“As long as it’s not gun-running.”
“You might wish it was when I tell you.”
Boh smiled. “Amaze me.”
“Well,” Pilot steered the car onto the Brooklyn Bridge, “You know those little perforations in toilet paper? My dad invented the perfect ‘tear-rate’.”
Boh blinked. That was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “Really?”
Pilot slid his eyes over to her. “Nope.”
For a second Boh didn’t comprehend what he’d said, then she busted out laughing. “You had me. You really had me.”
Pilot chuckled. “Well, it was a more interesting line than he worked real hard in the city and made a wad of cash.”
“You are quite insane, Pilot Scamo.” She giggled, shaking her head.
They joked with each other on the way back to her apartment, then he walked her to her door. “Goodnight, Boheme Dali.”
He kissed her gently, and she smiled. “Goodnight, Pilot. Thank you for dinner, for driving me home, and—thank you.”
He stroked her cheek. “May I call you tomorrow?”
She nodded, and he kissed her one more time before he waved goodbye.
Boh went inside to find Grace asleep on the couch, Beelzebub curled on top of her head, awake, watching Boh with baleful eyes. “You’re just jealous I got to kiss a gorgeous man,” she whispered, draping a blanket over Grace’s sleeping form.
When she was in bed, all she could think about was Pilot’s kiss, his sweet smile, his touch, and she wished she were curled up next to him right now.
When she slept, she dreamed of dancing into his arms and never leaving that loving embrace. When she woke, she woke to a text message of two words.
Lightning bolt.
Chapter Seven
“I wasn’t being cheesy, I swear, but it just came to me. I was thinking about meeting you, and then when I got home, some hokey rom-com movie was on cable. That one with the guy with the floppy hair, says fuck a lot.”
Boh giggled. “Four Weddings and a Funeral?”
“That’s the one.” Pilot sipped his coffee. “Well, right at the very end, there’s that meeting between the sick-kick guy and the posh woman, and there’s this frisson. He even says it ‘Gosh, thunderbolt city.’ Are you laughing at my English accent?”
“No, no.” Boh stuck her tongue in her cheek. Had she only known this man for 24 hours? Plot flicked a crumb of her bagel at her and she grinned. “So, carry on.”
“Heard of Faraday cages?”
Boh screwed up her face. “Should I have?”
“Ah, the youth of today. Anyway, ignoramus, a Faraday cage is a kind of enclosure which will shield things, a human, anything from electricity. Say you got hit by lightning in your car—wouldn’t hurt you because the car itself is a Faraday cage.”
“Okay, I get that, Bill Nye, but what does it have to do with me, and our project?”
Pilot looked pleased with himself. “I’m glad you asked, Miss Sassy.” He pulled out a sheet of paper on which he’d drawn something that resembled a birdcage. Inside of it, he’d drawn a figure, a ballerina, Boh, capturing her perfectly in mid-flight, her long limbs angled and graceful, mirroring the lightning bolts that were hitting the cage.
“Wow.”
“You like it? The idea?”
“I like the idea and the sketch. How the hell did you catch my likeness so well?”
Pilot grinned. “It’s a useful skill to have. But, seriously, what do you think? A series of movement and power. I’m not saying we do the entire shoot in a Faraday cage; I see it as a progression, maybe you in the cage at first, even hiding from the element until later in the series when you’re almost battling with it. I’m rambling.”
“You are, a little, but I think it’s a great start.” She looked back at the sketch. She loved the visual of it. “Would you do it as a modern piece or retro? Because I’m think this would look great as sepia-toned thing … God, listen to me. You’re the photographer.”
Pilot leaned forward. “Listen, this is a collaboration, Boh. We work together. Besides … you can order me around any time you like.”
“Ha, don’t say that,” she laughed, blushing. Pilot traced a line with his fingertip across her palm and smiled at her.
“Will you be late for class?”
She shook her head. “I’m not scheduled until nine. I’m glad you called.”
“Are you free for dinner later?”
She made a face. “That I don’t know. Kristof is still running Vlad and me ragged and his usual trick is to keep us late on weeknights. Yesterday, I was lucky. May I let you know later?”
“Of course. Look, I have meetings in Manhattan all day so any time you have free to talk about the project, I’d appreciate it, but I also know you have to have downtime, so I won’t be offended if you cry off.”
Boh secretly thought that she would love to spend her downtime with Pilot, but she also knew she had to be mature about this. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was a star-struck schoolgirl with a crush. He was studying her as if trying to read her mind.
