♫ Then I don't even see you
Not even for a weekend or a month
So much you left between us ♪
(Jonas Brothers—Every Single Time)

Coralie's mind raced. Everyone continued to cheer for her, clap her back, capture her hand to shake it.

Ryan had gotten off his stool and was feet away, but Michael was closer, within reach. A few bros loitered between them, so Coralie took her chances and rushed forward, preparing to shove Michael off to the side, out of Ryan's pathway to her.

She collided into him, breathless as he drew her into his arms.

"Michael—"

"—Wow, Cora, that was amazing! You were outstanding!"

She flashed him a grin and brought her lips to his ear. "Thank you," she whisper-yelled, "but I need some air, if you don't mind?"

He pulled aside and nodded, beaming at her. "Yeah, for sure! Do you want company, or...?"

She shook her head—a little too fast, prompting a bout of dizziness that she fought to ignore; she'd need all her wits about when confronting Ryan. "No, no I need a minute alone. That was intense, and I need to... recompose myself."

He rubbed her arm and let her hurry off, and she hoped he wasn't paying too close attention to where she rushed off to next—and to whom she spoke.

She jammed into idiots cat-calling her—their way of saying she had talent, apparently—and darted up to Ryan, stumbling into his colossal frame.

"Out," she pointed to the door, "now."

If bothered by her brashness, Ryan didn't show it. He seemed amused, smirking at her as if going outside meant they'd get to pick up where they left off, as if this was her way of greeting him far from prying eyes. And it was, in a sense—but she had no plans to greet him nicely.

The instant the door slammed behind them and the next performer's song died under the sound of whooshing cars and police sirens in the distance, Coralie crossed her arms.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Clutching his hat against his belly, Ryan cocked his head. "What do you mean? Am I not allowed to be?"

He dared to lift the corners of his lips, and Coralie had half a mind to slap those cheeks until they turned purple, to squeeze his chin and drag his mouth closer to hers—

No, you're mad, Cora! You're super mad!

"You were going to send flowers, dammit! Not yourself!"

Her lungs felt like they were caving in and her throat constricted, turning scratchy as if she'd swallowed sandpaper. A part of her squirmed in delight to see this fantasy man standing before her, biting his lip though he had no doubt he was in trouble.

But another part of her wished to scream at him, trip him, shake him until he realized how stupid his sudden appearance was.

"What the hell? Why are you here, Ryan? I told you to leave me alone!"

As he gawked at her, airs of fake innocence in his expression, she saw the teenager in him. The one reprimanded by teachers for being a clown. The one lowering his chin and trying his hardest not to grin at his actions. The one conscious he'd broken rules but chuckling about his disobedience. He thrived for thrills, he loved to defy, and he didn't care what anyone thought; so of course he'd hopped onto a plane and traveled across the world to see her sing, to taunt her, to remind her what she was missing. Of course he'd do everything in his power to win her over.

He wouldn't win this time, but still, she growled; as if she'd ever forget the smell of him, that coarse and crisp perfume he wore that brought her to her knees. As if she'd forget his pressed suits that hugged his body in all the right places, and how he allowed the top of his chest to peek out, begging her to come closer, to touch it, to lick it.

He was a terrible tease, and she hated that the tiniest piece of her liked it when he tormented her.

"I wanted to surprise you." He kept his chin down, but his gaze rested on her, tenebrous like a darkened sea at midnight. "I wanted to be here for you. Tonight was a tremendous deal for you, and me not being here to encourage you, to cheer you on... it didn't sit well with me." He shifted left and right, and a slight flush fluttered over his light brown cheeks. "I care about you, Cora, so I had to fly over."

"That was not your decision to make." Coralie's arms loosened, but she wouldn't move them; they blocked her décolleté from view, and if she lowered them, if she exposed herself, Ryan might grab her and hold her close and kiss her and touch the lace of her bra and never let go—which would be bad.

"But I missed you, Cora. How we left things... you broke them off and didn't give me a choice. I loathed it," he said, his accent punctuated as his emotions spewed out. The Londoner in him always surfaced when he was animated, and Coralie hadn't heard it in a long time. That dark timbre, those quick-paced comments, the sensual way his lips moved—she had to look down to drown the butterflies awakening in her belly.

