by K. M. Scott
A slow smile spreads across his lips, and he kisses me on the forehead. “It’s okay. I’m excited too. And I know you understand why we have to keep this quiet. I’m happy you want to share this with the world. I wish we could.”
“We get to share it with each other. That’s even better.”
An awkward silence settles in between us as he goes back to silently reading over what he wrote. After a few minutes, he looks up and says, “Ready for more?”
Nodding, I snuggle up next to him and listen as he tells me more of Kate Silk’s story.
“I reach the top of the stairs and feel him behind me. His warm breath skims my shoulder as he leans in to put his key in the lock, and the hardness of his cock grazes my ass just light enough to make me want more. I look around to see the hallway empty and turn to face him. ‘Feeling brave, Jake?’ He says nothing, but I see in his eyes he knows what I want and wants it too.”
Ian looks up from the paper and smiles. “What do you think?”
“That’s not from anything you and I have done before. Fantasy? Or is this something you’ve done with someone else?”
A rush of jealousy takes me over at the thought of Ian with another woman. It’s irrational, I know, but I don’t want to think of him with anyone else. Just me.
“No one else. I just took what we did in the kitchen the other night and moved it to the hallway,” he explains, much to my relief.
“Oh. I thought maybe…” I don’t finish my sentence because it will just sound insecure and stupid.
Putting the paper down on the coffee table, he stares at me as if he knows what I was going to say. “Come here,” he says as he pulls me onto his lap. “You don’t think I could be with someone else other than you, do you?”
I’m not sure how to answer his question. Of course I think that. I’ve never been with a man who didn’t cheat on me. “I don’t know. This has all happened so fast.”
He slides his hands down my back to cup my ass and pulls me into him. Pressing his lips to my ear, he says in a voice that makes me pool with wetness, “There is no one but you. Whether in real life or in the book, it’s all you, Kristina.”
Closing my eyes, I relish his words. It’s all you, Kristina. I love the sound of his voice as he says them. It makes each syllable all the more special. It makes me feel special.
I lean back and smile at him staring up at me like he means what he says. “Will you read me anymore before I have to go?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’ll save it for next time. Why do you have to leave so soon?”
My mouth opens to speak, but I’m distracted by his finger slowly sliding down over my damp panties. “I have to…I mean I have an appointment…Ian, I can’t think when you touch me like that.”
His gaze is fixed on my panties as he says, “I love it when your voice whines like that. It’s cute.”
My eyes roll back into my head when he slips the tip of his finger under the cotton and touches my clit, sending zings of need straight to my core. “And when you touch me like this, I can’t think of anything but fucking. I can’t do that, though, because I have to go to my meeting and I can’t go smelling like sex.”
“It’s not sex,” he whispers as he softly rubs the pad of his thumb in circles over my needy clit.
“If I come, it’s sex.”
His dark eyes flash up at me. “Then I won’t let you come.”
I knit my brows at the thought of him touching me like this and not letting me come. “Why would you want to torture me?”
Moving his hand lower, he slides his middle finger inside me. “You were the one who said you can’t go to your meeting smelling like sex.”
I begin to rock against his palm, but he stops me. Confused, I lean down to kiss him and whisper against his lips, “Please, Ian. Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not teasing,” he says while he slides a second finger into my wet pussy. “No coming for you, Kristina.”
“Then I’ll just have to do it myself when I get home,” I say with a pout.
“I thought I told you not to do that,” he scolds, roughly pulling his fingers out of me.
I don’t know what to say. He seems like he’s being playful, but something in his expression—an edge that isn’t normally there—makes me think he’s angry with me. I still want to get off and feel a little angry that he’s playing with me.
“Fine. I’ll just go to my meeting now and go home to do nothing. Let me up.”
Half-expecting him to refuse to release me, I’m surprised when he swings his hands out to the side giving me free passage to get off his lap. Straightening my skirt, I grab my purse and head for the door, hurt and confused by his behavior, but if I stay I’m liable to say something hurtful that I don’t mean and ruin everything.
