Nigel started to get on his motorbike but hesitated when he felt Deanna brush against his side. He looked at her for a moment before cupping her face with both hands. “You are so beautiful,” he said and leaned in to kiss her tenderly. His fingers touched her hair, winding their way into the long silky curls, pulling her face closer. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she gasped at the exquisite sensation. She sucked his probing tongue briefly, eagerly exploring his warm mouth until they were both forced to break the kiss and catch their breath. Nigel gently pushed her down on the seat of the bike and moved against her. She moaned as his mouth covered hers in another ardent kiss.
“We’ve got no place to go,” he said, his voice husky, betraying his desperate need for her.
“The alley,” Deanna pointed to the café, and Nigel noticed a dark walkway between the building and a high stone wall.
They stumbled down the alleyway pulling at each other’s clothes, clumsy and impatient with desire. Nigel grabbed Deanna and pushed her against the wall, struggling with the halter strap behind her neck, but it remained stubbornly fastened. He groaned in frustration and grasped her breasts, marveling at the voluptuous feel of them as she whimpered and writhed against his hands.
Deanna felt the world slip away as Nigel pleasured her in the cool soothing darkness of the cobblestoned alley. When the world rushed in, hurtling her back to reality, she slowly opened her eyes and looked at Nigel, his head bent as he struggled to catch his breath. She ran her fingers through his long, sweat-soaked hair, whispering sweet sentiments until he looked up at her with regret marring his handsome face.
“I’m sorry, Deanna,” he murmured. “I didn’t want it to be like this. You know, our first time together and all.”
She smiled and stroked his face. “It was perfect, Nigel…so perfect.” He looked skeptical so she kissed and hugged him until he relaxed against her.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered against her damp, silky hair.
Smiling up at him, Deanna clutched the collar of his motorcycle jacket. The thick leather was warm and supple between her fingers as she gazed into his hazel eyes which were still a bit unfocused and dreamy with lingering desire. Wrapping his arms around her tightly, Nigel cradled her against his chest and she sighed with contentment.
This was the man she had dreamed of all of her life.
In the past she had scoffed at the idea of love at first sight but at this moment while breathing in Nigel's intoxicating scent, she knew she was in love with him and had been since the first time she saw him standing on that tiny stage in a dirty Soho pub.
She let the rhythm of his strong, steady heartbeat relax and calm her own fluttering heart. Rubbing her cheek against the soft cotton of his T-shirt, she felt the air around them turn quiet and still. Nigel gently stroked the back of her neck, his fingertips warm as he breathed softly against her hair. In that precious, perfect moment she knew with absolute certainty that there would never be another man for Deanna Darmody but him.
Chapter 7
Noon couldn’t come soon enough Deanna thought as she looked at the hotel lobby clock which stubbornly refused to move any faster. She had good reason to be impatient: Nigel was picking her up at the hotel after her shift so she could take him to her favorite spot in London---The beautiful Tower Bridge. She often spent time there, especially when she needed to sort things out or just spend some time alone away from Maggi’s emotional drama. She wanted to share her special place with him, hoping he would find solace there to help ease his fears about Metal Urge’s impending recording sessions with the extremely fastidious Wild Bill Dennison.
If she could have gotten away with it, she would have danced with joyous abandon around the hotel lobby, shouting that she was going to have an entire weekend alone with the amazingly talented and sexy Nigel Guilford. Thank God Maggi was off to Scotland for a business seminar giving her the opportunity, and a proper bed in which to carry out all of the deliciously wicked things she had imagined doing with, and to her gorgeous singer. Metal Urge was heading to Shropshire, the home of Wild Bill’s estate turned state-of-the-art recording studio on Monday. She had two days to make up for several weeks of hasty and frustrated couplings in less than desirable locations, although some of those awkward situations proved to be immensely satisfying. Smiling wickedly, she recalled every tantalizing detail of the night she made love to Nigel as he lay on the heavily padded seat of his Harley, his back wedged between the handlebars, hands clutching the handlebar grips so tightly his fingernails carved impressions into the rubber as she rode him hard and fast all the way to paradise.
