of wine and held it out to her. "More?" he asked.

"You’re kidding, right? I’ve got to be sharp the rest of the day handling those antique dealers." She glanced at her watch, and her eyes opened wide. She jumped up and Max threw some euros down on the table. They ran to the limo and were off again to her next appointment.

The afternoon proceeded much as the morning had, and by four o’clock they were headed back to Fran’s hotel. As they pulled up in front, Fran looked over at Max. Smiling sweetly, she said, "Thank you. This was so much better than taking taxis all over town. And I really had a lot of fun."

"So did I," he assured her. "But, it doesn’t have to end, you know. Please say you’ll have dinner with Nigel and me tonight. And maybe we can go back and spend a little time at his club afterward. What do you say?"

"I thought you were here to visit with Nigel. You don’t want me tagging along, do you?" she asked.

"You wouldn’t be tagging along. Please say you’ll join us," he urged.

Fran thought for a minute. They had been together all day, and it had been wonderful. She had been thinking since lunch how glad she was that he had shown up there in Paris and how much she treasured the opportunity it had given them to reconnect. She had almost forgotten how much fun they could have together, and the day had been a grand reminder of that. She could hardly admit it even to herself, but she had been secretly hoping he would ask her to dinner. She wasn’t really ready to let go of the warm feelings their day together had drawn out in her. "I’d love to," she told him with one of her smiles.

Max had to control the urge to jump for joy. "We’ll pick you up at seven-thirty," he said, trying to mask his delight.

"Ok, and you don’t need to see me to my room. It’s broad daylight—I’ll be fine." She opened the door and got out. Walking up to the doors, she stopped and turned around to give him a little wave as the limo pulled away from the curb. Never in her life did she think that anything could top their first trip to Paris, but this one, she thought to herself, certainly seemed to be shaping up to do just that.

******************

Max walked into Nigel’s house and took off his jacket. He couldn’t decide if he needed a shower or a nap more. It had been a tiring day, but a wonderful one. And the evening promised to be even better. He couldn’t put into words how pleased he was with the progress he and Fran had made today reestablishing their relationship. It had gone better than he had hoped for.

Just then, Nigel called out from the sitting room, "Max?"

"Yes, it’s me," Max called back to him.

"Where have you been all day, bro?"

"I told you I was going antique buying with Fran." He couldn’t control the smile on his face as he walked in to join Nigel in the sitting room.

Nigel looked up at his brother from his chair. "I take it things went well," he said.

"They went splendidly," Max exclaimed, still smiling. "We had a wonderful day. And the good news is she’s agreed to have dinner with us and come to the club afterward."

"I’m happy for you, Max," Nigel said. "By the way, Laura called while you were out today."

"Who?" Max inquired absently.

Nigel looked at his brother strangely. "Laura. Your wife—remember?"

"Oh, y-yes, of course," Max stammered. "I wonder why she didn’t just call my cell phone."

"I don’t know. I told her you’d call her when you got in," Nigel said.

"Thanks, Nigel." Max went into the guest room and stretched out on the bed. He picked up the phone and dialed his home number thinking about what time it was in New York.

Laura answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, darling. How’s everything there?"

"Just fine, honey. Why didn’t you answer your cell phone earlier?" she asked.

"It didn’t ring," he stated. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. The read-out stated he had two missed calls and a voice mail. "I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’ve been having a little trouble with it. I’ll have it checked as soon as I get home. Was there something urgent?"

"Not really urgent, but I just needed to ask you something. The Kinkades have invited us out to their house in the Hamptons this weekend, and I had to tell them I wasn’t sure if you’d be home by then. What should I tell them?"

"Go ahead and accept the invitation. I’ll be home by Friday at the latest," he said.

"Ok, honey." Laura hesitated for a minute. She was curious as to why Max hadn’t checked his messages all day, but she wasn’t used to having to check up on her husband’s whereabouts. Finally, she said, "So, are you having a good time over there?"

"Yes, a marvelous time. Nigel’s new club is really something. I can’t wait until you and I can come over together to see it," he told her.

Finally, her curiosity got the better of her. "So, what did you do all day?"

Max started to tell her, when suddenly his answer caught in his throat. What would Laura think if she knew he’d spent the whole day with Fran? And that he was planning to spend the evening with her as well? He had nothing to hide, but somehow he felt as though explaining to his wife why he felt such a need to rebuild his friendship with his former nanny shouldn’t come in a phone conversation. He quickly decided that he would tell her all about it when he got home. Trying to sound casual, he said, "Oh, I just did some sight-seeing and some shopping."

"Oh, that sounds nice. Shopping, huh? Did you buy anything special? Like maybe something shiny for your adoring wife?" she asked in a coy little tone.

Max swallowed hard. He made a mental note to be sure to pick up a nice bauble for her before he left. "Now, darling, you’ll just have to wait until I get home."

"Ok, honey. I’ve got to run now. One last meeting with Mr. Riggs. I’ll be so glad when I’m finished redecorating that man’s kitchen. I love you."

"I love you, too," he said, hanging up the phone. Max just sat there thinking. Where in the hell was this guilt coming from? Why couldn’t he bring himself to tell Laura who he had spent the day with? Laura wasn’t the jealous type. Besides, she had no reason to be jealous. He and Fran were simply friends who enjoyed each other’s company and had spent the day together. There was nothing wrong with that.

On the other hand, if Laura knew what there had once been between him and Fran, she probably would feel a little jealous. Hell, she would probably feel very jealous. But Max had never really gone into any detail about his relationship with his former nanny. When he and Laura met, it had been more than two years since Fran had walked out of his life, and he had spent that time trying to forget how much he had loved her and how she had devastated him when she left and married Jeff. It wasn’t as if he and Laura were teenagers—they had both had previous relationships, and they both accepted that. In fact, he had told her everything about Sara. Why hadn’t he been honest with her about Fran?

The truth was he didn’t know how to tell her about Fran. He could barely explain it to himself. He still often wondered how a brash, outrageous cosmetics girl from Queens could have captured his heart so. He still hadn’t quite figured out how she had moved in and immediately become the warm, nurturing mother his children needed and the fun, sexy, totally captivating woman he had fallen deeply in love with. And how in the world could he explain why he had never acted on those feelings? Why the hell he didn’t just tell her when he’d had the chance? If he loved her so much, why had he let her get away?

That question had been reverberating through his head all day. Their time together there in Paris had been marvelous—fun, nostalgic, and a warm reminder of what they could be together. But it was also a painful realization of just what he had sacrificed the day he let her walk out that door.

As he lay there staring up at the ceiling, he was finally able to voice the question that had haunted him for the last five years. He spoke the words aloud, barely a whisper, "Fran, why did I ever let you go?"

*******************

Fran laid her head back in the Jacuzzi tub and let the bubbles float all around her. She made a mental list of all that she had accomplished that day, and she couldn’t help being very pleased with herself. If the next few days’ appointments went as smoothly, this would turn out to be one of her most successful trips to Paris.

And it had been successful in more ways than one. She had to admit that she and Max had really reconnected. In fact, it had seemed like old times—laughing, teasing, walking hand in hand. And she was really looking forward to the evening when they could continue rebuilding the friendship she had been missing the last five years.

Suddenly, she remembered about calling Jeff and made a mental note to do that later when she returned from dinner. He would be so happy for her when she told him about how well her antique buying had gone that day. She loved the way he was so supportive of her business. In fact, he was supportive of everything she did. He was a wonderful husband, and Fran often thought about just how lucky she was. She had waited a long time to get married, but she knew that the wait had definitely been worth it. She had kissed a lot of frogs along the way, but surely she had found her Prince Charming in Jeff.

But spending time with Maxwell had made her contemplate how close she had come to missing out on all she had. Five years ago, she had been so in love with him, and she had been completely convinced that he was the man of her dreams. She knew Jeff was jealous of Max. After all, he was aware of what they had once meant to each other, but five years of blissful marriage had made them both see that she and Max had only been a fantasy and that she and Jeff were meant to be. Still, it made her wonder where she would be if Jeff hadn’t come into her life. Would she still be single and dreaming of a life of her own? Or would she and Max be married now? What would it be like to be a millionaire’s wife and a mother to Maggie, Brighton, and Gracie?

