by Bargo, Holly
“I’ll get your things,” he whispered to her.
The fact that she was unconscious didn’t faze him. He’d informed her. He licked her honey off his fingers, then walked over to the cottage next door where the three-way showed no signs of diminishing in vigor or volume. Since it wasn’t really necessary to sneak in, he walked boldly through the cottage into Sonia’s room. Her suitcase was neatly stowed in a corner of the room. He opened it and retrieved the smaller carry-on she had tidily packed inside it. Rummaging through the bureau and closet he pulled out panties and bras, pretty sundresses, and a pair of white sandals that would go with anything. He saw no sense in bothering with pajamas; she wouldn’t need them. He took her toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, and hairbrush. He sniffed at the bottles or perfume, finding the light, floral scent that he had smelled on her. He found her packet of birth control pills and paused.
She said she was a virgin. She acted like she was a virgin. Her pussy was definitely tight enough to be virginal, so why the birth control pills? He considered that for a moment and remembered that one of his old buddies had a sister who took the pills to regulate her very irregular cycle. Okay, she had fucked-up hormones. He could understand that.
The pills went into the carry-on bag. He zipped it shut.
Mick decided that anything else she needed he could buy for her.
As he walked back to his cottage, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and, with the aid of speed dial, was quickly connected to his agent.
“Hey, Jay,” he greeted.
“How’s it going, Mick?” Concern loaded Jay’s voice. He knew of Mick’s recent dearth of creativity.
“Never better, Jay. Fantastic, in fact. I need you to get me two tickets to Las Vegas.”
“Mick, you’re not going to do something stupid are you?”
“I found my muse, Jay, and I’m going to make damn fucking sure she stays with me. We need to leave today.”
“Please don’t tell me one of the groupies you’ve been fucking has blackmailed you.”
“She’s not a groupie and I haven’t fucked her. Yet. We’re getting married first.”
“Married! Mick, have you gone crazy?”
“Oh, yeah, and it feels good, really, really good.”
“Mick—”
“Jay, I’m an adult, have been for several years. This is my decision.”
“At least get a prenup.”
“She’s not marrying me for my money.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Yeah, actually, I can. Just book the flights and send me the confirmation.”
Mick closed the door quietly behind him and set down the small suitcase. He tiptoed to the bedroom to check up on Sonia. She had rolled over and was curled up, her hands tucked beneath her chin, her breathing soft and regular as she slept. A small smile played across her lips.
Quietly, he withdrew a few changes of clothes and toiletries and stuffed them into an overnight bag. His cell phone vibrated as he carried the bags and her purse to the car. He deposited the bags in the car and glanced at the flight confirmation. Good old Jay had come through for him again.
He walked back into the bedroom and gently shook Sonia awake. He would have preferred to kiss her, but then he’d lose control and they’d miss their flight. She blinked sleepily at him, pushing her mussed hair back with one slender hand. Damn, he needed to get her a ring.
“Time to get up, sweetheart,” he said quietly.
“Huh?’
“Time to get up,” he repeated.
Like a sleepy child, she obediently followed the gentle tug of his hand and rose from the bed. She visited the bathroom and then let him lead her to the car.
“Buckle up, sweetheart.”
She buckled her seatbelt, leaned her head back, and promptly fell back to sleep. He let her snooze on the short drive to the airport.
“Wake up, sweetheart,” he gently urged her. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”
Blinking and bleary, she yawned and followed him. Mick led her through the airport where they picked up their boarding passes. They garnered some curious glances and a few people squealed in recognition.
“Mick! Mick!” one particularly loud group of young women called, bouncing on their toes in excitement. “Is Davis with you? Angelo?”
Since none of the band members were with him, he simply shook his head and smiled. He pulled Sonia into the preferred traveler line where they could avoid the long wait to progress through security.
“In a hurry, sir?” the TSA agent queried.
“Running a bit late for our flight,” he replied.
“I see you’re headed to Vegas.”
“Yeah, getting married.”
Sonia blinked rapidly.
The agent looked at her and back at Mick, taking in her innocent, sleep-rumpled appearance and his wild hair and tattoos. He raised a speculative eyebrow, but said nothing more that could be construed as disapproving.
“Have a nice trip,” the TSA agent said and waved them through.
Mick led Sonia at a hurried walk through the terminal to their departure gate. He gestured to a seat and she gratefully plopped down.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“I could go for some iced tea,” she answered slowly, thinking to herself, “Married. Am I really doing this?”
Mick caught the sudden indecision cross her face and he bent down to wipe it away with a drugging kiss. She sighed into his mouth and he fought to remember they were in a very public place.
“I’ll get you that tea,” he promised. “Don’t wander.”
She blinked at him, still dazed. She blinked again and shook the cobwebs from her thoughts. Oh, she should let Penny know what was going on so she wouldn’t worry when she realized Sonia wasn’t there. If she realized, a cynical little voice whispered in her mind. Latching on to a semblance of responsible behavior, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and sent a quick text message: “Going out of town for a few days. Please tidy up the cottage.” Perhaps Penny would see it when she came up for air.