As my hand touches the doorknob, I feel him come up behind me. I don’t turn around, part afraid of what I’ll say and part hurt that he’d play with me like this. His arm slips around my waist, instantly making my resolve weaken.
In my ear, he says low and deep, “Don’t leave.”
Staring forward at the door, I close my eyes and steel myself. I don’t want to give in. I don’t. But he has this effect on me. “I have to go.”
“I know. Don’t.”
Slowly, I turn around to see him looking at me with such need in his eyes. I don’t understand his behavior. “Ian, I don’t like to be toyed with.”
He leans down and kisses me like he’s never kissed me before—deeper, longer, and more intense than anyone has ever kissed me. When I think I can’t go on for another second longer, he pulls away and cradles my face. Looking deep into my eyes, he says in a voice that nearly breaks my heart, “Forgive me. That wasn’t fair of me to test you like that.”
“Test me? Why would you feel like you need to test me?” I ask as he presses his forehead to mine.
“I don’t know. It’s stupid and I’m sorry, Kristina. I just felt like you didn’t care.”
I look into those dark eyes and see he’s truly worried I don’t care about him. But how could he think that? Every night I come here to be with him. To listen to his deep voice speak those beautiful words he’s written because of me. How could I not care?
“I care more than I should after just a few days of knowing you, Ian. We’ve been like a flood of emotions that’s carried me away since the moment we met. I can’t think of anything else but you when we’re not together, and when we are, all I can think about is how much I want to feel your hands on my body. If I made you think I don’t care, I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head and frowns, making me feel worse. “No, you did nothing wrong. This is all my fault. Forgive me.”
“How about I come back after my meeting and show you how much I care? I shouldn’t be too long.”
Another kiss that makes my legs feel like they’re jelly and he leans back away from me with a smile. “I’ll be here.”
“Okay. I’ll be back.”
Café Europa is crowded, like usual. Every table is full, and people even stand along the walls, obscuring the beautiful blue and grey mosaic design of what I imagine is supposed to be the Mediterranean. My friend Priscilla sits at a table in the back of our favorite café looking as gorgeous as ever. Her newest style includes a short cut for her blond hair and lots of brown for her smoky eye look. I don’t know how she does it, but she pulls off wearing all that makeup in the middle of the day. I’d look like a hooker if I did it.
“Kristina! I was early, so I ordered us those delicious croissant sandwiches we love. Sit down and tell me what you’ve been up to lately. You look practically glowing. You’re not pregnant, are you?”
The patrons at the tables around us turn to look at me after Priscilla’s announcement, and I smile meekly hoping they will just return to their conversations and ignore me.
“Can you keep your voice down?” I whisper as I sit down. “Everyone doesn’t need to know my business.”
She rolls her eyes like I’ve said
something ridiculous. “You know, for a celebrity, you’re pretty shy about things. This is the age of TMZ, baby. Everybody wants to know everything.”
“There’s nothing to know. Everything there is to know is up on the screen, like it should be. What I do in my private time is just that. Private.”
“Well, share what skincare regimen you’re using because you look fantastic. Your skin has a glow to it that I’ve only seen in pregnant women.”
“Well, I’m not pregnant, so you can stop saying that.”
“Then I have to know what you’re using because I want a case of it. My skin is starting to look like crepe paper.”
I stare at her in disbelief. Priscilla is one of the most beautiful women in the world, and she has the men lining up around the block to prove it. Her skin looks as stunning and dew-kissed as it always has. Ten thousand dollar spa treatments do that for a woman.
“Can we talk about something that has some basis in reality?”
Arching one perfectly manicured eyebrow, she sneers at me. “You make fun, but this face is on its last leg. I’m going to need a full facelift before I’m thirty at this rate.”
