by Auden Dar
Interlude
Book Two In The Interlude Duet
Auden Dar
Contents
Interlude
Interlude
Interlude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Julian
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
Indie Authors
About Auden
Interlude
Book Two In The Interlude Duet
Auden Dar
Interlude
Book Two In The Interlude Duet
© Auden Dar 2018
All rights reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Permission by the author must be granted before any part of this book can be used. This includes the right to reproduce, store in a retrieval system, or transmit in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products and establishments referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
The Dream Team:
Book Cover designed by Sofie Hartley of Hart & Bailey www.hartandbailey.com
Editing:
Jenny Sims of Editing for Indies www.editing4indies.com
Julie Deaton of Deaton Author Services https://m.facebook.com/jdproofs/
Shannon Wills of Creative Book www.facebook.com/creativebooknerds/
Interlude
One night.
That’s all Julian Caine offered.
And heartbreak is my only souvenir.
The morning after the most unforgettable night of my life,
I wake up minus the man and plus one note. With my head held high,
I’m determined to move on without the two men who broke my heart.
My former fiancé who let me go easily without so much as a glance.
And the staggering, gorgeous Englishman who made me scream incoherent words…
All. Night. Long.
When tragic circumstances bring Julian closer than ever, it comes with unyielding passion
and a new proposal…
but not the traditional kind,
the no-strings attached kind.
Tensions flare.
Life-changing truths are revealed.
New sexual adventures are explored.
But the question remains, will we ever be more than this … than this Interlude?
interlude
noun
1.: a usually short simple play or dramatic entertainment
2.: an intervening or interruptive period, space, or event
3.: a musical composition inserted between the parts of a longer composition, a drama, or a religious service
One
Heartbreak is my only souvenir.
Strangers gawk at me as I take my walk of shame toward home. The sexy black sheath dress hugging my body is wrinkled. The black peep-toe shoes are giving me blisters. Smoky eye makeup continues to smear under my eyes, and black mascara runs along the side of my cheeks. My swollen lips are dry, cracked, and bleeding. Why did I even bother with makeup? And let’s not forget the real reason strangers are staring at me. It’s obvious my disheveled attire reveals I’m not going to work, unless they think I’m a lady of the night.
I peek at the store window reflection and notice my hair is sticking up. The sexy hairdo from last night has long vanished, after making desperate love to a man who left me the next morning … alone in his bed with a note.
I meander through SoHo, walking my way up north while braving the onslaught of pedestrians on this midmorning weekday. The bustling city streets. The harsh sound of vehicles. Strangers going on about their day. I focus on everything except the constriction in my chest. Anything to forget the man who entered me all night long. The man played my body like an instrument. My body hummed; it sang. Sounds had escaped my lips. Sounds I had been unaware of.
Lina, just move on.
It was stupid of me not to hail a cab or tap my Lyft app, but I didn’t want to stop. I couldn’t stop.
Go on, girl. Just go home.
Standing at the intersection of Broadway and Houston, I wait at the corner for the walk sign. Several minutes go by, and the light has turned green a few times. Yellow cabs roam about my favorite part of the city in search of their next fare. Amidst all these New Yorkers, tourists, NYU students, and lonely wanderers in search of something, I stand here lost. What I was searching for the most, I found in his startling gray-blue eyes, his full lips, his thick, disheveled black hair, and the pronounced scar on his cheek. The haunting image of Julian Caine’s gorgeous body fucking me senseless through the night continues to vex me.
I still feel him.
One night.
That’s all he offered.
I wrap my arms around my chest as if this will protect my heart from breaking. You’re too late. Raising the volume on my phone, I want this particular song to drown out my pain. Ceelo Green’s “Fuck You” is on repeat, playing for the tenth time. And although the song was meant to empower me, it’s mocking me instead.
The main entrance door opens, as one of the tenants leave my apartment building. Clutching her right hand is her chubby six-year-old boy, Samson, singing an all too familiar song by the Beatles. “Yesterday” stings my heart. With everything in me, I greet them before walking inside with my head held high. As I am about to walk to the set of stairs, Samson tugs the hem of my sheath dress.
“Lina, can I come play your piano?” he asks, staring up at me with his big brown eyes.
And although I would love nothing more than to spend my day crying my eyes out, this little boy is too precious to say no to.
“Of course, Samson,” I say, trying to hold back my tears. “Just come over anytime.”
