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“Huh?” I gaze dazedly at Maddie, who is staring at me with worry in her eyes.
Pull yourself together, Giselle.
“Are you all right?” she questions in a quiet tone.
Forced laughter falls from my throat. “I’m fine, Maddie. I’m sorry. I think I’m a little dazed. I haven’t danced in a while.”
A smile chases away the apprehension from her eyes. “Did you enjoy it?”
“I sure did, and I can’t wait to come back here next Sunday.”
She nods, and I hold her hand as we walk toward the elevator. My movements are slow because I don’t want us to encounter Miles in the lobby. Making a scene in front of my niece and his daughter is the last thing I want. But I don’t think he would want to stick around for his little girl to know his dirty secret and maybe inform his wife about it. Or am I letting my imagination run wild?
I sigh. He had been about to approach me when I came out of the class but had quickly turned around when his daughter called to him. His back was turned for some time while I stood rooted to the spot in utter shock. If truly he had nothing to hide, he would have led her over to me.
But you ran away, Giselle.
Flushed, I shake my head. But I didn’t run away immediately. Shock immobilized me for a moment. He could have taken that time to come over.
“Aunt Gigi, are you sure you’re all right?”
I jerk from my thoughts when I realize I’m just standing there staring at the elevator doors.
Smiling sheepishly at her, I push the button. “I guess I’m a little out of sorts, but I’ll be fine.”
Suddenly, her face loses its color. “Does that mean you won’t come here again?”
Alarmed at her interpretation of my disconcerted reaction, which has nothing to do with her, I squat and throw my arms around her. “Of course not, sweetie. I’ll be here next Sunday with you.”
Her smile returns, and I place a kiss on her forehead. “Come on, let’s get you home. Your dad promised us some delicious pot roast.”
“Yummy.”
Giving her a conspiratorial grin, I say, “Don’t tell him I said so, but he’s a better cook than me.”
She makes a gesture of zipping her mouth shut. “Your secret is safe with me.”
I laugh with relief. Oh, how blissful it is to be a child without worries. I wish I were that lighthearted and carefree. Realizing that my anger about Miles and his daughter is alarming my niece, I put thoughts of them away until we get home. I fake a cheerfulness that I don’t feel as we join Gabriel in the kitchen. After lunch, with the excuse that I’m tired after the class, I go to my room and lie down.
Finally, I allow myself to think about Miles and how foolish I was to sleep with him. How could I have fallen for a married man? It’s not enough that I slept with him the very day I met him, he had to also be married with a kid . . . or maybe even kids.
Had I seen a ring on his finger last Monday at the museum when I discovered he was on the Board of Trustees? It’s not unusual for men not to wear their wedding rings these days, though.
If he were my husband, I would make him wear it. In fact, I would make him tattoo it. Nope, my handsome and sexy husband wouldn’t go about ringless for ladies to get the wrong message about his availability. I laugh at my thoughts despite my annoyance.
“Classic Giselle. Falling for a man who isn’t available,” I mock myself with tears in my eyes that I refuse to shed.
I must be jinxed. My pattern keeps repeating. It’s always a man who isn’t obtainable that crosses paths with me. This is so much worse because he’s a married man, and I slept with him. Another married man approached me for a relationship in the past, claiming he was on the brink of getting divorced, but I refused. But in less than a week of coming to New York, I fell into my own trap again.
Oh, Giselle.
I can’t deny that seeing him today brought back memories of our time together at the Met, Central Park, and the Mandarin. Heat sweeps through me when I think of how it felt to have him inside me. I dip my fingers into my panties to caress my clitoris as I recall his firm hands holding my waist and lowering me onto his erect cock. He felt like satin over steel as I rode him and he sucked my nipples. I whimper as my fingers work my clitoris, remembering the feel of the tip of his cock against it. Gosh, I want him to fuck me again. I want him so badly, I don’t care if he has a wife and kid. I . . .
No! Sanity returns seconds later, and I shake my head vigorously. No! I will not be dragged along again as Pierre did to me for more than a year. This feels like déjà vu. Pierre and I met at the Louvre before we started our relationship. Miles and I also met at a museum. I have sworn never again to have anything to do with workplace romance, and I’m not about to change my mind, not even if the man is drop dead gorgeous and a god in bed. He’s fifteen years older than me, probably only wants me as a fuck buddy whenever he can get away from his wife, and he also works at the museum. Multiple red flags.
Sighing heavily, I rise from the bed to go and take a shower. My career should be my only focus. Getting the Mayan sculpture my sister mentioned into the upcoming exhibit is my primary goal for the time being.
And also forgetting about Miles Carrey.