“This has all happened quickly, and Boh, I want you to know—” he faltered and looked away, “I kissed you.”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t very professional of me, and I’m aware you might think it’s something I always do with my subjects. You can believe me or not, but I don’t. I haven’t. I’ve never been a player, despite what my ex-wife might say. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me.”
He was letting her down, obviously regretting kissing her. Boh swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
“I appreciate that.” She could feel her cheeks burning. Here, in front of her, was a world-famous photographer, and when she’d searched him on the Internet, she’d been disbelieving that the man who had kissed her and joked around with her could be so very out of her league. “I do have to focus on the performance,” she said quietly, but managed to smile at him, “as well as our project.”
“I would never put your job in jeopardy, Boh, I promise.” He smiled at her. “Boh … I’m twice your age, divorced, and a wreck. You deserve more.”
Boh wondered that the atmosphere between them had changed so suddenly from fun-loving to serious. “Pilot, I’m not someone who craves other people’s company, in fact, I actively seek out situations where I can be alone. But I like spending time with you.”
Pilot smiled. “Same here. Friends?”
“Friends.”
Pilot walked Boh back to the ballet company and then bid her goodbye. As he walked back to the car, he shook his head. He’d stayed awake all night thinking about her and the usual doubts about his self-worth had come flooding in. He’d tried to argue that he shouldn’t ignore the kind of chemistry that had been instantly there between them, but neither could he bring Boh into his shitty life at the moment. Once he was free of Eugenie, maybe.
So he’d given Boh an out.
Damn it.
His phone buzzed, and he saw it was his mother calling. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, cutie. How are you? I haven’t heard from you for a few days.”
Pilot smiled to himself. Since his divorce, Blair Scamo had been more attentive than usual, worried that her son would fall into one of the depressive moods he was prone to. Blair had disliked Eugenie from the beginning, but she also respected her son’s decisions and had been polite and kind to Eugenie throughout the marriage. She’d also seen Pilot at his most broken, when Eugenie’s cruelty had taken his pride, his confidence, and on more than one occasion, his health.
“I’m …” He was about to tell her that he was good, but he knew it would be a lie. Eugenie’s latest visit had put a strain on him that he was finding hard to get past. He sighed. “Genie came to see me the other day. She wants a baby.”
“Oh, for the love of God.” He could hear his mother’s anger. “I’ve said it before, Pilot. You need to ghost her, cut her out entirely.�
�
He was silent for a moment, and when Blair spoke again, her tone was softer. “Sometimes I forget the man I raised. You’re too good, Pilot, and I know that sounds strange. You were a victim of domestic abuse, Pilot—”
“Don’t say that, Mom, please.” Pilot winced at his mother’s words.
“Don’t be a macho man. There’s no shame in admitting that, Pilot. It happens to the strongest people, the very strongest. The strong and the good. It’s time, my boy.”
The trouble was—Pilot was embarrassed. Humiliated on more than one occasion by Genie in public, physically and emotionally attacked in private. Subconsciously, he touched the half-moon scar at the corner of his right eye. A broken champagne bottle that time. It could have ended his career, and he had no doubt that was exactly what Genie had wanted—to hurt him in the worst way.
He knew what he had to do. A new apartment, try to keep the details out of the press. He should keep the one in his present building as a decoy. It was a start.
That was the other reason he had backed away from Boh. Eugenie’s jealousy knew no limits and if she found out he was seeing someone else—someone so much younger and, in Pilot’s opinion, far more beautiful and sweet—he couldn’t bear the thought of Boh getting caught up in the ferocity of Genie’s rage.
God, what a fucking mess of a life. He could feel the black cloud descending on him. He stopped and got his bearings. What was next? What was he on his way to do?
He checked his schedule on his phone and turned down Broadway, making his way to his studio.
Work. Work was what would push the pain away, although he wished with all his being that when he reached his studio, Boh would be there to hold him in her arms.
To be continued.
What to read more?
Click here to read The Virgin’s Dance: An Older Man/Younger Woman Romance
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DH76FKT
©Copyright 2018 by Michelle Love - All rights Reserved
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights are reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Mrs. Love writes about smart, sexy women and the hot alpha billionaires who love them. She has found her own happily ever after with her dream husband and adorable 4 year old.
Currently, Michelle is hard at work on the next book in the series, and trying to stay off the Internet.
"Thank you for supporting an indie author. Anything you can do, whether it be writing a review, or even simply telling a fellow reader that you enjoyed this. Thanks!"
The Virgin's Baby_A Forced Marriage Romance Page 23