She had to admit that running around Paris with Max had stirred up some old feelings she had thought long buried. Had it only been one short week ago that they were completely estranged and had no part in each other’s lives? It seemed the turn-around had been so sudden, and she needed some time to sort out the way she was feeling about having him back in her life. As she thought about the evening ahead, she was glad that Nigel would be with them. His presence would help keep things on a light-hearted, friendly note until she had time to get a grip on things. One thing was certain. When it came to her and Maxwell Sheffield, nothing was ever certain.

*****************

Promptly at seven-thirty, there was a light tapping on Fran’s hotel room door. She opened it to find Max wearing his black Armani, and her face broke out into one of her gorgeous smiles. That suit had always been her favorite.

One look at her and his jaw dropped. He sucked in his breath. "Oh, Miss Fine," he said stepping inside. "You look absolutely radiant."

She posed for him for just a moment as he took in her black and silver dress with the plunging neckline. It was snug enough to show off her stunning figure, and her hair was swept up softly with delicate tendrils framing her beautiful face. "Ya like? And I’m not Miss Fine anymore," she reminded him.

Max shook his head slightly and rubbed his eyes. "I’m sorry, it’s just that I had this flashback to all the times you made your grand entrances down the foyer stairs and took my breath away."

"Thank you." She turned around to pick up her evening bag and asked, "Where’s Nigel? I thought I had a date with two handsome millionaires this evening."

"Oh, he had to take care of some business at the club. He said he’d join us there later."

Fran thought to herself, "There goes my safety net."

Max offered her his arm. "Shall we?" he asked gallantly.

The ride to L’Orangerie was filled with pleasant small talk. They arrived and were escorted immediately to their table. The waiter brought them a bottle of Dom Perignon and filled their glasses. Max ordered for the two of them, his French still impressing Fran.

As the waiter left, Fran leaned over to Max and said, "Oh, Tish, I love it when you speak French." The two laughed warmly at the memory. Although they had spent nearly the entire day together, they still had so much to catch up on, having missed out on most of each other’s lives the last five years. And there was something—or someone, rather—that Fran was very curious about. "So," she ventured, "tell me about your wife."

"Laura? Well, she’s very special," Max said smiling. "Owns her own business. She’s an interior designer. We met when I hired her to redecorate the kitchen." Fran thought about the room that had been such an important part of her home for five years and wondered what it looked like now.

"What’s she like?" she prodded gently.

Max smiled warmly thinking about his charming wife. "She’s blond and petite—actually, reminds me a lot of Sara. She’s very lovely—kind and giving, with a great sense of humor. Rather demure, I’d say. We have similar tastes in music, art, many things." Fran couldn’t help thinking that she and Laura sounded like pretty much like opposites. That could certainly explain a few things. "She and the children get along splendidly. And we have a wonderful relationship. She understands how demanding my work can be because hers can be the same. And we’re lucky to have a great circle of friends that we enjoy spending time with. In fact, we’re going out to the Hamptons this weekend to spend a few days with some very dear friends."

Fran was struck by how perfect a match Laura seemed for him—in many ways. He had painted the picture of the perfect married life. It was obvious that things had turned out for him the way they were supposed to. "It sounds like you have a very nice life now," she said.

"Yes," Max agreed, lost for a moment in thought. Just then, the waiter appeared with their dinner. After he left, Max picked up his drink and held it out. "To old friends and new beginnings," he toasted.

Fran touched her glass lightly to his. "To new beginnings," she repeated. They both took a sip, and for the next few minutes, they enjoyed their meal in silence. There was a warm feeling of nostalgia mixed with optimism between them, and neither wanted to break it.

Finally, Max spoke up. "So, tell me about Jeff. I remember him being quite a nice chap."

Fran smiled warmly at the thought of her remarkable husband. "Yes, he’s very sweet. He’s a really good cop, detective second grade now, and on his way up. He’ll probably make captain one day not too long from now. He and Ma get along great. And he’s very supportive of my business. We have a wonderful life together—really, it’s all I ever dreamed of."

"Any children in your future? You know, you do have a special way with them."

"Thanks," she smiled at him. "No, Jeff really wants to have kids, but right now I’m concentrating on my business. Maybe in a few years—I’m not sure."

"Well, I’m very happy for you. It seems you’ve got everything you ever wanted." He reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Yes. You too." They both smiled at each other wistfully. The waiter came and cleared their plates. He spoke to Max in French, and Max turned to Fran.

"Dessert?"

"You’re kidding, right?"

Max laughed out loud. "They’re famous for their raspberry chocolate cheesecake. Shall we try it?"

Fran’s eyes lit up. "You betcha!"

As they polished off the last of their decadent dessert, Max looked at Fran in anticipation. "Well, are you ready for a night of mixing it up with the hip crowd?"

"Why not?" They stood up and headed for the door.

The limo ride to the club was silent. Unbeknownst to the other, their thoughts were following the same path. They had just described how wonderful their lives were now—lives with other people. Then why did they both still feel so drawn to each other? There was still a strong connection between them, buried deeply for five years, but it had been brought out into the open that day and was gaining strength. It was definitely there, and could not be denied. Thinking ahead to what the rest of the evening would bring was a bit unsettling to them both.

The limo pulled up in front of Nigel’s club and they got out. As soon as they stepped through the door, Nigel called out, "Max! Fran! So glad you’re both here. Right this way to your table." Nigel was showing just why he was so successful as a nightclub owner and host. As soon as they were seated, their drinks appeared. "You’re just in time. The band’s about to start. I know you’re going to love the music tonight."

The conversation between Fran and Max remained light-hearted. Neither would admit to themselves that they were purposely keeping the topics trivial. Their discussion over dinner had veered off into emotional territory, and neither felt safe going back there again. Not just yet, anyway. Their renewed friendship was still a little too tender to be constantly delving into such heavy discussions.

After a few minutes, Nigel hopped up onto the stage. The musicians got settled behind him as he took the microphone and welcomed the crowd. He tossed a quick glance backstage and with excitement in his eyes, announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the fabulous Bonnie Raitt!"

Max and Fran both looked at each other with eyes wide in astonishment. They joined in the applause as Bonnie Raitt took the stage with her guitar. The crowd sat mesmerized as she sang, "I Can’t Make You Love Me." Fran couldn’t help but zero in on the truth of the song’s message. How many years had she tried to make Maxwell Sheffield fall in love with her? How hard had she tried until she finally came to realize that she just couldn’t make him feel something that wasn’t there in his heart. The song’s sentiment took her back five years, and this time she didn’t fight the emotions that it touched.

The second round of drinks was brought to their table, and Max noticed that Fran had a thoughtful look on her face. "What are you thinking?" he asked her.

She smiled weakly at him. She was so curious about something, but she feared she would be treading on dangerous ground again. Still, it was killing her not knowing. Finally, she asked tentatively, "Did you ever tell Laura about us?"

Max took a deep breath. Her question had thrown him just a bit. "No. I mean, she knows you were our nanny for five years, and I’m sure she’s seen your pictures and heard the kids talk about things that happened then, but, no, I never told her about ‘us.’"

She paused for a minute, studying his face. Then she asked, "Why not?"

Max pondered her question. Staring into his drink, he said, "I’m not sure. At the time she and I met, you had been gone for a couple of years. I had worked very hard to put the pain of your leaving behind me, and I just couldn’t bring myself to share it with anyone. What would I have told her anyway? That I was very much in love with my children’s nanny, but I was too much of an emotional basket case to admit it? And that I thought she loved me too, but she had never come right out and told me? And instead of declaring our love for each other and having a lifetime of happiness together, we hurt each other deeply and went off and married other people? That’s not really something that’s easy to explain. No, I think she’s better off not knowing all of that." He looked up at her and was surprised to see tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

Max reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. Handing it to her, he said, "I’m sorry if I said something to upset you."

