Going to Extremes. Dawn Atkins

his gaze was restless on her face, circling her features, hovering at her eyes, nose, chin, finally settling on her mouth.

      “Is there something else?” You missed me desperately? You thought you’d die without me? You want to kiss me senseless?

      “I don’t want you to think I didn’t learn from our time together,” he said, his cool blues maddeningly earnest. “Because I did. I learned what I needed in my life. Our affair was…pivotal.”

      Pivotal? What the hell did that mean? “That’s supposed to be a good thing?”

      “Of course.”

      What, he expected her to be pleased? Oh, Dan, thank you. As long as I was pivotal, then it was all worth it. She managed a smile. “Good night, Dan.”

      “Good night.” He shifted ever so slightly, leaned an inch or two closer so that she knew he intended to kiss her. But his face was tense and she knew it would be the kiss equivalent of the awful hug she’d given him when they first met—a tight peck she never, ever wanted to get from Dan—-so she wiggled her fingers in farewell. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

      “Sure. You, too.” He looked both disappointed and relieved when she slowly closed the door.

      She stared into space, musing, fuming. She was irritated, resentful, sad and hot for him, damn it all to hell.

      Pivotal, my little pink behind. So their relationship had provided a philosophical catharsis for him? A learning experience?

      It had been more than that to her. They’d been dragging themselves up a dangerous emotional cliff together, hanging on to the rope for dear life. Then, abruptly, Dan had let go, just let her tumble to the canyon floor, while he dusted himself off and hiked happily onward without a backward glance.

      Get over it, she told herself, crossing her sitting room, distracted for a second by the squish of the thickly padded carpet beneath her bare feet. He can’t apologize for what you never told him he did. The last thing she wanted him to know was how badly he’d hurt her.

      Grow up. Be grateful. After all, the shock of the breakup had jolted her into much-needed changes. She’d left ASU, transferred to a small college in California, shifting her major from journalism to liberal arts and while still in school, started writing the freelance entertainment pieces that led to her column at PulsePoint magazine, which led to her book career.

      So Dan had been pivotal for her, too.

      And she’d been careful with men ever since, kept things friendly and sexual, and that had been plenty satisfying. Much better than an unhealthy bonding and the agony that went with its inevitable end.

      She’d been stupid and naive with Dan. Ten years later, she was savvy and successful, confident and self-assured.

      And Dan was still an uptight guy. She’d pushed him out of his comfort zone, but he’d raced right back to it and then some, going for hyper-restraint and extreme control. He was the last guy she’d ever want.

      Get over it, Kath. Close the book, brick the wall. She blew out a breath. Make the most of every moment. That was her creed. She would live it on this tour, too, despite Dan’s presence. She would experience the best of the tour and ignore the worst.

      Maybe Dan would be pivotal again—jolt her into action on the new book. So far, she’d been bored by the research and frightened by her computer cursor blinking like a heartbeat on the blank screen.

      For now, she’d get some sleep. She put on her slipperiest nightgown, relishing its cool slide over her skin, grabbed the lilac linen spray from her comfort suitcase, which held her lotions, special pillows, aromatic oils and other necessities, and misted her sheets.

      Opening one of the small champagne bottles she brought on trips for nightcaps, she curled into bed with Dan’s book. She’d see what the buzz was about and remind herself why the breakup had been the best thing that had happened to her.

      She scanned the chapter titles until one caught her eye. “The Excesses of Youth” started out in italics:

      A young man of my acquaintance fell head over heels with a woman who considered sensual pleasure her religion.

      Hmm, that sounded familiar.

      Being young and naive and uncertain of himself, he was soon drowning in the whirlpool of her passion. He couldn’t be away from her, began failing classes, avoiding his friends, until he had nothing else but her. In short, he completely lost sight of his identity, his needs and his life goals.

      This was about Dan and her, no question. Electricity rushed through Kathleen. She skimmed ahead.

      Of course, inexperienced as he was, the young man was unable to recognize the psychological problems with which his lover struggled. Her obsession with pleasure kept her from recognizing real emotion. Sex was like a drug to her. The young man’s intense reaction—she’d forced him into her world of excess and extremes—affirmed her sense of herself and her importance in the world. Her narcissism made it hard for her to see the damage she was doing to the man she believed she loved.

      Luckily, the young man had enough self-knowledge to realize what was happening before it was too late. After a terrible incident of anger and jealousy, he broke away from the woman before her emotional recklessness destroyed him.

      Oh. My. God. So much for Dan’s “We were young…I was bewildered” bullshit. He thought she was narcissistic, unbalanced, immature and emotionally reckless?

      She’d accept immature and unbalanced. Maybe even reckless. But she’d been crazy over him, too. A little scared, but mostly because of how jealous and possessive he’d acted at the end. In his book, he sounded noble and brave, standing up for himself against the depraved nymphomaniac.

      Oh, this was outrageous. Anger pulsed through her in thick clots, thudded against her skull, pounded at her temples. She would talk to him right now. Straighten him out, once and for all. She launched herself out of the bed and marched across her suite, her feet barely touching the carpet.

      At her door, she stopped. If she burst into his room and yelled at him, she’d look like an emotional maniac. Any person would be upset—no, enraged—at being maligned, even anonymously, in a book to be read by thousands. Tens of thousands if their promotional tour had its intended impact.

      But she would not give Dan the satisfaction of seeing her yell or cry. She would calm down first and rationally explain how dead wrong he was.

      She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, dizzy with fury. She clenched her fists, then forced herself to release them. Calm, calm, calm. You can handle this. But her anger wouldn’t go away that fast. She began to pace, stopping each time just as she reached for the door to go to him, spinning on her heel and marching the length of the suite again, like a caged leopard—a caged, furious leopard…the source of her fury just outside the bars.

      Dan McAlister was not above the sexual fray. Maybe he could fool his readers, his clients, the Rhondas of the world, but he couldn’t fool Kathleen. She knew him. That way.

      For some reason, JJ’s words came to her: So sleep with him. Show him the error of his ways. No. Absolutely not. Sex was a beautiful physical connection between two caring people, dammit. It should never be an act of revenge or anger.

      Besides, how could she sleep with a guy she wanted to deck?

      No, she would talk to him. Gently explain in her most sensible voice what a wrongheaded, self-centered dick he was.

      4

      THEY’D BARELY checked in to the hotel in Chicago, when someone banged on Dan’s door. He had a whole hour before dinner with Kathleen and Rhonda, and he needed every second to recoup, relax, meditate and do some writing.

      Through the peephole, he saw it was Rhonda. Better than Kathleen, at least, who’d been oddly irritable all day—in the car to the airport, on the plane and at the book-signing, shooting him angry glances and eye rolls and delivering