“Awesome!” he says, raising his small fist in the air.
His mother, Scarlett, offers a grateful nod before reaching for her little boy’s hand.
Watching them as they make their way to the small park across the street, I ache inside, wondering if I’ll ever have a child of my own.
One day, Lina. One day.
Each step I take requires effort. One foot in front of the other, Lina. You’re almost there.
<
br /> Finally reaching the staircase that leads me to my loft, I place my trembling hand on the banister, desperate not to fall apart.
Why does it hurt so much?
Biting my lip doesn’t prevent the onset of tears and I allow a few to slide down my cheeks.
Everything hits me at once.
The past few weeks with Julian Caine. The most romantic dinner of my life on his boat. Walking hand in hand along the streets of San Francisco. Our late-night conversations. Playing video games with me late into the night, so I could better understand music in an unfamiliar medium. Traveling to our favorite childhood haunts in Manhattan. Celebrating my birthday together−a day that usually consisted of me lying in bed and counting the hours until it was over. It was the first time I had celebrated my birthday since my father’s death. Our first kiss as the rain started to pour. The constant haunting image of Julian making love to me all night plays like a movie trailer on repeat.
Taunting me.
Punishing me.
My body shudders just remembering the multiple orgasms he managed to wring out of me. Orgasms I’ve never experienced with someone before.
And then there is my fiancé. Rather, my former fiancé, Andrew Nielsen. The man who confessed his love for me sixteen years ago when we were teenagers. The man who asked me to leave my life in NYC to move to LA, where he enjoyed the company of his research papers at UCLA more than the company of his fiancée. My head hurts at the memory of him dismissing me … discarding our relationship as if it were the easiest to do.
Andrew let me go without a glance. He continued to work in his home office, searching for papers that were far more important than the woman who loved him, before typing away on his ancient black typewriter.
I. Am. An. Idiot.
An idiot for wasting years loving a man who no longer desired me. An idiot for making love to a man who didn’t want me the next day. An even bigger idiot because although Julian didn’t want me, it didn’t change how I feel.
I still want him.
I finally find myself in front of my home, exhausted.
I’ll be okay. I need to be okay.
Last night. Last night was just a prelude. I exhale before promising myself that today is going to be the beginning of a new chapter in my life, without the two men who both broke my heart.
Two
A large black suitcase stands inside the foyer of my apartment. In its company are two small black duffle bags. Relief washes over me because my best guy friend, Roger Bartley, is home.
“Lina, is that you, sweetheart?” he calls out in his Southern accent.
George Michael’s “Amazing” can be heard throughout the loft, and somehow, the sounds of Roger’s voice along with his favorite song lighten my mood.
When I enter the open living room, seated on the distressed leather sofa is Roger with a gentleman I have never seen before.
A grin is replaced by worry on my friend’s handsome face. Roger quickly rises from the couch. “Lina, sweetheart, what happened to you?” Reaching for me, he gives me a warm, tight embrace. He peers down, studying me. “You didn’t return my call yesterday. I’ve been calling your cell phone for hours. You didn’t come home last night. You don’t look like yourself.”
Let’s see, the un-brushed hair, the smeared eye makeup, my swollen lips, the red blotchy skin, and the wrinkled black sheath dress. I peer down and notice the edge of my dress has a slight rip. And the limp I’ve been sporting for the past few minutes is due to a broken heel I lost on West Broadway.
A moment of silence falls upon us. My lips thin as I am unable to utter a word. And Roger, being Roger, doesn’t harass me. Instead, he patiently waits for me to answer. He’s probably wondering why I look like a skanky bitch tossed aside after a night of debauchery with a john.
Roger Bartley is a big man. Standing at almost six-foot-five, he is more than a foot taller than I am. I look up, and forgetting there is a stranger in my home, I let it all out. My ugly cry commences. My nose runs, and I hiccup. I can’t believe I’m so broken over my first and only one-night stand.
Julian worshipped every inch of my body with his mouth.
Julian awoke a part of me I had never known existed.
Julian made me feel alive.
“There, there, sweetheart. Come sit down.” As he leads me to the sofa, the handsome stranger moves to an armchair only a few feet away, remaining silent. No doubt he’s a bit embarrassed about witnessing my breakdown.