Thankfully, the waiter interrupts our ridiculous conversation with our tuna croissant sandwiches. Priscilla hadn’t been wrong about them. They’re delicious and the only reason I agreed to come here to spend time with her in such a public place.
Even their scrumptiousness doesn’t stop Priscilla’s need to talk, though, and it doesn’t take long for her to get back to pumping me for information on why I look so happy. I want to tell her all about Ian. Smarter than most of my boyfriends, he’s someone I’m proud to be with. The problem is that she has a big mouth, and she’ll tell the entire world about us before the afternoon is up.
So I lie. Sort of.
“I’ve begun a cleanse I heard about from one of the makeup artists on my last film, so maybe that’s why my skin is doing the glowing thing. I’ve also been seeing someone, but I think my giving up drinking hard liquor might also be helping me look better. You know what they say. Alcohol saps the youth right out of your face. Or is that smoking? I’m not sure.”
Priscilla narrows her eyes to suspicious slits and leans forward, pointing her index finger toward me. “What was that middle part? Did you say you’re seeing someone new?”
“Yes, but my guess is the lack of booze is what’s making my skin glow. You should try it.”
She raises her eyebrows as if I’ve just said something utterly ridiculous. “I’m never giving up alcohol, thank you, but stop trying to get off the topic. Who is he? I want all the deets!”
Taking the last bite of my sandwich, I make sure to chew far slower than I usually would to stem the tide of madness I know will come as soon as I begin speaking again. When I’m finally finished, I take a drink of my iced tea and smile, knowing Priscilla is about to go out of her mind with curiosity. I can’t tell her much, but I will take a few moments to brag about Ian, albeit anonymously.
“He’s just someone I met because of one of my movies.”
“What the hell does that mean? Met because of one of my movies could mean some guy who asked you for your autograph on the street. I want real info, Kristina.”
I see I’m not going to get out of this without some details, so I go with the obvious. She’ll draw her own wrong conclusions, if I’m lucky. “He’s a writer, okay? There. That’s all I’m going to say about him other than he’s a great guy and I’m having a great time with him.”
“Oooooh, I love it! You haven’t had a real romance since John, so it’s about time.”
Priscilla’s mention of John makes my heart contract for a moment, but I make sure to smile so she doesn’t see the effect on me from hearing his name. I don’t love him anymore, but his leaving me for some waitress at a hotel bar in San Francisco still stings.
“It’s not a big deal,” I lie, hoping she’ll drop this topic of conversation and return to her concern for her impending facelift.
“If you say so, but your face says something else. Whatever he’s doing for you, keep it up. And when you’re done with him, send that man my way so I can get whatever he’s got for my face.”
Quickly, I seize the opportunity to bring up the facelift again. “Are you really thinking of getting some work done, Cilla? I don’t think you need it at twenty-six.”
With her fingertips, she pushes the skin up from her jawline until she looks like she’s shoving her head through a hole too small for it. “Gravity is such a bitch, Kristina. She’s a bitch, I tell you. How will I ever get a man with these jowls?”
“You don’t have jowls. You have a jaw that wishes you’d stop abusing it like that. As for getting a man, you never have a problem in that department. Just because you haven’t dated anyone you like in months isn’t a reason to go searching for a bridge to jump from, or in your case, a plastic surgeon to carve into you.”
Cilla lifts her right hand up and pledges, “I’m deciding here and now to wait for you to be done with your mystery man writer so then I can look fantastic. Until then, it’s the spa for me. I’m going after this. Want to come? Alexander’s would be happy to have a star with them, even though you don’t have an appointment. They’re such celebrity whores.”
“I can’t. I have to meet with my agent. You know how Jennie gets. If I miss a meeting, she’s sure I’ve run away to another agent behind her back.”
I don’t entirely lie, but my meeting with my agent isn’t until the next day. I just don’t want to get trapped in a seaweed wrap with Priscilla pumping me for information about Ian. I might not be able to stop myself from telling her something, and then I know it will only be a matter of hours before the paparazzi hunt us down like rabid dogs and ruin everything between Ian and me.
