The Klone and I Read Online Free PDF Page B

indifferently after I paid for my dinner. I was going to walk back to the hotel by some indirect route, to breathe in the sounds and smells of Paris andforget him. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second as I walked past, knowing I'd never see him again, and forcing myself not to care. I had been obsessing about him all through dinner, and even I knew, or especially I after the last two years, no man is worth it, no matter how sexy.
    I had already convinced myself I'd forgotten him as I looked in shop windows all the way back to the hotel, and then turned the final corner, only to realize that the hero in the blue shirt and khaki pants was just behind me, and closing on me quickly. My heart skipped a beat, and I paused, not sure what to say when he reached me. I was still standing there, trying to think of something clever to say, when he walked right past me. Without a smile, a look, a glance in my direction. He marched right by me into my hotel, and I wondered how he knew I was staying there, or why he cared. He was probably waiting for me in the lobby. Clearly, after two years of readjusting to everything in life from sleepwear to dating, I had lost my perspective.
    He was collecting his key from the porno star at the desk when I walked into the lobby. And this time, he turned and smiled at me, and something very primal deep in my soul spoke to me. I was so undone just looking at him, I couldn't even hear what he was saying. If nothing else, he was great to look at. Instinctively, I looked for a weddingring, but didn't see one. He was probably one of those guys who cheated regularly, and slipped the ring off and left it in his pocket. I could only assume the worst about him. In my opinion, he was much too good-looking to be decent.
    “Nice night, isn't it?” he asked pleasantly, as we stood together, waiting for the elevator that looked like a birdcage. I had been walking the two short flights until then, but looking at him, I couldn't this time. My stomach had melted into my shoes somewhere and I could hear myself mumble. I had been right, anyway. The words were American. But I could have figured that much out from the Oxford shirt, the khakis, and the loafers. I didn't need to see his passport.
    “It's a lovely city.” Brilliant. High marks for that one. Thank God I went to college, and graduated cum laude.
    “Are you here on business?” he asked as the elevator came. My God, a conversation. What happened?
    “I'm meeting my children in a couple of days. I'm just killing time, and spending money.” He grinned at that. Great teeth. Great smile. Great body. And I felt about as old, and sophisticated, as Charlotte, with or without the nose pierce.
    “It's a great city to do it in,” he said easily, as he followed me into the birdcage. “Do you come here often?” I pushed two and he pushed nothing.Maybe he was planning to follow me to my room and kill me. Or seduce me. Whatever. But at least I was wearing the pale blue lace underwear and garters. I knew he'd be impressed when he saw that.
    “About once every ten years.’ I said honestly. “I haven't been here in ages. Do you? … Come here often, I mean …” I felt unbelievably stupid. All I really wanted to do was stare at him. It was impossible not to think of him with his clothes off. I wondered what kind of underwear he wore. Probably Jockeys. Gray or white. Calvin Kleins. And knee socks.
    As it turned out, his room was next to mine, and all I could think of was the scene from Pillow Talk between Doris Day and Rock Hudson, where they're both in the bathtub, separately, talking on the phone. If this had been a movie, he would call me. In real life, he'd have had me committed for what I was thinking.
    “Good night,” he said pleasantly, and went inside to call his wife and seven children. Or his ex-wife, and two girlfriends. Or his boyfriend. Or any combination of the above.
    I stood in my room, staring out the window, and thinking of him. And since there