Mick returned a few minutes later with a bottle of iced tea as the flight attendant announced first class boarding.
“That’s us, sweetheart,” he said and held out a hand to help her stand.
She took it and followed him aboard. Having never traveled first class before, she sat down in mild amazement at how solicitous the flight attendants were, asking if she were comfortable, if she would like something to drink, if she needed a pillow or blanket. She stretched her legs in front of her and marveled that she could actually do so.
“Wow, first class is nice,” she commented under her breath.
“Stick with me, babe, and I’ll give you first class all the way.”
She blushed.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Going to Vegas?”
“Getting married to a man I’ve only just met today. This is insane.”
“Insanity feels wonderful, doesn’t it?” He grinned at her and she could not help but smile back.
God, he was so handsome. She felt her insides quiver at the thought that tonight would be her wedding night and that this gorgeous, talented man would be touching her in every intimate way. Sonia squirmed in her seat.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered in her ear.
She gulped and blushed.
“I’m going to touch every inch of you,” he continued to whisper, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m going to taste you. And then I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly that you’ll still feel me inside you a week later.”
Sonia’s breath hitched.
“Hey, are you Mick Hendriksen?” asked a passenger across the aisle.
Mick cleared his throat and looked at the young man who watched him with hero worship in his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m Mick,” he replied politely and extended his hand. The other man shook it eagerly and introduced himself: “It’s an honor to meet you, Mick. I’ve been a
fan, a huge fan of Iron Falcon for years. I’ve been to your every U.S. concert in the last four years.”
Although Mick resented the intrusion into his seduction, he recognized the crucial importance of devoted fans like that man. “It’s always a pleasure and an honor to meet a dedicated fan like you, Tom. What’s your favorite tune?”
He didn’t really want to engage the man in conversation, but fans like that were utterly devoted until they weren’t, until they turned rabidly antagonistic because of some slight real or perceived. And disgruntled fans could do a lot of damage.
“Man, I never can choose between Masquerade and No Such Number.”
“Interesting. They’re very different songs.”
“Yeah,” Tom nodded in agreement. “The drum work, though, is absolutely astounding in both of them.”
“Ah, you’re a drummer, then?”
“Yeah, I play a little,” he admitted sheepishly. “I’m in a garage band at home, we do a small gig here and there, play at a local bar. We’re okay, but it’s not what we do for a living, more for entertainment.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Mick said. “I worked as a short order cook in my teens and still like to play in the kitchen every now and then. If I had to do it every day, it wouldn’t be fun.”
Tom laughed and commiserated, “That’s what my wife says about making dinner every night. And it’s only to hear the kids complain they don’t like whatever it is she makes.”
“You have kids? How many? Girls or boys?”
Tom perked up at the rock star’s successfully feigned interest in his family. “I’ve got three kids, two boys and a girl. She’s the youngest and my little princess. My oldest boy just turned six years old and he’s already an Iron Falcon fan.”
Mick chuckled obligingly and said, “I’m glad you’re starting them young. That plays into my retirement plan.”
A look of horror crossed the man’s face and he asked “You’re not planning on retiring any time soon, are you?”
“Only in about four or five decades,” Mick reassured him.
Tom smiled in relief. Then he seemed to realize that he had interrupted the celebrity’s personal time. Awkwardly, he said, “Well, it’s been really kind of you to indulge me, Mick. I’ll let you get back to your girlfriend. Sorry to have interrupted, but I was just so excited …”
“No worries, Tom. It’s always gratifying to meet a fan. Would you like me to autograph something for you?”
“Would you? Really?” He started digging in his pockets for something Mick could autograph. Then he remembered he had a folder stuck in the seat pocket. He pulled it out and handed it Mick, who accepted it with a nod.
“Sure. Let me see if my fiancée has a pen I can use.” Sonia, listening to Mick deal graciously with his fan, retrieved her purse from underneath the seat in front of her and rifled through it in search of a pen. A moment later, she extracted a pen and handed it to him.
“Fiancée? The tabloids haven’t mentioned anything about that.”
“After my agent, Tom, you’re the first to know.” Mick winked at him and said conspiratorially, “Let’s keep it just between us, though, shall we? My girl’s not comfortable with publicity yet.”
“Oh, sure. Mum’s the word.”
Mick signed the folder and handed it back. “Thanks, man. We both appreciate your discretion.”
“Of course. I’m glad to help the cause of true love.” Tom grinned.
Mick grinned back at him. Tom turned his attention back to the contents of his folder.
“That was nice of you,” Sonia complimented him in a quiet undertone.
“Without fans I don’t have a career,” he said with a slight shrug. “Making nice with fans is part of the job. Iron Falcon really owes its success to really dedicated fans like him. They’re the ones who propel a group forward, buy the albums, and attend the concerts.”
“And it costs nothing to be cordial to keep them as fans,” she added in that same quiet tone.
“There is this about that.”
She chuckled.
They chatted lightly, the type of getting-to-know-you discussion that fostered camaraderie and genuine liking for one another. Sonia was glad that, although they seemed to have little in common, Mick and she enjoyed many of the same things and held many similar opinions. There was just enough difference to keep them from becoming bored with each other.