Fran touched his handkerchief to her eyes. "It’s not your fault. I asked, after all. It’s just that all those years of praying to hear you say those words, and in spite of everything that’s happened since I left, well, I guess it just still really gets to me when I hear them coming out of your mouth."

"What words? That I was in love with you? Surely you never doubted that I was," he said.

She just sat there staring at him with her water-filled eyes. She couldn’t believe his statement. Of course she doubted that he was! She had given him hundreds of chances to tell her his feelings, had practically thrown herself at him numerous times but even the day she delivered the ultimatum, he couldn’t bring himself to utter the three little words that would have changed both their lives. Why the hell did he think she started dating Jeff in the first place? Why the hell did he think she left and married Jeff? She just sat there staring in disbelief. And he did say "was," didn’t he? For one of the few times in her life, she was at a loss for words.

Just then, Nigel came up to their table. "Come on, you two," he coaxed. "Don’t let this fabulous music go to waste. Now, get up and hit the dance floor."

They both saw it as the perfect escape from the awkward turn their conversation had taken. Max stood up and offered her his hand. Fran took one last dab at her tears and followed him to the dance floor. She moved into his arms and pressed her temple against his cheek. That way, she wouldn’t have to look directly at him while she tried to gather her emotions.

Bonnie’s blues guitar struck up a melody that was hauntingly beautiful. As the two of them began to move to the soft rhythm, Max slid his hand further around Fran’s waist and drew her up against him. She let go of his hand and wrapped both arms around his shoulders. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her intoxicating scent as they allowed the melody of the beautiful ballad to guide their movements and the lyrics to steer their emotions.

The song ended, and they both stood motionless for a few seconds. They were simply overwhelmed at the impact of the song’s meaning. Finally, Fran lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up into those green eyes she had always loved, unsure of what she would find there. What she saw mirrored her own heart.

Unable to trust his thoughts, Max finally managed to say, "It’s getting late."

She nodded. "It’s been a long day."

They told Nigel goodnight and headed out to the limo. When they got in, Fran instinctively slid over next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and relished the feeling of her heart beating so close to his. There was no need for words.

The limo pulled up in front of her hotel. She raised her head and looked directly at him. He fought the urge to capture her mouth with his own. Instead, he gave her a sweet kiss on the forehead and said, "I’ll see you up to your room."

She took a deep breath. "Are you sure that’s a good idea?"

He gave her a crooked little smile. "Remember, I’m a bloody gentleman."

She returned his smile and they got out. She slipped her arm through his and kept it there as they walked across the lobby and rode the elevator up to her floor. As they reached her room, she turned and held out her hand. "It was a lovely evening. Thank you."

He hesitated before turning her hand over and kissing it lightly. "Good night," he said. As soon as the door closed behind her, Max turned and practically ran back to the elevator. He had to make a quick exit before he found himself pounding on her door and begging her to let him in.

The elevator ride down seemed interminable, and when the doors finally opened, he marched straight across the lobby and into the hotel bar. If ever he needed a stiff drink, this was the time. "Scotch rocks, and make it a double," he called to the bartender.

Upstairs, Fran undressed slowly. Her heart was still beating rapidly, trying to keep pace with the thoughts and emotions deluging her brain. She tossed her dress on the back of a chair and kicked her shoes off, paying no attention to where they landed. She walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light. The brightness made her squint as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Who was she now, she wondered? She was Fran Sheehan, a successful and very happily married businesswoman from Great Neck, New York. Then why did she see the image of the flashy girl from Queens pining away for her millionaire boss staring back at her? She sighed deeply and turned around to start the Jacuzzi filling. She could definitely use a long soak, she thought to herself. Maybe it would help calm her swirling mind. She had just finished undressing when she remembered about calling Jeff. God, she needed to talk to him—needed to hear his loving voice, needed to be reminded of just how far she had managed to move beyond Maxwell Sheffield and her life as his nanny.

She slipped her robe on and turned off the water. She hugged the two halves of the robe to her and smiled. Jeff had bought her that robe, and he loved for her to wear it. The fabric was sheer and clingy and the robe was barely long enough to cover her tush. The light aqua color really set off her dark eyes and hair. All she had to do was walk across the bedroom in it, and his eyes lit up. She grabbed her cell phone out of her purse and walked over to stretch out on the bed. She hit the button for Jeff’s cell number. He answered on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sweetie."

"Hi, baby. God, it’s good to hear your voice. How was your day?"

Fran smiled at the comforting sound of Jeff’s voice. "Oh, it went really well. I bought lots of really great stuff."

"Good. Does that mean you’re going to be home sooner than expected?"

"Honey, I still have appointments with antique dealers the next few days. I’ve only been here a day," she reminded him.

"I know, but I miss you so much. I hate crawling into bed at night without you there." Fran smiled. He was so sweet and loving. She had to be the luckiest woman on earth. "David Brown called today," he continued. "He’s got some papers ready for you to sign. He said everything looks great for your new branch. Honey, I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well with your business. I just wish it didn’t keep you so busy all the time."

"I know, sweetie, but after I get the Manhattan branch up and going, we’ll have more time together. I promise." She asked him about his day and they chatted briefly about things in general. While she was listening to Jeff tell her a story about a buddy at work, she had to stifle a yawn. The day had been exhausting, in more ways than one.

"I’ll let you go now. It must be getting late over there and you sound tired," he said. "Be careful, and just keep thinking about how much I love you."

"I love you, too. Good-bye." She closed her phone and laid her head back against the headboard. Thank God for Jeff! He was her Rock of Gibralter. No matter how crazy things got, she could always count on his love and support. They were the surest things she had ever known.

And she loved him too—more than she ever thought she could love anyone after Maxwell Sheffield. She and Jeff were real. Whatever she and Max had shared had to be nothing more than a fantasy, she told herself.

But if it was just a fantasy, why had his words earlier that evening hit her so hard? Again, she felt the tears well up in her eyes as she recalled him saying, "I was very much in love with my children’s nanny." She took a deep breath. Of course he could say them now. Five years too late and way past having to make any kind of a commitment to her.

Then she remembered what else he’d said—that he thought she had loved him too but she had never come out and told him. "He’s right," she thought. "All this time I blamed him for not being man enough to tell me how he felt, and I never gave him the assurance he needed. I never said those three precious words to him either." Surely he had known, she had dropped enough hints. But the truth was she had never really assured him of her love. If she ever got another opportunity, she thought, it would only be right to let him know, even though it surely wouldn’t make any difference now. She got up and headed into the bathroom, slipping off her robe.

As soon as the tub was full enough, she switched on the jets and eased down into the water. Immediately, she felt her muscles begin to relax. She laid her head back and tried to empty her mind of the myriad thoughts and emotions she had been wrestling with all day. But whenever she did, the haunting melody of the Bonnie Raitt song would creep into her brain. The compelling lyrics played over and over in her head, "You—it was always you." God, where was this coming from? She loved Jeff, and he loved her immeasurably. She had a perfect marriage and a perfect life now. So, how come every time she closed her eyes all she saw was Maxwell Sheffield? Damn him and his always wanting to be friends with her!

Downstairs at the bar, Max picked up his scotch and swirled the ice around in the amber liquid. Taking a sip, he hoped it would help calm his thoughts. He reflected on their day together. It had been great fun—antique shopping, lunch at the Montecristo, dinner at L’Orangerie. But more than that, it had been like old times—laughing and enjoying each other’s company. No matter how much time had passed, Fran still had that joie de vivre that brought something out in him no one else could. He had missed that so much the last five years.

As he thought back on their conversations and all the feelings that had been stirred that day, his mind fixated on one thing—her tears. He couldn’t believe that after all these years, hearing him say he had loved her could make her cry. In the five years since they had parted, Max had been so focused on his own pain, that he hadn’t seriously considered the hurt his inaction had caused her. But those tears tonight had really shaken him, and he cursed himself for being the cause of them.