"We didn't have a choice." She gulped as a bitter red wine taste settled on her tongue. How she wished to have another glass now—to drink for courage, or to throw in Ryan's face, she wasn't sure. "We... we can't do this, and you know it. It was fun when we talked about it, it was... hot." She sucked in her lips, rubbing them together, hoping her lip-stain hadn't smeared. "But come on... did you really think you'd actually do that to your wife? To your children? That you and I would meet up and get drunk and have sex in some swanky hotel as if that wasn't taboo? Illicit?"

As she said it, her heart broke. She had thought those things, hoped for them, dreamed of them. She'd been desperate for them, craving them, and willing to pull out of her promised celibacy for them.

But her conscience had caught up to her—in the form of Delilah's drunken call—and whacked her in the face, bringing her back to reality, to the facts: Ryan would never betray his spouse. He was lost in the moment, enthralled by their confessed emotions, absorbed in memories. He'd allowed his imagination—and a few steamy phone conversations—to cloud his judgment, rouse his desire, prompt his curiosity when he should have stopped himself.

Coralie, hungry as she was for him, had let it happen.

He scoffed and stuffed his hands into his pockets, which pulled at his pants and pressed into the bulge Coralie was struggling not to drool over.

"I did. You think I was playing around? I meant every word, every promise. You have always been my biggest regret—not telling you how I felt, I mean. We finally had a shot, we finally had our chance, and you ran."

Coralie's arms dropped and her fists bunched at her sides. She sensed her body moving forward, as if to stomp over to him, berate him from closer up; but she refrained, planting her feet firmly on the pavement. If she got too close, she'd enable him to catch her, rendering herself more vulnerable than she already was.

"I didn't want to run away. I had to. You and I... no matter how much I wanted it, no matter those promises, no matter how truthful you were... you made bigger promises to your family. I couldn't be a part of that sort of betrayal."

"Didn't bother you when we undressed." He tilted his chin up, squinting at her, taking in every inch of her now exposed neckline. "Or when we discussed how we still have feelings for each other. Were you lying, Cora? Were you the one toying with those feelings? Did I come all the way out here for nothing?"

"Fuck no, I wasn't!" She realized how loud she'd been when a young couple passing by glowered at her. She covered her mouth. "I mean, no, of course I wasn't lying. I meant every word, too. But you—how dare you say that? How dare you imply you lept onto a plane and came all this way for this? For me?"

"Cora—" he extended his arms towards her, but she shuffled backwards.

"You shouldn't have come here at all, not without warning me." She huffed, and her breath whipped through her curls, loosening a few to frame her face, to tickle her skin. "That night, at Scarfes, I... I freaked out, okay? I wanted this, I still do, but it isn't appropriate. You and I, we can't..."

Her legs quivered as the butterflies she'd tried so hard to murder started flapping about in her belly. Her façade was melting, she knew; the magnetism in his presence, how he stood inches away, so available, so delectable, tested her willpower. She arched her spine and folded her arms to again cover herself up.

"Where does your wife think you are, huh? You hop on a plane to California whenever you want to nowadays?"

He pinched his lips, and though he seemed to try to appear menacing, Coralie caught the slight flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I work for an international brand, and she's aware there's much travel involved. Around the world. I'm on a business trip in Los Angeles, as far as she's concerned." He crinkled his nose as he took one step towards her. "I can cover my tracks."

Coralie's heart went from hammering to fluttering. Her insides went from churning to yearning, imploring her to let him get into her space, to let him weave his arms around her and press her into his defined torso. Her body ached for the swollen area below his abdomen to graze her and cause electricity to fizzle between them.

All the fantasies she'd been shoving down and ignoring animated in her brain, whooshing about with such intensity her scalp hurt.

"No..." She massaged her temples and spun from him, unable to continue looking at him without losing control of all her faculties. How could one man create so many emotions, so much tension, so much passion with only a wink and a smile?

