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281 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 1, 2001
She was on her way to celebrate her birthday with the man she loved, and she’d just come from doing a job she adored.
Her heart fluttered, remembering his next words. “I have some things to say to you, Zoe. Important things. Your fortieth birthday is the perfect time.”
“He loves me,” she said aloud in the car. She knew it, even though he hadn’t spoken the words.
After all, it was her birthday—the big four-0 no less.
His ex-wife, Elizabeth. Zoe’s mouth fell open as the woman reached up and encircled Kurt’s neck with her long, slender arms. Bringing his head down, she kissed him thoroughly on the mouth. Zoe’s stomach lurched.
“We were...” He glanced at the clock. “I thought we were meeting at the hotel.”
Releasing a heavy breath, she studied him. Damn it, she wasn’t giving in to insecurities and hurt pride. “I trust you, Kurt.”
“I slept with Elizabeth.”
“I asked when.” “Last Monday night.”
“Where, Kurt? Where did you sleep with her? In the bed where we’d made love the weekend before?” The color drained from his face. Finally he said, “Zoe, don’t.”
She stood abruptly. “Please, don’t say you’re sorry.” She lifted her face to take this on the chin. “Obviously you’re considering going back to her.” He stared at her. Swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“She just got back from Paris last night.” Ah, Paris. And Pierre.
“In any case, you gave up your right to be concerned about her when you went back to that shrew.”
Elizabeth treated you like dirt for years. Then she cheated on you.”
“She’s a siren. She’s always had some weird control over you. You’re going to get hurt big time—and lose Zoe in the process…”
“Zoe, I’ve left Elizabeth.” She looked at him blankly. “It didn’t work out.” Still she didn’t say anything. Then she lowered her head, wrapped an arm around her waist, and dug the thumb and forefinger of her other hand into her eyes. “So much wasted,” she murmured.
“All for nothing.”
“You aren’t thinking of...” Cassie frowned. “Zoe, you wouldn’t take him back, would you?” “No, of course not. I could never trust him again. I couldn’t live with that kind of uncertainty.”
“You stayed with her a year. Why didn’t you leave sooner?”
“Because of Lauren.”
“Hi, Kurt.” “Have we met?” he asked, tossing back the ball. The woman was pretty—long blond hair, long limbs and wide eyes. She resembled Elizabeth. “Yes, last year. I’m Barbara Sherman, school psychologist.”