Suddenly, he realized that he couldn’t pass up one more opportunity to let her know. It was way too late, he knew. It surely made no difference anymore. But he had to tell her directly—he had to say the words to make her understand that he had truly loved her. And he would not take it back. At least, she could carry that with her for the rest of her life.

He slammed down the rest of his scotch and walked straight out of the bar and across the lobby to the elevator. Thankfully, the doors opened immediately. If he had needed to wait more than a few seconds, he would have lost his nerve.

He stepped inside and the doors closed. There was no turning back now. "What the hell am I doing?" he thought to himself. "I have a beautiful wife whom I love very dearly, a wonderful marriage—" But he just couldn’t stop thinking of how it felt to hold Fran in his arms again and breathe in her exhilarating fragrance. Feeling her body against his had brought so many memories rushing back to him. And the song they had danced to—it had crystallized all the emotions he had been wrestling with: "I might as well have been dying when we were apart. When you came back I felt the beating of my heart."

Then he saw before him the vision of those tears spilling out of those gorgeous, sparkling brown eyes, and he knew in his heart that he had to make her understand. His pulse began racing as he felt a surge of those deep, powerful emotions that Fran had always roused in him.

Fran had just finished toweling off and slipping her robe back on when she heard a light rap at the door. At first, she was sure she was hearing things. She walked over and looked through the peephole. Her heart began pounding, and she opened the door immediately.

Max stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "Fran, I’m sorry. I know it’s late, but I have to talk to you." He looked at her intently, trying to anticipate how she would react to what he was about to tell her.

"I’m glad you’re here. I have something to tell you too," she confessed.

Max felt a quick rush of encouragement. "Me first. I know I should have told you this a long time ago, so it simply cannot wait another second." He took her by the shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "I want you to know that I was deeply and passionately in love with you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you when I had the chance, but I’m telling you now."

She stared at him and took a shuddering breath. This was her opportunity to let him know, and she had to take it. She spoke barely above a whisper, "I was in love with you too."

They stood looking at each other, unsure what to say next. But Max was absolutely certain what he wanted to do next. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his mouth began closing in on hers. She didn’t fight it, she didn’t hold back. At the first tender touch of their lips, the old feelings of all their past kisses came rushing back to both of them. Her arms went around his shoulders and he wrapped her tightly in his, crushing her to him. He moaned audibly at the feeling of her body against his. Their mouths grasped hungrily at each other’s, their tongues sparring eagerly.

When Max was sure that the power of their kiss would take his next breath, he pulled away from her, gulping for air and desperate to see what was in her eyes. What he saw there made him seize her mouth again, and she responded wholeheartedly. Finally, he pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers.

Willing his breathing to slow, he knew he had to pour out all of his heart to her. She needed to know, and he was desperate to tell her. "Fran, there’s something more. I wasn’t being completely honest just now when I said that I was deeply in love with you."

The pain that seized her heart was overwhelming. "Oh, God, he’s taking it back again," she grieved. She felt the tears welling up.

He took her face in both his hands and brushed his thumb across her cheek. "The truth is I’m still so much in love with you I can’t even find the words to tell you." He searched her eyes intently.

Instantly, Fran felt all the love she’d been hiding in her heart come rushing forth, and her tears of pain became tears of joy.

"I’m sorry," he said, fighting tears himself. "I know it isn’t right, I know you must hate me for this, but—"

"Shh," she whispered, placing her finger over his lips. "I’m still in love with you too."

His eyes opened wide in surprise as his heart literally sang. He kissed her again so passionately it made her head swim as she relished the feeling of being there in his arms.

He broke their kiss and looked at her. "Fran, listen to me. I want to be sure you know that I have loved you for a very long time. I tried to deny it, even to myself, and then I tried to bury it deep inside me. But, I love you more than you can possibly know, and I will love you forever. Please say you believe me."

"I believe you," she told him, and then she blessed him with one of those smiles that sent his heart into overdrive.

He hugged her to him and buried his face in her hair. His own tears of joy stung his eyes. Without lifting his head, he whispered, "Now that I know you’re sure of my love, I’ll leave." He tried to let go of her and turn for the door, but his feet wouldn’t move. His heart beating furiously, he said, "Unless you don’t want me to." He raised his head and looked expectantly into her eyes.

He willed her to tell him to stay. He had known what he wanted the instant she opened the door—the chance to express his deep love for her fully and completely—and he was hoping desperately that she wanted it too. He would stand right there waiting forever, and she knew it.

Her breathing was rapid and shallow. There was so much at stake. It would be too hard and could cause immense pain. But she loved him so much—had loved him for so long. Suddenly she knew in her heart what she wanted even though she couldn’t bring herself to utter the word.

He didn’t need to hear her say it—he could read it in her eyes.

Slowly, he reached down and tugged at the belt of her robe. It came apart easily. She slid his jacket off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He slid his hands through the opening of her robe and around her bare waist. Then she slowly reached for his tie and gently tugged on the knot. Their eyes were locked on each other’s as his hands began tenderly caressing the soft skin of her back. She continued pulling on his tie until one end slipped free, and it joined his jacket on the floor. They couldn’t tear their eyes from the intense gaze of the other, searching for the first tiny indication to stop.

Max’s hands slid lower and made light circles on her skin until he reached her sexy tush, and he couldn’t help the sudden rush of air that left his body. He had never touched her so intimately, and it was more exquisite than he had dreamed. He gently pulled her hips into his as her hands began working the buttons of his shirt. She moved slowly, one at a time, pausing in between to give him the chance to still her actions. But as each button was freed of its hole, his eyes only begged her to continue. She reached the last button and then moved to his belt buckle. He massaged her bottom as she painstakingly unfastened his belt and unbuttoned the waistband of his pants. Neither dared to speak, terrified that the word that came from their lips would be, "Wait."

She pulled his shirttail free. As if on cue, they simultaneously brought their hands to each other’s waists and began sliding them upward until their fingertips caught the edges of their garments and slid them from their shoulders. Max’s gaze traveled lovingly down Fran’s body, and his breath caught. She stood before him now completely nude, more beautiful than an artist’s model. "You’re more lovely than I imagined," he whispered in awe.

She brought her arms up to encircle his shoulders and pull him to her. Both literally gasped at the sensation of her bare breasts on his chest. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, their lips drew closer, as if by some force that could not be resisted. Just before their mouths touched, their tongues embraced, and when his lips caressed hers, she couldn’t fight the instinctive moan that rose from deep inside her. He drew her tongue into his mouth and suckled it, sure he had never tasted anything sweeter.

Max felt as though he could stand there kissing her, tasting her forever. It was so exquisite holding her in his arms and feeling her body against his. His lips left her mouth and began a trail of tender little kisses across her cheek. When they reached her ear, he whispered, "I love you so much." Then he continued down her neck, and she let her head fall back. A deep sigh rose from her as his tongue made swirls on her skin and he sucked gently at her throat.

Max brought his hands up to her lower back to steady her while his head moved lower toward his intended target. From the instant her beautiful body had been revealed to him, he was obsessed with tasting one thing. He forced himself to move slowly, savoring every little nip and lick and kiss until his tongue was finally able to reach out and draw the dusky tip into his mouth. A small cry of pure pleasure tore from Fran’s throat as she felt her knees give out, and Max steadied her with his strong arms. He pulled and sucked over and over until she thought she would die. She placed her hands on each side of his head and guided him to the other, and he was thrilled to do as she bid. No longer able to be gentle, he drew it into his mouth and sucked, creating a precise blend of pleasure and pain with his mouth.

At last, he willed himself to pull away and bring his eyes up to meet hers. She shivered as she saw the pure love that emanated from them. "Fran," he breathed. "One more moment, and I won’t be able to stop."

She slid her hand through his thick, black waves and pulled his mouth to hers. She captured his lips hungrily and breathed into his mouth, "I don’t want you to."