“Time for me to head out. When are you leaving for LA?” I ask as I stand to leave.
Priscilla looks up at me and smiles at my mention of LA. She hates New York as much as I love it, so I know she’s eager to return to the sun of southern California. “Saturday. Marlie is having her annual Octoberfest party. I’m hoping it’s not half-naked men in lederhosen again. I mean, they were hot, but lederhosen? What the fuck?”
“I’m glad I missed it. Men in lederhosen, no matter how hot, is not what I want to see,” I say with a chuckle.
“I’ll be back in town by Christmas, I think. Promise me we’ll get together then, and I’m going to expect more details about this mystery man.”
Leaning down, I hug her goodbye and promise I’ll meet up with her for the holidays. Maybe by then I can tell her more about Ian too.
As I leave the café, a man standing on the sidewalk just outside the door asks for my autograph and I politely sign a sheet of paper for him, hoping to avoid any photographers wanting to snap pictures of me this afternoon. Cilla may think I’m glowing, but that doesn’t mean I want to be anything but a normal person just out for a bite to eat with a friend.
The fan smiles and thanks me, but from behind him a man lurches toward me and grabs my arm. Slightly taller than the first man, he’s about my height and has a mousey look to him with a pointy nose and chin that reminds me of a rat. I recoil from his touch, but his fingers close in around my sweater.
“Kristina, I’ve waited so long to meet you!” he exclaims as he pushes closer to me. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Terrified, I merely nod and turn to get away, but his hold on me keeps me planted in place. I don’t know what to do and as my emotions quickly spin out of control, I remember the last time a fan did this and I fell apart for weeks afterward. I open my mouth to cry for help, but thankfully the first fan helps me and tugs the man off me, giving me the chance to run away as a crowd of people begin to form a tight circle around us.
I quickly force my way through them and make my way to Ian’s apartment instead of going home, checking over my shoulder for any cameras as I get out of the cab, but thankfully, I seem to have eluded them today. My legs haven’t stopped shak
ing since that fan grabbed me, and I feel weak. In truth, with all the celebrity scandals from secret babies to repeated stints in drug rehabs, I’m relatively boring and not really fodder for the front pages of gossip magazines anymore.
Not that I miss that. But fans are a different story. They don’t need drama to want to be next to me.
Ian answers his door wearing that smile I already love. Taking me in his arms, he nuzzles my neck. “How was your meeting?”
“Unproductive,” I say, still shaking. “How was your afternoon?”
“Why are you shaking? What happened, Kristina?”
Closing the door, he escorts me to the living room, his hand on my lower back as always to guide me. I sit down and try to take in a full breath. “It wasn’t a big deal. A fan just grabbed me and I got scared.”
Ian holds my face in his hands and looks at me like all he sees is a broken bird. “Are you okay?”
“I am now. Tell me about your afternoon so I can forget that awful, rat-faced man who grabbed me.
“I wrote a little more and had lunch. Such is the exciting life of an author,” he says as he holds me so my head rests on his chest.
I look up at him and ask, “Can I have a glass of that wine I brought over? It’s one of those chilly October days and it would hit the spot right now.”
He kisses me and stands up from the couch. “Sit down and relax. I’ll get it.”
I love how he dotes on me like this. Most men I’ve known would have sat down on the couch and pointed toward the kitchen, saying, “Sure. Grab me a glass too while you’re at it.”
But not Ian.
“Here you go,” he says as he hands me the wine glass. “You’re going to need more of that, so I’ll pick it up when I go out later.”
Most men wouldn’t do that either.
“You’re so sweet,” I coo and he beams his happiness at my compliment.
“Not all sweet.”
He turns to face me and kisses me hard, like he’s missed me for the few hours I’ve been gone. Need coils in my abdomen as he snakes his tongue into my mouth and his hands close into fists in my hair, tugging it not so gently.