She felt him approaching from behind, and her spine tightened at his touch. His thumbs rolled over her shoulders, massaging, caressing, smoothing out the distress, soothing her into accepting him. And she wanted to; she needed him so badly, and she was so thirsty to finish what they'd begun at the bar, so curious to know how it would be to sleep with him.

It didn't help that there were several ways of disappearing, of running off together. Cabs zoomed by every few seconds, Lyft drivers were always in the area, several decent hotels were within walking distance, and she knew of a few nearby romantic bars with dim lighting and private booths hidden behind silky curtains. Hell, there was an alley a few blocks down where she'd definitely made out with one too many boys in her party days. That would suffice, if anything, to get the satisfaction of tasting Ryan's kiss at last.

But she couldn't. She wouldn't. Her conscience yelped at her, pleading with her not to give in to the urge. Not so much because of its sinful nature, but because if she did, if she caved... she'd never be able to get enough of him.

"Stop." She broke free and pivoted to him, her brows drawn in and her eyes narrowed. "I don't give a shit how good you are at covering your tracks, Ryan. We can't do this. I'm serious. Trust me, I care about you. Always have, always will. But this is wrong."

His smile faded into a frown as he slid a few of her icy strands behind her ears. When his fingers brushed her cheek-bones, she shivered, and chewed on her tongue to restrain herself.

His breath blew onto her forehead, her nose, her chin, and she inadvertently sniffed at it—minty mojito, her favorite.

But when their eyes met again, his glistening, hers itchy, she stiffened. He still had that lust in his gaze, that craving gleam that she'd noticed during their video-chats. And of course, the compelling Chapstick sheen over his lips called to her, dared her to kiss him, to figure out which flavor he'd lathered on.

Was she wrong to deny the irresistible bond between them, the invisible charge that kept tugging them together, kept jolting in her gut and waking her lower body in ways it hadn't been alive for years? Why did she have to stop herself?

No one has to know. And he claims his wife wouldn't find out...

Her heart and her brain and her soul waged a war on the inside as she fought his proximity, tipping away from him to avoid the impulse to seize him.

"I care about you too, Cora. And I won't hurt you, never. I'm here because I thought you wanted me to be, I thought your message meant you needed courage. That you feared letting something so wonderful happen to you. Because you've done that before, I know you. You refuse to let good things into your life, and I want to be a good thing for you."

The sincerity in his voice had her shaking again, and in a motion she had no time to prevent, she reached out and gripped his arms for stability.

"RyRy, it's..." She let go of him as she grimaced, realizing what she'd done. "No, you can't be a good thing. You can never be a good thing! You belong to someone else, and I'm insanely jealous, and I hate this, but that's how it is, how it must be. Because you married Gemma, and I... I have to move on."

"Cora." He took hold of her hand before she could slip far from his reach. "Please. Please allow me to show you how much fun we can have together. How much we've missed in all these years, how much we can be for each other now, as adults."

She didn't fight off his grip, but she snarled at him; something she'd only done once, when he'd failed his exams for his continuous clown-like behaviors in class.

"You will hurt me, by the way. You already have. By confiding all these feelings in me, and doing so too late. Yes, we can have fun and we can be great together; but it's too much. I'm... I'm not able to get over the fact that you'd sacrifice your marriage for me."

His fingers slid between hers. "You make it sound like you're no one to me," he said, clicking his tongue. "But you mean the world to me, always have. I was a moron, definitely, for not speaking up before now. I regret it every day. This," he squeezed her hand harder and jerked her closer, "is more than physical to me, you know that, right? It's everything. You are everything."

His words were melodies meandering into her heart, whisking between her veins, tying them into knots. She was stuck—of course all this was more than a brief sexscapade for them. Feelings were involved; heavy, long lasting, deeply hidden feelings they'd repressed for years and that had recently resurfaced and punched them both in the jaw.

"I can't." She tore from his grasp and hastened to the door-handle before he could take hold of her again. "Go back to your family, Ryan. We shouldn't do this. I want to, I really want to, but it's not good. Not here, not now. No."

She didn't wait for hisreply and hoped that he wouldn't follow her back inside.

♥♥♥