With that, he reached down and scooped her up. He carried her to the bed with their lips never parting, and placed her gently across the foot of it. In one swift motion, he dispensed with the rest of his clothes, and when he stood over her, she gasped at the beauty of his manhood. She reached up and touched him lightly at first, and then began languidly stroking him up and slowly down. His breath caught in his throat, and he gently reached down and stilled her motions.

Slowly, he leaned over and kissed her deeply. It was tender, unhurried. There was an unspoken understanding between them. This was one moment in a lifetime—they would never come together this way again, and they wanted to make it last all night. They had to make it last the rest of their lives.

Max moved around to the side of the bed and got down on his knees. Cradling her left foot in his hand, he kissed her ankle lightly and began moving up her calf with tiny whispers of licks and kisses. He paused to bite softly and suckle at the tender skin of her inner thigh. Fran’s breathing deepened in anticipation of what he was about to do. Her hands reached down instinctively to guide him. She gasped audibly as his mouth reached her center. Her legs opened wide as she choked out, "Max, please," but his kisses remained soft and tender as his tongue swirled around her silky folds.

Her breathing was rapid as his mouth continued its trail, nipping softly at the inside of her right thigh. Fran fought tears at the overwhelming sense of pure ecstasy his tender ministrations created in her. He kissed slowly down her calf and then held her right ankle gingerly and kissed it as the trail came to an end. He leaned forward to look deeply into those shining chocolate pools and she raised up slightly to gaze into his green ones. She placed her hands lightly on his shoulders as their lips met in a tender kiss. He pulled her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked it sensuously. Then he eased himself down, pausing briefly to kiss the hardened tip of each breast as she lay back down. As he dragged his tongue down her belly, her head was thrown back and she began writhing underneath him.

He slid his hands under her, cupping her bottom to hold it firmly but gently as he buried his face in her center and drove his tongue deep inside her. A raspy cry tore from her as she dug her fingers through his hair. His tongue moved swiftly in and out of her, licking, tasting, drinking in every bit of her. "Max, please!" she cried, trying to pull his head away from her. The exquisite torture was too much. He grasped her more tightly to him and drove his tongue more and more rapidly until he felt her inner muscles begin to contract and her body begin to shudder. He kept his tongue deep inside and rode the waves with her, listening to her quiet screams and taking pride in the ecstasy he’d given her. He didn’t pull away until he felt her body go limp beneath him. Only then did he dare look up to see the tears glistening on her cheeks.

The remnants of the joy she’d just experienced combined with her natural beauty took his breath away. Quickly, he moved back up and captured her mouth with his. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rolled him over, straddling him. It was now his turn to succumb to pure bliss. Fran leaned down and sucked his earlobe into her mouth, eliciting a satisfied, "Mmm," from him. She kissed down his neck and continued until she reached his right nipple, flattening her tongue against it and then sucking on it until she heard a moan rumble in his chest. Smiling to herself, she moved over to the other one and gave it the same sensuous torment. She scraped her fingernails lightly up and down his sides as she kissed a trail down to his navel where she paused briefly to bathe it with her tongue. She moved her body further down, wrapping her fingers firmly around his manhood and pulling it toward her mouth. She slowly encircled its tip with her tongue, around and around until Maxwell almost came up off the bed. "Fran, baby, please," he choked out. She let up only to take him completely in her mouth, sucking as she moved up and down rhythmically. Max placed his hands gently at each side of her head and he couldn’t help matching her motions with the movement of his hips. She was so lost in the joy of giving him such pleasure that she was surprised when she felt his hands on her shoulders as he swiftly flipped her over on her back as a deep growl tore from his throat.

Max eased down on her and her legs went around his waist as her arms encircled his shoulders. He felt the tip of his manhood nudge her entrance, and he fought the urge to plunge deeply inside. Her head fell back and her eyes were tightly closed, savoring the feeling of having the man she had loved so much and for so long over her, about to become one with her.

"Fran, look at me," he spoke gently. Slowly, her brown eyes opened and locked with his green ones. "I love you so much, and I will love you forever." Tiny tears filled the corners of her eyes at his words—words he had held back for so long, but now gave willingly. He pushed into her just barely, and they both gasped audibly at the sensation. He withdrew and pushed again, moving just slightly deeper than the first time. His eyes never left hers. Again, he pulled himself out and entered her again, stopping only a little farther and pulling himself out.

"Maxwell, please!" she screamed. As he pulled himself out again, she slid her hands down his back and grabbed his rear. With his next gentle push, she pulled him toward her, urging him to go deeper, to fill her with himself. But he kept his pace, and brushed his thumb across her cheek. His mouth descended upon hers, and he kissed her slowly, languidly, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips. He couldn’t be hurried, he wanted this to last forever. He wanted every second of being inside her burned into his memory.

Fran pulled her mouth from his as he entered her again and pushed himself not more than half way. He started to pull out when she whimpered, "Maxwell, please, I need you inside me. All of you."

He knew at that moment that for the rest of his life there would be nothing that he would not grant her. His next stroke plunged all the way in as the cries that tore from their throats reverberated through the room. He began with gentle thrusts, watching her and marveling at how her face could be even more beautiful when she was in the throes of passion. She met him stroke for stroke as each became increasingly more intense. Within minutes, he was pounding her with all his strength and she was receiving him and matching his thrusts.

From the depths of his soul, he felt the intensity well up in him and he knew that he was seconds away from exploding into her. Then her head began flailing back and forth and he felt her nails dig deeply into his back as she cried out, "Oh, my God, Maxwell!" Her passion pulled everything out of him as he groaned out her name and clutched her tightly to him as together they succumbed to wave after wave. They continued to cling to each other, drenched in sweat, willing their breathing to slow.

He propped on his elbows on either side of her, his face hovering just above hers. Between short, gulping breaths, he kissed her mouth over and over. He had just poured every ounce of his soul into her, and still, he couldn’t get enough of her. All he could think about was kissing her and holding her in his arms forever.

Their breathing now normal, he gave her a long, slow, sweet kiss as she breathed into his mouth, "I love you." He felt a surge of elation at her words. He rolled over on his back and carried her with him, crushing her to his chest, afraid to let her move from his embrace.

He looked at her beautiful face, studying her eyes. He gently ran his fingers up and down her back as she held his gaze. Finally, he broke the spell that had been cast over them. "Should I stay or go?" he asked gently. "I’ll do whatever you tell me to do."

"You should go," she said firmly. Then she paused, sighing deeply. "But I’m telling you to stay."

"Are you sure that’s what you want?" he asked.

"What I want is for you to hold me in your arms all night," she confessed.

"Good," he said smiling. "That’s exactly what I want to do."

Lifting her off of him gently, he kept her snug in his embrace. She nestled her head in the crook between his head and shoulder and draped her leg over his. Their hearts beat in a perfectly matched cadence.

After a few moments, Max ventured, "Fran, lying here with you in my arms is absolute heaven, and I don’t want this feeling to ever end, but we really need to talk."

She raised her head and looked at him. She knew he was right, but at that moment there was no way she could put the magnitude of all she was feeling into words. Just being there in Maxwell’s arms and basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking had her heart and her head brimming. She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek. "I don’t want to talk about it until morning," she whispered. "Just hold me."

He turned his head slightly and kissed her palm. "Whatever you say, my darling."

Just then, Max’s cell phone rang. They each looked at the other in a panic. "What time is it in New York?" Fran asked frantically.

Max jumped out of bed and searched for his jacket. "Uh, about 7:00 in the evening, I think. Why?" he asked, reaching into his jacket pocket for his cell phone.

"Do you think it’s Laura calling you?"

Max flipped open his phone and peered at the read-out. Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, "It’s Nigel." He pressed a button and spoke into the phone, "Hello, Nigel?"

