“Jean? What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry for coming here unannounced, but you have been extremely hard to reach. Can I speak to you, please? I promise not to take much of your time.”
“How did you even find —”
Only one person knew where I was.
Fucking Mimi.
“Please don’t be upset with your assistant. I can be very persuasive when I want something, and I really wanted to see you again.”
It was difficult to resist him now that he was standing in front of me looking so good and anxious. He had tied his hair at his nape, and he was wearing a long-sleeved white V-neck T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest.
“Please, can I come in for just a second?” He asked so earnestly that I was disarmed into letting him inside. Once inside, I nervously dropped my bag on the table in the room, unsure about what was going to happen.
“Cherie, you have been avoiding me.”
The words carried so much hurt that I couldn’t help feeling bad, even as I tried to steel myself against anything that would make things harder for me.
“Yes,” I admitted instead, watching as he nodded sadly.
“Why? Did I do something wrong the last time? I thought we left on good terms. Did I offend you unknowingly? Please tell me what I did wrong so that I can fix it.”
Again, he looked so earnest that it tugged at my heartstrings.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Jean,” I told him and watched as confusion clouded his expression. “Then why have you been avoiding me? I tried to book you but couldn’t. I couldn’t reach your phone, either, and your assistant keeps giving me obvious excuses as to why you aren’t available. I have been very distraught and confused, thinking endlessly about what I may have done wrong to be blacklisted so badly. Did I hurt you?”
That made me feel even worse, so I shook my head and told him honestly, “You didn’t hurt me, Jean. I just needed to put some distance between us.”
He looked even more perplexed. “Distance? Pourquoi? Why would you do that? I thought you enjoyed our time together as I did.”
I snorted. “Of course, I enjoyed our time together. That is the problem. I enjoyed it too much, and it’s partly your fault for always blurring the lines between us and partly mine as well for allowing it. But I don’t want to do that anymore. I need to put an end to it before it becomes too late.”
The expression on his face as I told him my reasons for avoiding him changed from confusion to understanding and then settled on something I couldn’t name.
“Oh, chérie. I wish I could apologise for making you feel more and mean it, but it would be a lie. I have much to say about that, but I have missed you dreadfully. May I have a hug before we continue with our discussion?”
I was conflicted, but he was looking so damn good, and I missed being close enough to inhale his heady scent. I had missed him, period, so I agreed. I could allow this short hug.
As soon as he gathered me into the cocoon of his arms, I knew that I was doomed. It felt even better than I had remembered. It felt like home. It felt so great and safe to be in his arms again.
“I need to spend more time with you. I miss spending time with you, my Beauty.”
My heart forgot its work for a second and then started to work again with rapid effect.
“Just find someone else, Jean,” I whispered into his chest, enjoying the warmth of his hug even as I reminded myself of the need to keep my distance.
Just five seconds more and I’ll pull away.
“I don’t want someone else, Beauty. I want you. Only you. My thoughts are filled with you,” he whispered in my ear.
I pulled away from him, irritated. “Stop saying things like that! It is because of this kind of behaviour that I have to stop seeing you. You blur the lines between us too much, and it is beginning to get to me. I haven’t been able to concentrate on work since you left. I can’t keep doing this with you.”
“You haven’t been able to concentrate on work? Good. Do you think the lines are not blurred for me, too? Chérie, I flew over 3,000 miles just to see you. I have no agenda here but to spend time with you. So when I say that my thoughts are filled with you, it is nothing but the truth. Nobody else but you will do, because I came here to see you. If you do not want me, I will return, not find someone else. C’est toi que je veux voir. (It’s you I want to see.)
I stared at him after that admission, filled with mixed emotions. I knew that his wanting to see me so badly didn’t necessarily mean much. Yes, it was flattering that he had put in so much effort because of me, and it did make me feel kind of giddy inside, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I was not about to build castles in the air because of it.