With my head on Roger’s shoulder, I stare at his guest and can’t help but admire him. He’s attractive in a rugged way. As I assess the man I have yet to meet, he reminds me of Daniel Craig. Yes, Daniel Craig in the film, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. He has short blond hair, light gray eyes and like Roger, he is also tall. “I’m so sorry. You have a guest.”
“Lina, this is Alex. Alex Bedlin. My boyfriend,” Roger says in an unfamiliar nervous tone.
Boyfriend?
I gaze up at my friend in confusion. I’ve known him for over a decade now, and he’s never, ever called anyone his boyfriend before. When Roger’s eyes meet mine, I see happiness. I don’t need to know any more. With my sniffling, I welcome his boyfriend. “I’m sorry that I’m a mess right now. I’m … I’m so glad to meet you, Alex.”
His boyfriend smiles, and something is familiar about him, but I can’t seem to place it. He is definitely older than Roger, possibly in his early forties. His light eyes are gentle. His smile is shy and sweet. Taking a white handkerchief from the pocket of his navy blazer, he hands it over to me.
I can barely utter, “Thank you.”
Alex and I stare at one another uncomfortably when Roger returns from the kitchen with a glass of water. “I was going to bring you wine but thought water might be best.”
“I’m so sorry that you had to meet me like this,” I murmur, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose. I drink the water quickly. “Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’m going to my room.”
Both men nod, offering me a warm slight smile. I scramble off the couch and rush to my bedroom. The last time I was here, Julian confessed he had fantasized about me. Closing the door, I jump on my bed and bawl my eyes out. I make screeching sounds that would terrify a child. I don’t know how long I stay in bed wailing when I hear a knock on the door. “Lina, may I come in?”
Slowly opening the door is my best friend. If anyone would understand my predicament, it is Roger. I have spent many mornings comforting him from disastrous one-night stands. I sit up straight, sniffling and hiccupping, before patting the space next to me. “Please, Roger.”
His imposing figure joins me on my bed, and he drapes a comforting arm around my trembling body. “Is this about Andrew?”
I sniffle and turn my body to face him. Staring into his big, blue eyes, I shake my head. Confused, Roger pushes the damp brown hair off my face. “Why are you so devastated? I can’t remember ever seeing you like this.”
I try to hide my face in his chest, murmuring, “I’m such a fool. I−”
“What, sweetheart?” he asks as he gently rubs my back.
“I slept with Julian last night.” I lower my head, trying hard not to wail.
Roger cocks his head. “What?” His eyes widen. “Lina! He’s fucking gorgeous! I knew he had to be the reason I couldn’t get a hold of you yesterday. You’ve spent pretty much every day with him since you returned home.” He pauses for a brief second, his voice gentling. “Sweetheart, you celebrated your birthday. You never celebrate your birthday. Ever.” His mouth stretches into a grin. “That’s amazing! What an incredible way to spend your birthday.”
I shake my head again, unable to say a word. Roger then rubs my arms. “What then? Was sex with Julian so mind-blowing that he has you all messed up?”
I hesitate before confessing, “It was unbelievable. I never knew sex could be so amazing.”
I became a sexual creature with Julian.
“Are you worried about Andrew? Because, not to be an asshole,
but he let you go. Like sayonara, let you go.”
“No. It has nothing to do with Andrew. Julian and I made love all … night … long.”
“Yes??? And you’re complaining why?”
I am too ashamed to admit, but I figure if the words come out, I would feel better. “He left me in his empty bed this morning with only a note.” Rather than feel relieved by my confession, I feel worse than I did a few seconds ago. After all these years, maybe Andrew only wanted to have sex with me once a week for a reason. It wasn’t him, it was me.
I was …
I am …
A bad lay.
Roger doesn’t respond with any words. Instead, he kisses the top of my head and quickly rises from my bed. Walking over to the en suite, he turns on the lights. A few seconds later, I hear the sound of running water. That’s my Roger. He knows what not to say.
I continue to sob on my pillow like a child who lost her favorite toy when Roger reaches for me. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” I don’t answer. Instead, I turn my body around as he helps me up from the bed. I take off Julian’s birthday gift, the extremely wrinkled black Stella McCartney sheath dress and Jimmy Choo peep-toe shoes with a missing heel. And because I’m not wearing any panties, I only have a bra to take off. Embarrassment washes over me not because of my lack of underwear, but rather like my thong, I had been cast aside by a man my body still craves.