Fran laid her head back on the pillow and took a deep breath. This is crazy, she thought to herself. Even if it had been his wife, there would be no way for her to tell that Fran was there. Oy, she wasn’t good at this stuff. The last few hours with Max had been pure bliss, but one ring of the phone shot them both back to reality. What they had done was serious, and it could have dire consequences. She listened to Max’s side of the conversation.

"Oh, my gosh, I completely forgot," he said. "Yes, I’m still here at the hotel. Um, I’m going to stay here. Tell him to go on. And tell him I apologize. All right, thank you, Nigel. Good night." He flipped his phone closed and looked at the puzzled look on Fran’s face.

"Jean Pierre. He was still waiting for me outside. He finally called Nigel and asked him what he should do," Max explained.

Fran’s look turned to one of extreme unease. "Max, this is not good. Nigel knows you’re staying here with me tonight."

Max slid back into bed and wrapped his arms around her. "Don’t worry, darling. Nigel’s my brother. Do you have any idea how many secrets he and I have kept for each other over the years? Besides, he cares very much for the both of us. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt us. There’s nothing to worry about."

But Fran couldn’t help but worry. The more people who knew about it, the greater the chance of—she didn’t even want to think about it. God, this was all so new to her, she didn’t know what to think. "Max, maybe you should go," she stated fretfully.

"I’ll go if you want me to. But, Nigel doesn’t really know anything for sure," he reminded her soothingly. "For all he knows, we could be sitting up all night in the hotel lounge catching up on old times. Now, do you really want me to leave?"

Fran looked at him and got lost in those green eyes. She couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving her bed. "No," she told him, "I want you right here next to me."

"Then that’s where I’ll be," he said as he kissed her, and they both settled in comfortably wrapped in each other’s arms. It didn’t take long for the fatigue from the day’s activities to overtake them, and they both drifted off to sleep grateful that fate had brought them back together but dreading what it had in store for them.

****************

The sound of the alarm clock roused Fran out of her peaceful sleep. She shut it off and looked around the room. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was, and then suddenly the memory of the night before with Max came flooding back to her and the feeling of being so totally and completely loved by him washed over her. She turned over to wrap him in her arms and was met with an empty pillow. Suddenly, an intense pain seized her heart. He had promised to stay with her, but she should have known it was too good to be true. The first chance he got, he was gone. She was so angry at herself, she didn’t know what to think. Why was she so damn weak when it came to Maxwell Sheffield? She had broken her wedding vows for him, but apparently that meant nothing to him. She felt the tears spring up as she lay there staring at the ceiling.

She rubbed her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts. She forced herself to push aside her anguish at his abandoning her so she could think more clearly. Surely it was better this way, she realized. She had succumbed to her long-held love for him, and while she knew how wrong it had been, at least she could reason that it had been the power of their love that had overwhelmed her.

But if they stayed together the rest of their time in Paris, no amount of rationalization would excuse it. Yes, she decided, they would both be better off to just move past what had happened. She would refocus on the purpose of her trip and do what she’d done for the last five years—push Maxwell Sheffield to the most remote corner of her heart.

She drew in a shuddering breath and embraced her new resolve. A clean break was best. Still, she couldn’t hold back the thought that escaped her lips, "Damn you, Maxwell Sheffield."

Just then she heard water running in the bathroom and sat up. "Max?" she called out.

"Good morning, darling," he called from the bathroom. "What time is your first appointment?"

Fran cleared her throat and tried to gather herself. "Um, 10:00, I think."

Max came walking out of the bathroom combing his fingers through his hair. "Good," he said. "That gives us some time to have that talk." He looked at her and was puzzled by the strange expression on her face. He walked around the bed and sat down on the edge of it facing her. Gently, he said, "Sweetheart, what’s wrong?"

Fran just sat there staring at him with her brown eyes glistening. She was so confused. She had just convinced herself that everything would be better if they went their separate ways, and now she was inundated with relief that he was still there with her. She didn’t know what to say. All she knew for sure at that moment was that she couldn’t bear the thought of not being with him every possible second while they were both in Paris. Finally, she sobbed, "What day are you leaving?"

"Friday." Still concerned, he coaxed, "Darling, tell me what’s the matter."

She swallowed hard before admitting, "When I woke up and you weren’t here next to me, I thought…"

Max suddenly realized why she was so upset. He reached out and gathered her to him. Holding her tightly, he spoke tenderly, "You said last night that you believed me when I told you how much I love you. I’m so sorry you still doubt me. I know I don’t have a very good record with you, but I swear to you Fran, the one thing you will never have to doubt for the rest of your life is my love." He drew his head back from her and looked directly into her eyes. He had to make her understand how much she meant to him. He decided to share with her what he’d been thinking since he’d awakened. "Fran, listen to me. All you have to do is say the word, and I will never leave your side."

She looked at him in shock. Did he realize what he had just offered? Never leaving her side would mean leaving someone else’s side. Oh, my God, if she didn’t already feel guilty enough for betraying Jeff, now she had to worry about breaking up Max’s marriage. It was way too much to think about.

She took a deep breath before explaining, "I don’t want to talk about it until Friday. Look, this is only Wednesday. We have a couple more days together, and I don’t want to spend them worrying about the future. I just want to be with you and love you and know you love me. Right now, I can’t think beyond Friday. Please stop talking about the rest of our lives."

He gave her a sweet kiss. "I’m sorry, darling. I’ll respect your wishes." He got up and walked over to put on his jacket, saying, "Why don’t you take your time getting ready while I run back to Nigel’s and pick up my things? I’ll stop on the way back and grab us some breakfast. Is there anything else I can bring you?"

"No," she said. Then she added, "Just you."

He smiled and came back for one more kiss. "That goes without saying," he said.

Wednesday was a whirlwind of antique shops, limo rides around the city, and sneaking kisses at every opportunity. Max had to laugh out loud when he saw Fran’s eyes light up as they passed a street vendor selling fresh, hot crepes wrapped around melted chocolate oozing out. They stood on the sidewalk in the Paris sunshine amused at each other trying to devour them before all the chocolate drizzled away. Fran reached over and wiped a bit of chocolate from Max’s chin and licked it from her finger. When Max saw that her lips were still covered in the sticky sweet stuff, he covered them with his own, swirling his tongue around her mouth. "Mmm," he said seductively. "That was the most heavenly chocolate I’ve ever tasted."

They opted that evening for a room service dinner, knowing it would give them more time alone, and that was what each of them was craving. After they finished, Max stood up and pulled Fran into his arms. He kissed her thoroughly. "How many times today have I told you I love you?"

"I lost count after twenty-seven," she smiled up at him. "I think I’m falling behind. I love you, I love you, I love you. There, how am I doing?"

"I love you," he said kissing her and smiling at her mischievously. "I’m still ahead. You have some catching up to do." Suddenly, a seriousness came over him, and he looked at her intently. "I’m the one who needs to make up for lost time. For all those years I couldn’t—" his voice caught in his throat. Fran lowered her eyes, unable to watch the torment in his. She knew exactly what he was thinking, because she had been thinking it too. If he could have just said those three precious words five years ago, things would be so different now. The three little words that now fell freely from his lips, five years ago would have changed so much.

She looked back up at him and placed her hand tenderly on his cheek. "Maxwell, make love to me now," she whispered.

His expression of regret over lost opportunities turned to one of pure love and desire as he took her by the hand and led her to the bed. They stood at the side of it, kissing while they slowly undressed each other. Then Max lay down and pulled Fran on top of him, wrapping her gently in his strong arms and letting his mouth play over her lips, her face, and her neck, conveying all the powerful emotions he held for her. That time would be slow and tender as they pushed aside all thoughts of anything or anyone outside that room and surrendered to their deep love for each other. The time would come, they knew, for dealing with consequences, but for that moment, all they knew was their love and how unconditionally each gave it to the other.

*****************

"Darling, are you ready?" asked Max as he came out of the bathroom straightening his tie.

"Almost," said Fran nervously. "There’s something I need to do before we leave for the club." Max looked at her curiously as she took a deep breath. "I need to call Jeff. He’ll be expecting me to."