Now that had been a life changing experience.
Over the next two days she would take her sweet time exploring every inch of his completely naked, delectable flesh, tasting every nook and cranny, leaving no part of him untouched or unsatisfied. She blushed and looked around the lobby, hoping no one had noticed her naughty musings. A hotel guest approached her about a problem with his room, and after assuring him it would be taken care of immediately, she looked up to see the clock strike the magical number twelve. When her co-worker joined her at the front desk, Deanna left with a quick goodbye, hurrying to the bathroom to change into denim shorts and a pretty hand-embroidered, cropped peasant blouse, then outside to anxiously await the thunderous sound of Nigel’s motorbike.
The huge bike pulled up to the sidewalk with a roar, and Deanna couldn’t help but notice how wonderfully enticing Nigel looked in his trademark leather jacket and tight jeans, the faded denim outlining every delicious detail. He smiled at her and memories of his mouth trailing kisses over her lips and neck while whispering playful suggestions in her ears washed over her, making her knees feel weak. Oh, the sweet taste of him; better than chocolate…better than anything.
Tearing her gaze away from Nigel’s numerous attributes she thoroughly scolded herself for being so unbelievably shallow, but she couldn’t seem to get a grip on her overwhelming desire---she wanted him so badly it hurt. Maybe they should head back to the flat where she could act out all of her wicked fantasies instead of eating lunch and taking him to the bridge as planned, but she quickly decided against it. Sometimes her incredible need for Nigel troubled her. At times it seemed almost unwholesome and obsessive which worried her more than she cared to admit. Pushing her unsettling thoughts aside, she gave him a quick kiss and hopped on the seat behind him.
As Nigel pulled up to a stoplight, Deanna excitedly pointed out a sleek British Racing Green colored Jaguar XKE idling next to them. She told him the XKE was the only car she had ever wanted to own since she was eight years old and saw one racing along a winding country road on an old black and white British television show. Nigel teased her about her “champagne tastes on a lager budget,” and they both laughed.
Stopping to buy a hardy lunch from their favorite Chinese take-away, Nigel drove around until he found an ideal spot along the Thames River with shaded benches where they could sit and enjoy their meal in relative peace and quiet. He noticed Deanna fidgeting with her food and asked if everything was okay. She smiled and assured him that she was just tired from her shift at the hotel. He looked at her doubtfully but didn’t press her for what he suspected was the real reason. Nigel reckoned she was nervous about spending the weekend together. He certainly was. Going for a meal, maybe a film, and then a quick shag was completely different than spending an entire weekend with one another. They had talked and laughed about many things over the past few weeks so it wasn’t as though they had nothing to say to each other---but two days? A full forty-eight hours of uninterrupted togetherness was another matter altogether. Nigel hoped this wouldn’t prove to be the worst idea either of them had ever had. He liked Deanna, he really did, but this smacked of an intimacy he neither felt nor wanted at this point. He was just about kicking himself for agreeing to it. The band’s meeting with Wild Bill was two days away and he needed to focus on his music, working out vocal and melodic challenges which would guarantee that his and the b
and’s performance was the tightest it had ever been. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t rehearsed and then rehearsed some more, but Metal Urge would never get another chance like this---not in this lifetime---they had to be better than perfect.