“What was your childhood like?” she asked.
“Poor,” he replied tersely. He held his silence for a minute, not really wanting to go into his childhood, but then realizing that if anyone had a right to know about it, his wife would.
Wife.
The term suddenly struck fear into him.
This was more than just an official piece of paper that would unlock the key to Sonia’s figurative chastity belt. For a second, he considered calling the whole thing off. But then he reconsidered. She brought the music back to life within him and that was more than worth the term wife. He ordered that cold, rational part of his brain to shut up.
He started speaking, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard, because this was private. In concise terms, he described growing up with single mother.
“Dad was a soldier, killed in combat when she was pregnant with me,” he elaborated. “Her widow’s pension didn’t cover much. We lived in subsidized housing. It was a rough neighborhood.”
He praised his mother’s philosophy of tough love and unconditional support: “Mom always insisted that I needed to find my own way. She didn’t really understand the intensity of music’s call to me, but she let me run with it as much as she was able.”
He described his first instrument, a secondhand violin that just wasn’t cool: “I griped about it, but Mom told me that it was all she could get and that I could play it or not, my choice. Fortunately, the school had a good music teacher who thought I had talent. He actually paid for my first two years’ violin lessons out of his own pocket.”
He reminisced about his violin instructor: “Mr. Jackson never called it a violin; he always used word ‘fiddle.’ He died when I was eleven and he willed his fiddle to me. I still have it. Best damned fiddle ever. I took it an appraiser who couldn’t tell me anything about it except that it had been handmade by an unknown craftsman of uncommon skill.”
Mick paused. Sonia offered him the remainder of her iced tea and he took it, draining the bottle.
“Anyway, by the time I was about fifteen, I was already working part-time and summer jobs. I was big for my age and could fool people into thinking I was older than I really was, so I busted my butt to earn enough money to buy a guitar. Then, when I finally got one, I worked to pay for guitar lessons.”
He returned to the topic of his mother: “Anyway, Mom didn’t tolerate academic slackers, so she made sure I did well in school. Or else. I never wanted to find out what that ‘or else’ might be. Mom still scares the hell out of me.”
He paused, then asked carefully, “Would you believe I skipped two grades?”
“Yeah, I would,” Sonia replied. “Idiots don’t create beautiful music like you do.”
God, I think I love you, he thought, but did not say. Mick took a breath and continued his autobiography: “In high school I met up with Davis and Angelo. Davis is our drummer. He is phenomenal on the drums. Angelo is our horn player: saxophone, clarinet, flute, you name it. If it’s brass or woodwind, he can play it. He really adds depth and dimension to our music. Our bass guitarist, Kristof, came a few years later. And then there’s Jack, our keyboardist. Man’s a wizard on the ivories and has a great voice, too.
“Anyway, Davis and I would meet at Angelo’s parents’ house. Mr. and Mrs. DiMarco let us play in their garage. At that time of my life, they were the only family I knew who even had a garage, so it seemed like an incredible luxury. I know now that they were almost as poor as Mom and I were, but they were so generous.”
“You were surrounded by good people.”
“Some,�
� he agreed. He continued: “Davis and I both went to college on scholarships. Davis got full ride. My scholarship wasn’t enough to pay for room and board, so I commuted and worked part-time. On weekends we’d play in local bars even though we weren’t old enough to drink. That didn’t matter though.
“Anyway, we were playing an actual paying gig when one of the university’s music professors heard us. We were juniors by that time and Jim and Kristof had since joined our band of merry men. We weren’t producing much of our own stuff yet, still trying to find our way, make our own sound. But, as luck would have it, we played a tune that night that I’d written and, voilà, the rest is history.”
He ran a knuckled down her cheek and asked, “What about you?”
She smiled wryly at him and said, “Nothing dramatic or horrendous. I had a very ordinary childhood, growing up solidly middle class in the suburbs with both parents—who are still married, by the way—and three brothers. I’m the third in line. We had the requisite Labrador retriever, mackerel tabby cat, and ten-gallon freshwater aquarium to teach us responsibility.” She chuckled and added, “All I learned from that is that dogs are needy and fish tanks stink. I still like cats, though.”
Mick nodded. He’d never had a pet, never felt the lack.
“Anyway,” she continued, “Dad’s an accountant and Mom’s a high school chemistry teacher. My older siblings are both out of college and settled in respectable jobs with nice wives and growing families. My younger brother will graduate college in another year. He’s the adventurous one. He wants to be forest ranger.”
She paused to check if she had lost his interest. He looked steadily at her, his gaze piercing, penetrating, focused as though she were the only woman on the planet. Such direct regard made her belly quiver with delicious anticipation. Sonia licked her dry lips to moisten them and continued speaking: “We’re all rather boring. We participated in sports. I ran track and swam. There’s no dreadful story of abuse or tragedy. We’re all boringly average.”
“Your childhood sounds pretty much fantastic.”
“It was good overall,” she agreed. Then she sighed. “Penny and I have been friends since kindergarten, but somewhere along the way she went wild.” She shook her head in confusion.