"Oh," Max replied a bit uncomfortably. "Why don’t I give you some privacy. I’ll wait for you in the lobby." He slipped out of the room leaving Fran to make her call.

She sat there staring at her cell phone. She went over in her head a list of light-hearted and trivial topics she could include in the conversation. She didn’t want to sound hesitant or nervous when he asked her how she’d been spending her time. Steeling herself, she pressed his speed-dial number and then "send." Listening while it rang, she suddenly noticed that her mouth had gone dry. She let out a huge sigh of relief when his voice mail greeting came on.

In the most natural voice she could produce, she said, "Hi, sweetie, it’s me. I just wanted to touch base. Everything’s going fine here. I bought lots of great stuff today. I guess you must be busy—don’t work too hard. I’ll talk to you later. Love you."

She snapped her phone shut and took another deep breath as she laid her head back on the chair. "Damn," she thought. "If it was that hard to leave him a message, how am I gonna handle it when I see him?"

She had told Max that she didn’t even want to think seriously about their situation until Friday, but the truth was she couldn’t keep Jeff and all they had together from entering her thoughts. How in the hell did her life get so complicated, she wondered. How was it possible to love two men so much?

She stood up and picked up her purse. Heading out the door, she was glad to have that phone call behind her so she could turn attention toward her evening with Maxwell. Their time together in Paris was limited, and their future so uncertain. She had to take advantage of every possible moment with him if she were to have any chance at all of understanding everything that had happened between them.

When the elevator opened, Fran stepped out into the lobby and looked around for Max. She spotted him near the front door with his cell phone to his ear. As he looked up and saw her coming toward him, he quickly finished his conversation and closed his phone. Somehow, Fran knew he had been talking to Laura, and it gave her an odd feeling but she wasn’t sure why. Max kissed her cheek as she slipped her arm through his, and they headed out to the limo.

They entered the club and headed straight for the table they knew Nigel would have waiting for them. Nigel came walking up. "Hey, bro, I wasn’t sure you would show tonight. After all, I haven’t heard from you all day."

"I was by your place this morning. You were still asleep," Max explained.

"Yeah, I figured you must have stopped by. I noticed all your things were gone. Found another place to stay?" Nigel asked, raising an eyebrow. Fran looked away hoping Nigel wouldn’t see her blush.

"Yes, I, uh, well, I appreciate your hospitality, Nigel, but I’ve decided to stay—" he looked at Fran for an indication of whether or not he should continue. "I’ve decided to stay with Fran. We still have so much catching up to do," Max offered, trying to sound casual.

"Catching up? Is that what they’re calling it now?" Nigel said, grinning and slapping his brother on the back. Fran still couldn’t look at him.

"I beg your pardon," Max stated indignantly.

"I’m sorry, bro, I just couldn’t resist. Hey, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me." Nigel had to admit that his stuffed-shirt older brother had surprised him. He’d always suspected there was something between Max and Fran, but he realized then that it must be much more serious than he’d thought. Supportively, he said, "Really, Max, I’m happy for you two. Order anything you like—it’s on me."

Nigel moved over to the next table and greeted his guests. Fran just looked at Max, who shrugged his shoulders at her. "Well, what did you want me to say? He’s already figured it out anyway."

"I know, but can you believe that guy? Do you realize what he was congratulating us for?" Fran just shook her head, taken aback by Nigel’s cavalier attitude.

"Forget Nigel. Just think about the fact that we’re together in Paris, and I love you very much." Max reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lovingly.

Fran intertwined her fingers with his. "Oh, Max, I don’t think I’m going to be very good at this." She drew in a ragged breath.

"I know, darling, and neither am I," he said, pulling her toward him and kissing her. "I don’t know what’s going to happen. All I know for certain right now is how much I love you."

She kissed him again and looked into his eyes. "I love you more."

"That’s impossible. Now, let’s dance," he said, standing up and pulling her up with him. "I need to feel you in my arms."

They moved out onto the dance floor, and Max drew her up against him, wanting to feel her heart beating close to his own. As she laid her head on his shoulder, they were overcome by how right it felt to hold each other that way. It was as if their destiny had at long last been fulfilled, but in a way that neither of them could have possibly imagined.

And they were both awed by the power of their love and the strength of the bond between them. They understood that no matter how strong their moral compass, the love they shared was stronger. It was certainly more powerful than the two of them, and they both feared the tremendous toll it was bound to take on all hearts concerned.

*****************

Fran finished signing the last of the paperwork and handed it back to the antique dealer. She turned around to see Max waiting patiently for her. He gave her a tired smile and held out his hand to her. Grasping it in hers, she said, "Sweetie, you look exhausted. Why don’t you head on back to the hotel? I’ve got one more appointment this afternoon and then I’ll join you."

"Nonsense. I’m not missing even one minute with you." Max sighed deeply as he thought about his flight home the next day. Their time together in Paris had been glorious, but it was coming to an end, and a feeling of melancholy crept over Max at the thought of it. He held the door for her and they both stepped outside into the warm afternoon sunshine. "Where’s the next shop?" he asked.

"Actually," Fran said looking at some papers, "it’s just a couple of blocks up the street. "Why don’t we walk? Maybe it will perk you up a little."

Max brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. As they strolled up the street looking around at the sights, again Max was struck with a wave of nostalgia for the beautiful city and all that it had come to mean for them. Just then, his eye was caught by a sign up ahead and he had an idea. As they approached the door under the sign, Max stopped and said, "Darling, why don’t we take a look in here?"

He pushed the door open and the two of them stepped inside. Fran’s eyes lit up and she sucked in her breath at all of the sparkling gold and gems displayed around the tiny shop. Max couldn’t hide his delight at her reaction. She walked around the displays with Max by her side. "Oh, Max," she said, stopping to admire a beautiful pair of diamond earrings. "Aren’t these gorgeous?"

"Not as gorgeous as you," he said, kissing her. "Would you like to have them?"

His question caught her off guard. She looked at him puzzled. "Maxwell, what are we doing here?"

"Sweetheart, come here for a minute." He pulled her over to the far corner of the shop away from the ears of the clerk. "I know you don’t want to talk about this yet, but the truth is we don’t really know what’s going to happen after tomorrow. Just in case I never get the chance to tell you again how much I love you, I want to give you something that will always remind you."

She looked into his eyes and saw the disquiet in them. Reassuringly, she said, "Maxwell, I don’t need a keepsake to remember your love. I’ll never forget this week here with you, and I’ll treasure it for the rest of my life."

"Please, Fran," he coaxed. "I want you to have something that will assure you every day of my love, just in case..." he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Fran thought back to her conversation with Jeff when he’d returned her message that morning. She had been so apprehensive to talk to him, but doing so had reaffirmed some things for her, and she empathized with Max’s uncertainties. She reached up and caressed his cheek. "Let’s look around," she said, smiling sweetly.

Hand in hand, they browsed the shop. After a few minutes, Fran stopped as her eyes fell on a beautiful pendant necklace. She pointed to it, and the clerk brought it out of the case and held it up for her to examine. Hanging from the delicate gold chain was a double floating heart pendant—two hearts, forever interlocked. Fran looked at Max. "Oh, Max, it’s perfect."

He took the necklace from the jeweler and placed it around her neck, clasping it behind her head. She turned and studied herself in the mirror, noting the way the pendant lay right above her own beating heart. She spun around and threw her arms around his neck as he swept her up in a loving kiss. He pulled his lips away to press his forehead to hers and speak softly, his voice full of love, "Every day, look at these two hearts and remember how much I love you—always."

She gave him the most tender of kisses and said, "Thank you, sweetie. I love it—and I love you."

Suddenly, Max remembered something, and he turned back to the jeweler. Glancing through the display case, he pointed at a diamond tennis bracelet and asked to see it. As the jeweler was pulling it out for him to look at, Fran said, "Maxwell, stop, you’re spoiling me!"