He glanced at her, appreciating the way her sexy summer outfit made the most of her gorgeous figure. His eyes traveled over the creamy, luminous skin of her midriff which tapered down to the curve of her delicious little belly button and over the velvet skin of her perfectly shaped coltish legs---such long legs for a petite girl. The image of those silky legs wrapped around him made his groin tighten painfully against his jeans. Perhaps she would prove to be a wonderfully pleasant distraction before facing the rigors of cutting a flawless record at Glaston Hall. Maybe she was just what he needed to get his head together instead of fretting and brooding over his voice. He’d exercise his lungs during a few dozen rounds of mad, mind-bending sex with Deanna over the next two days; no doubt about that. Still, there was this persistent, niggling doubt…
Deanna asked Nigel if he was ready to go, and he stared at her, momentarily irritated by her intrusion on his thoughts. He forced a jolly smile and offered to toss the leftovers from their meal in the dustbin. He had no idea where she was taking him, but he was sure it was someplace that meant a lot to her and that was just one more reason to nip this whole weekend idea in the bud---pleasant distraction or not. He felt her slip her soft little hand into his forcing him to look at her happy face. She looked so beautiful, sweet, and trusting that he grudgingly made up his mind to spend the weekend with her after all. As for their future together…well that was left to be seen.
After exiting the old lift, Deanna eagerly made her way down the enclosed observation walkway of the splendid Victorian bridge pulling Nigel behind her. As they gazed out over the undulating waves of the Thames River, she explained that while the structure’s two drawbridges were manually operated at this time, they were being converted to electrical power. That improvement would put yet another group of British citizens out of work in the coming year. Nigel asked how high up they were and she told him they were 200 feet in the air. He directed Deanna’s attention to a barge nearing the bridge and suddenly a loud, metallic groaning accompanied the two drawbridges as they rose to allow passage. Men appearing to be no larger than rats scurried back and forth on the deck of the barge. Deanna leaned against Nigel snuggling into his side. She murmured that all men appeared small and insignificant to God when he looked down on the earth.
Nigel was taken aback by such an odd statement, but he sensed that Deanna was feeling nothing, if not fanciful, and it set off an alarm in his brain. He hastily thanked her for bringing him to such a cool place, wanting nothing more than to get his feet back on solid ground. Deanna reminded him that this bridge was far more than cool---it was her special place---the only location in the great City of London that soothed her soul. He nodded, unsure of how to respond, and suggested that they leave soon to avoid the terrible rush hour traffic jams London was notorious for.
She glanced out at the river one last time and followed him to the lift. Deanna believed Nigel felt the healing power of this bridge, and she was glad that she had brought him here. This experience would make their time together sweeter, and bring them closer together than ever.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
When they pulled up in front of Deanna’s small flat on Woodsome Road, Nigel felt an overwhelming urge to drive away as fast as his powerful bike would take him. It was irrational and he chided himself for being ridiculous. He tried hard to convince himself that they would spend a lovely weekend having wild, satisfying sex, and come Monday morning, Metal Urge would be on their way to Shropshire to become real rock stars---his definition of musicians who actually got paid. What could be better than that? He fetched a duffle bag he had placed in the foyer outside of her flat before collecting Deanna at her job, and followed her inside ignoring the alarm bells ringing madly in his head once again.
****
The weekend turned out to be much like Nigel hoped it would, allowing him to shrug off his earlier misgivings. Deanna pleasured him in ways he had only dreamed of; he literally begged and pleaded for more. He eagerly reciprocated and Deanna experienced mind blowing gratification in places she didn’t even realize existed, much less knew were capable of experiencing such unbelievable delight.
They reluctantly left the damp, tangled sheets to eat and watch a little television before luring each other back to the bedroom to discover even more innovative ways to pleasure one another. But it all turned sour in the early hours of Monday morning right before Nigel had to leave, and Deanna begged him to make love to her. He was eager to be on his way and her choice of words made him edgy and uncomfortable. Hadn't he spent hours getting her off? What more did she want from him?