“Oh, Jean. I don’t know. On one hand, I’m pretty flattered. I won’t lie — hearing you say that makes me feel a little better, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea to continue our sexual relationship. Maybe we need some time apart to put things into perspective.”
“I don’t think time apart will change anything for me, chérie. We have time apart for months and I always come back. Why do you think I come back to you?”
I had never thought about it that way. I had regular clients who booked me because it’s easier and more convenient for them to arrange for sex and companionship that way, with no strings attached, where they can return to their lives until next time.
“I thought it was more convenient for you to have a date and sex prearranged when you were here for an event,” I answered honestly.
“Non, the first time I booked you, I did not intend to have sex with you. I booked you as my date for the event. I had sex with you because I was attracted to you and liked you during the date. I come for most of these other events so that I can see you. And that is because I miss you when I’m away. So this situation is not convenient for me either. I do not relish feeling this way, but I have come to accept it.”
I mulled over his words, staring at a face shining with a sincerity that pleaded with me to believe him. I wanted to, badly, but it was a terrible recipe for building castles in the air, so I took the words in cautiously.
“So what do you suggest? What do you want from me?”
Taking my hand, he kissed it reverently. “Anything you are willing to give. However, I would love very much to date you.”
It was what I wanted, but I was still shocked when he said the words I didn’t think he would say. I stared at him in surprise. “Jean, I am a sex worker.” Or, I was, but he didn’t know that yet, and my past would always be a part of me, so I needed to remind him of that.
“I know,” he answered. “I was a regular client after all.”
“And you’re okay with the woman you’re dating having sex with other people for money?”
I had decided during my time at the resort to become a sex therapist and had even started the process of enrolling in a training programme for a certification, but as discreet as my services had been, it was still something I had done. I wasn’t ashamed of it either and wouldn’t want to date a man who would be ashamed of me — no matter how deeply I felt for him. I had to know his mindset around my former profession.
I stared at him as I waited for him to respond to my question. I liked that he was thinking about the answer before giving me one.
“To be honest, I did not think of it. I only thought about the fact that I want you in my life more permanently. Sex aside, I enjoy talking to you and spending time with you. I miss you when we are apart. Before, when I was just a client, I only aimed at remaining memorable for you. If you agree to date me, I do not know how I will feel about your work. I am tempted to say that I wouldn’t mind, but I will not truly know until it happens.”
That was fair enough, but I wasn’t done. There was still a lot of ground to cover, including the fact that we lived on two different continents.
“And if we run into someone who used to be a temp partner for me? How would that make you feel?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I will applaud his or her excellent taste. Beauty, it would hardly be reasonable for me to judge you for rendering a service that I patronised. That is not a problem for me.”
I couldn’t fully believe him, but I guess time would tell. I won’t know if I don’t give it a chance. Taking the chance was a huge risk — because it might all blow up in my face and leave me in a much worse emotional state than the one I was currently trying to overcome. However, he was there in front of me oozing sincerity, and I was the weak-assed woman who had been missing him for weeks. So I said yes.
The wide grin he gave me made me feel that perhaps I had made the right decision.
When he pulled me into his arms again and whispered sweet words in French about how happy he was, I melted a little more.
“Can I kiss you? I’m dying to kiss you,” he said after he pulled away.
For a second, I wondered why he was asking for permission, and then I remembered that this time was different from the other times we had been together. There was no booking or planned arrangement. We were going to be intimate for the first time as two people who had started to see each other romantically.
“Yes,” I whispered against his lips and sighed at the first touch of our lips together. I had missed this. I had missed the way he kissed me like he wanted to drown in me. Kissing Jean was different. Being with him was different.
I knew I may be making a mistake by allowing him back into my life this way, but I couldn’t help it. He was here, and I wanted him badly. I did not doubt that it would be worse if he left again and decided that he no longer wanted this. But for now, I could allow myself to revel in the pleasure of being in his arms and having him treat me like someone he cared for. I couldn’t wait to be quivering under him again.
