For a moment I can only stare at him, shocked into silence by his soothing tone, so like a caress and so unlike what I would expect from Dallas Sykes, the Playboy of the Western World.
I watch as his tender expression hardens in the wake of my silence. "Dammit, Jane. You're the one who crashed my party. If you're expecting an apology, you're not going to get it."
For just a moment I allow myself another prick of jealousy. Because this is his house now--our parents transferred the title into Dallas's trust when he turned thirty.
It's not the value of the property that upsets me--my Upper West Side townhouse is equally posh, and I love living in the city.
No, what bothers me is the memories, because this house is filled with them. And now they belong to Dallas alone.
"Pardon me, sir..."
At first I only hear Archie's voice. But when I step to the side, I can see him striding down the hall toward us.
"The helicopter is approaching the pad," he says. "You really should hurry if you don't want to--oh! Miss Jane." He inclines his head in greeting, and when he looks up, his face is alight with a pleasure as bright as my own.
His hair has gone completely gray and he's gained a few more wrinkles, but his eyes are still as sharp as ever, and I want to run to him just like I did when I was a little girl and he would sneak cookies into my room well past bedtime.
What the hell.
I fling myself at him and give him a hug, knowing it will embarrass him, but not caring in the slightest. I adore Archie, and I've missed him terribly.
I breathe in the scent of his uniform--mothballs and mint--and then back away feeling more centered than I have since the moment I pulled my cherry-red Aston Martin Vanquish up to the valet stand.
"It's a joy to see you here, miss, isn't it, Mr. Sykes?"
I almost expect him to disagree, but I hear the sincerity in Dallas's voice when he answers, very simply, "Yes. It really is."
For just an instant, our eyes meet, and both our guards are down. I want to just stand there, drinking him in. I want to touch him. More, I want him to touch me.
I shouldn't have come, I think. I should never, ever have come.
"I'll tell the pilot you're running late," Archie says, his crisp, efficient voice completely breaking the spell.
I gasp a little, feeling flustered. Dallas, damn him, looks as cool as he always does.
"Miss Jane," Archie says, "it was lovely to see you."
"You, too," I say sincerely, and then watch as he turns and heads down the stairs.
"Why did you come?" Dallas asks again, and his voice is so flat that I have to wonder if I'd been mistaken. If the desire I saw in his eyes was just an illusion. Or, worse, wishful thinking.
I want to tell him that it doesn't matter, but this is the one thing that I won't lie to him about. We suffered through too much together. And while I may not respect the man he's become, I love the man he could have been.
"I got a call from Bill this morning," I admit, then watch his face for his reaction.
It's not hard to miss. He winces. "Your husband."
"Ex-husband," I remind him. "You know damn well we divorced two years ago." William Martin and I were married for almost three years, which was almost three years too long. I'd known from the first week that saying yes had been a mistake. I'd respected Bill, trusted him. And I think I even loved him on some level. But there wasn't passion, not really, and there was never an us.
But I'd been lost for so long, trying to hold together all the various strands of a life that was spinning out of control. Trying to figure out what I needed. How I could heal.
I'd thought having a husband would help. A normal life with a normal family.
I hadn't understood then that normal isn't something you can play at. It has to be there at the core. But I'm a long way from normal, and I probably always will be.
"You still keep in touch with him?"
"I divorced him, Dallas," I say. "I didn't banish him."