Their last few minutes together went so badly that after returning to his flat, he realized he’d never get rid of the persistent, gnawing guilt until he apologized. Despite his wounded pride, he grudgingly marched to the corner phone box and called her. Nigel could still picture the hurt and confusion in Deanna's beautiful green eyes after his body failed to respond despite her expert ministrations prompting him to storm out of her flat in anger and embarrassment. Although he resented her for putting him in such an awkward and humiliating position, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was to blame, and that was bloody nonsense. There was no question that he would have to consider breaking it off with her---she wanted far more than he was willing, or able, to give. His phone call to Deanna ate at Nigel's guts, making him angry and even more resentful. He was in a nasty mood as he walked back to the flat wondering why this was happening now. All he wanted was a girl he could have a bit of fun with and plenty of casual sex with no strings attached. To make matters worse, Thom was being a real bastard to him as well. He had no idea what that was about. If Thom continued to treat him like rubbish, he would find out what the wanker’s problem was, and it would be up to Thom whether it went down the easy way or the hard way. Either way, his old mate had better not allow his pissy attitude to interfere with the band’s upcoming recording sessions because he would have no problem setting Thom straight. No bloody problem at all.
Chapter 8
There was a slight chill in the air but Alistair didn’t mind. He leaned against the rusted metal fence post in front of their shoddy little flat, and took a long, satisfying drag off of his cigarette. He watched the smoke rings dissolve around his face before finishing off the cigarette and tossing the smoldering butt to the ground. He had worked well into the wee hours of the morning, plucking out the final notes of a melody he had composed on the spur of the moment. He was tired, and his eyes felt sore but nothing could dampen his excitement at the prospect of meeting the infamous Wild Bill Dennison, and getting started on Metal Urge’s first record. He hoped it would be the first of many; all brilliant and successful, earning the band platinum records and tons of dosh. This day had been a long time coming. Metal Urge had paid more than their fair share of dues, and Alistair was confident that this was the beginning of a long and prosperous career. He knew his mates were just as excited and anxious to get on with it as he was, but there seemed to be a lot of tension between Thom and Nigel. They’d all been restless and full of nervous energy since Trevor Hampton’s party but the rift between those two seemed personal; he feared it might interfere with the band’s performance. If they failed to sort it out, he would step in and see that it got sorted---quickly and tidily. Metal Urge had struggled too long and too hard to risk failure over some petty disagreement.
The front door swung open and Brad joined Alistair at the gate. Alistair offered Brad a cigarette, and they smoked in companionable silence, each man lost in his own thoughts about the coming days.
“Trevor has arrived,” Brad said a few minutes later when a black, American sedan parked at the curb in front of their flat.
A white van rolled up behind the car and cut its rumbling engine.
Two burly men got out of the van and one of them strolled up to the sedan, opened the door, and ushered Trevor Hampton out of the back seat like he was a visiting dignitary arriving for his meeting with the Queen.
Alistair and Brad looked at each other with eyebrows raised, chuckling at the arrogance of the man.
“What a pompous git,” Alistair said under his breath.
“Yeah,” Brad agreed. “But that git is gonna make us rich.”
“He’d better,” Alistair said before going inside to let the others know their “humble” manager had arrived at last.
Jayson looked up from the floor where he was crouching next to a large round case that he was trying to wrestle his snare drum into without much success. “Trevor brought food, yeah?” Jayson asked anxiously. “He promised he would bring food.” He whistled as his snare drum finally dropped neatly into its case.
Thom rubbed a soft cloth over his raven-black Flying V guitar before shutting the guitar case and flipping the clasps closed. “Down boy,” he said to Jayson who was once again staring nervously at the front door as Trevor entered, carrying two large paper bags that rapidly filled the flat with a delicious spicy fragrance.
“Curry anyone?” Trevor asked, depositing one bag in front of Jayson who ripped into it eagerly. Trevor stood with his hands on his hips and watched the four lads tuck into their aromatic Indian feast with great relish.
“Where the hell is Nigel?” He said after noticing the singer’s absence.
“He’s at the corner phone box calling his new muse,” Jayson said through a mouthful of food.
“That’s right,” Brad concurred before taking another large bite of his steaming curry.
Alistair wiped his mouth and added, “Nigel is saying goodbye to the lovely and curvaceous Lady Deanna of Woodsome Road.”
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