Max cleared his throat nervously and looked at his watch. "Sweetheart, I have to pick up something else while we’re here. Do we have enough time before your next appointment?"

As what he was saying dawned on her, Fran stammered, "Uh, yeah, sure, we’ve got time." She stood there watching him select a gift for his wife and felt a wave of jealousy wash over her. She couldn’t watch. She turned and walked to the other side of the shop pretending to be interested in some bracelets. What the hell was the matter with her? She had no right to be jealous. Laura was his wife, for God sakes. Of course he would take her something from his trip.

Then Max was at her side. "Ready, darling?" he asked, slipping the small box into his pocket.

She turned to him and smiled weakly, but the small lump in her throat kept her from speaking. "Sweetheart? What’s the matter?" he asked concerned. She just shook her head and hurried out the door. As Max caught up to her on the sidewalk, he put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He wrapped her in his arms as she turned her head away from his face and laid it on his shoulder. He rubbed her back soothingly as she worked on stemming her flow of tears.

"Fran, I’m so sorry. That was insensitive of me," he said, his voice full of remorse.

She sniffed a few times and looked up at him. He reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief. Dabbing her eyes, she said, "Don’t be ridiculous. She’s your wife. You’re allowed to buy her gifts. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I know I don’t have any right—"

"Sweetheart, I know this is difficult," he said soothingly as he tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. "We’re both in uncharted territory here. I don’t know what to say, except whatever you’re feeling is perfectly understandable. And I was being thoughtless. Please forgive me. I love you so much."

She handed him back his handkerchief and took a deep breath. He kissed her as they turned back toward the next antique shop and continued up the sidewalk. Without saying a word, they both knew that the incident had been only an inkling of the heartrending emotions they were destined to deal with.

*****************

Fran and Max woke up Friday morning in each other’s arms. Max was thankful that Fran only had one appointment that day, and it was late in the afternoon, giving them time to be alone before he had to catch his plane.

After a leisurely bath in the Jacuzzi and breakfast at the sidewalk café across the street, they decided to take a stroll around the park. They walked along hand in hand, laughing and teasing each other, but as the morning wore on, it became increasingly difficult to keep up the light-hearted front. The time was drawing close for the discussion they had been putting off, and soon they realized that they could postpone it no longer. They came upon an empty park bench and stopped. They both looked at it and then at each other. Taking a deep breath, Max motioned for her to sit down.

They sat down and Fran placed her head on his shoulder. He looked at her and smiled, placing a sweet kiss on her lips.

Gathering himself, he said, "Darling, my plane leaves in a few hours. We’ve put this off as long as we can. We have to talk now."

Fran sighed deeply. "I know."

"First of all, no matter what we decide, I want you to know that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life, and that will never change," he said, his voice choking with sincerity.

"I love you too," she assured him. "Always and forever."

"What I’m hoping you’ll say is that this won’t be the end of us. Please tell me that when we get back to New York, we can still see each other. Now that I’ve found you again, I can’t bear the thought of never being with you like this again."

Fran lifted her head and looked into those green eyes as her own filled with bittersweet tears. Although she knew exactly what she was going to say, had known for days, the words still caught in her throat. Finally, she spoke in a quiet but firm voice, "I’m sorry, Maxwell. But when we go home, we have to leave all of this behind us. I have a wonderful husband and a wonderful life with him. He loves me so much, I can’t hurt him."

Max had to fight the sudden lump in his throat. The words he had been dreading he would hear from her brought with them a stabbing pain that gripped his chest. He swallowed hard and said, "There’s no way he could love you more than I do."

"Max, it’s not a contest. Besides…" she hesitated. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I still love him. I want to stay with him. Surely you can understand that. You still love your wife, don’t you?"

"Yes, I care for her a great deal," he admitted solemnly.

"From what you’ve told me, she’s a lovely person and you have a wonderful life together. I could never ruin that," she said.

Max looked at her in desperation. "I’m not suggesting we leave our spouses. Hell, I’m not sure what I’m suggesting. But we’ve just rediscovered each other, and I’m not ready to give you up yet. Can’t we just keep seeing each other until we figure things out?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "If you truly love me, you’ll stay away from me. You’ll go back to your wife and let me go back to my life with Jeff. It’s the only way."

"What about our plans for dinner—you know, the four of us?" He was grasping for anything at that point.

Fran looked at him in disbelief. "Oh, Max, there’s no way. Not after—. No, I don’t think so."

"You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re telling me that after today, I’m never going to see you again." He couldn’t control the desperate tone in his voice. "I thought we agreed to reestablish our friendship. You know, for the sake of the children and for our own sakes, too."

Fran reached up and ran her fingers lovingly through his hair, lingering as she caressed his streak of gray. "I think it’s pretty clear that we can’t be just friends. We tried that once before, remember, and it didn’t work. And it sure as hell didn’t work this time, either."

Max fought the tears stinging his eyes. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her as if it was the last time he would ever feel her and taste her that way. He cleared his throat, unsure of his own voice. "All right," he said. "I’ll do as you say, but it will be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life." He glanced at his watch. "Now, come on. You’re mine for the next two hours."

As soon as he shut the hotel room door behind them, Max pulled Fran into his arms and began kissing her passionately. He threw the room key down on the floor and picked her up, never breaking their kiss. He placed her gently on the bed and lay down on top of her, kissing her, bathing the inside of her mouth sensuously with his tongue. He leaned over on one elbow, freeing his hand to unbutton her blouse as he continued placing soft, sweet kisses across her cheek and down her neck. Fran reached down and pulled his belt free from its buckle and quickly unzipped his pants. She slid her hand inside and began stroking him, loving the feel of his growing manhood in her hand.

Max slid her blouse off her shoulders and deftly unhooked her lace bra. As soon as her breasts were revealed, he reached down and seized one with his mouth, sucking gently at first, kissing all around it, teasing the tip with his tongue. She slid her fingers through his thick, black waves and guided him to the other breast, begging for him to give it the same treatment. She raised up enough for him to pull her blouse and bra free, and then he yanked his own shirt off and tossed it.

Fran gently raked her nails up and down his back and then slid them lower, catching the waistband of his slacks and pushing them down. She massaged his rear with both hands, encouraging the rhythm of his hips as he pushed into her while he covered her neck with the lightest of nips and kisses. Max unzipped her skirt and pulled it free. He began a trail of hot kisses across her chest and down her belly as he hooked his finger around the lace band of her thong and slithered it down her legs. He rolled off of her only long enough to dispense with the rest of his clothing, and then he wrapped her up in his arms and crushed her to him, kissing her beautiful mouth over and over again, hoping against hope that it would not be the last time he would feel her lips and taste her mouth.

He rolled over on his back and carried her with him, reveling in the feel of her slight weight on him and giving him the chance to run his hands up and down her back and lower to squeeze her tush in his hands. He wanted to touch every square inch of her body, to sear it into his mind and carry it with him the rest of his life.

She raised her head up and looked directly into his gorgeous green eyes. He brushed his thumb across her cheek and said, "No words can describe the way I’m feeling. You’re the only one who makes me feel this way. It will always be you."

As her tears at his confession threatened to fall onto his chest, she let her knees drop down on either side of his legs and slid down his body until she felt his tip at her entrance. Bracing herself against his chest, she raised up just enough to slide onto him, burying him deep inside her. Max sucked in his breath sharply at the sensation of it and then lay there watching her, reading the passion she felt for him in her eyes as she rocked gently at first, then with more intensity until he clamped his hands on her hips and shoved his hips upward, driving into her as they called out each other’s names and yielded to wave after wave of pure bliss together.

She collapsed on his chest, and as he buried his face in her hair and sucked in her fragrance, he couldn’t stop the tears that poured down his face. The mere thought of never being with her like that again broke his heart. When a deep sob racked his body, she raised up her head and looked at him. She wiped his tears gently with her fingers and mouthed, "I’m sorry." Then she kissed him and placed her mouth next to his ear. She whispered, "I will love you forever," and then slid off of him and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him a shaken, broken man.

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