by Layla Hagen
"White really suits you, Dani," Parker says.
"Thanks, it's my favorite color. I should have chosen a different color though," she says, running her palms on the sleeves of her dress. "If I had a white mask, I think I could channel the Phantom of the Opera."
Parker laughs, offering Dani his arm, but Dani shakes her head, saying, "You two go, I'll just grab the program and follow you."
He doesn't offer me his arm as we start walking, instead gestures to walk beside him. He stares at me, and I pull the cape tighter around my shoulders and low-cut neck. But even without any cleavage showing, the dress looks painfully obscene on me.
I'm for a low-cut neck and tight dress any day, but somehow a lavish cleavage doesn't seem to belong with expensive carpets and centuries-old walls. Dani catches up with us.
When we come to a stop, Parker opens the door to one of the boxes, then gestures for us to get in. Dani steps inside first, and when I attempt to follow her, Parker catches my arm.
"You look beautiful," he says in a low, hoarse voice that makes my toes curl and heat pool in the lower part of my body. I swallow hard, praying to all the saints and angels for my cheeks not to turn the color of ripe papaya. They do of course. There's no way for Parker to miss it. Just as he can't possibly miss the goose bumps that have formed on my arm.
“I feel exposed,” I whisper.
“Can’t say I enjoy the idea of others enjoying... the view,” he says, placing a finger on my chest, exactly at the point where the fabric of my dress meets my breasts, just like last night, as if he could guess where that damn point is even under the cape. Then he runs his finger down my hip and my thigh. I bite my lip.
Parker drops his hand, and I step inside and find Dani seated in one of the four velvet-covered chairs, arranged in two rows. She's in the front row, and I slump into one of the seats in the second row, hoping Parker will take the cue and sit in front with Dani, and not next to me.
"I'll be back in a minute," Parker calls to Dani and me.
"Coming here was a bad idea," I tell Dani, crossing my legs. I feel like I’m going to climb Parker any second now. That is, if he doesn’t climb me first.
She turns around startled. "Why? I thought you said you wanted to go to the opera. It wasn't my idea, anyway."
"Whose idea was it then?"
"Parker's. He called this morning to ask if there's anything you really wanted to do in London and hadn't gotten to, and I remembered you mentioning the opera. Just don't tell Parker I told you he asked. I wasn't supposed to."
I raise an eyebrow. "Then why did you?"
Dani smiles, shifting in her seat to face the front again as the curtain opens, then adds over her shoulder, "Because I thought you should know."
I stare at the back of her head, my heart suddenly thumping so hard I swear I can feel it reverberate through my chest. I am breathing as if I've been running on the treadmill for an hour or had wild sex.
I sit up straighter as the show begins, and almost manage to relax a bit as the first notes start reverberating in the magnificent hall.
Then Parker enters the box and seats himself next to me.
For the next fifty minutes, I force myself to stare at the stage without taking in anything that happens on it. I'm not even aware of any sounds. The only thing I'm painfully aware of is that every inch of my skin is burning with an intensity it never has before.
Because Parker isn't looking at the stage at all.
He's looking at me.
When the first act ends and the break begins, Dani gets up. I don't dare move.
"I'm starving," Dani says, starting toward the door. "Anyone want to check out the buffet?"
"I'm not hungry, I'll wait here," I lie, thinking that the fifteen-minute break will give me some much needed time to think without Dani or Parker around.
After a long pause Parker says, "I'm not really hungry, either."
"Fine, see you at the end of the break," Dani says, exiting the box.
In the silence that follows between Parker and me, the only sound is that of my stomach—empty for at least eight hours—growling.
"I get the sense that someone is hungry after all," he says in an amused tone.
I take a deep breath, then turn to face him. Big mistake. His eyes . . . something's different about them. They seem a few shades darker. No, they are a few shades darker. The intensity of his stare completely unsettles me. And when I lower my gaze to his full lips, I find them wet, as if he just licked them.
"I thought you would go with Dani and I wanted to be alone and—”
"Run away?" He shifts in his seat, not taking his eyes off me.
"Maybe," I admit.
He leans in, and I instinctively lean back, wanting to avoid getting that close again. I had first-hand proof how his scent can affect me.
"Why would you do such a thing?"
"You know why. Don't you?" I ask, suddenly overwhelmed by dread. Maybe I've read the whole thing completely wrong. Maybe what he’d meant in his message last night was that he just wasn’t attracted to me...
"I do," he replies, and a knot loosens in my stomach. He drops his gaze, and when he speaks next, his voice has dropped a few tones. "I can't make up my mind."
"About what?"
"About you."
I gulp. "What’s going on in your mind, Parker?"
He tugs his lower lip with his teeth. "You really want to know?"
"Yeah, I really want to know."
He shifts his weight on the edge of the seat, and when he leans forward this time, I don't back off. "I'm thinking I would very much like to see you come," he says into my ear. My mind doesn't register the full impact of his words right away. But my body does. "Anything against that, Jessica?" he whispers, his hand trailing up and down my inner thigh.
"N-no," I say in a low voice. So low that I hope he hasn't heard me. But he has. There's no other explanation to why his hand has already found its way under my dress.
"Turn around and spread your legs," he commands.
"Parker," I mumble, "not here . . ."
"No one can see us, and Dani won't come back soon. Turn around."
Despite knowing I shouldn't, I turn around. My body no longer seems to listen to any commands of mine. I lean my back against his chest, my head resting on his shoulder, my forehead touching the base of his neck. I look into the room, trying to gauge what those in the boxes opposite us can see. But I can barely see anything in the back row of the boxes directly in front of us. There's no reason to believe anyone could see us from there. Anyone looking from above won't have a clear view of the back row either.
"Spread your legs," he repeats, his tone more authoritative than before. It sends another wave of heat through me. Burying myself in his neck, I open up for him. He doesn't touch me right away. He takes his time, trailing his fingers on the inside of my thigh, inciting a deep hunger in my core that grows with each inch of my skin he touches until I drop any pretense of shame and beg him, "Parker . . ."
When his fingers touch my intimate spot over my panties, I stiffen against him.
"You're soaked," he says, and I take immense pleasure in the slight tremble in his voice. Then his fingers start rubbing me slowly, and I dig my own fingers in the cushion of the chair as a spasm wracks through me.
This man will make me come.
Here, surrounded by people and plush velvet-covered seats.
When he stops, I let out a shaky breath and quiver in anticipation because I know what will follow. He will slide his hand under my panties, touching me—really touching me. I bite my lip, hoping I will be able to stifle any sound. I close my eyes as I feel him free the light cotton from my skin, his fingers stroking me right where I need them to.
"God, your pussy is so wet," he growls.
In that precise moment, I lose it and moan.
"You like it don't you?" he asks, sliding one finger inside me. "For me to talk dirty."
"Yes," I breathe, ashamed and bewildered
at the same time. I had no idea I liked this kind of play.
"Good."
He starts moving his finger inside me with slow, rhythmic moves that drive me crazy.
"Do you want me to slide another finger inside you?"
I fiddle against his neck, so that when I speak, he can feel every word and breath against his skin. "Yes, I want you to. I need you to."
He groans, the reverberations in his throat more of a turn on than anything else—fingers and words included. I fiddle with my hands behind my back until I finally find his belt, but when I try to undo it, he jerks away.
"No," he says. "This is for you."
"What do you mean?"
"It means I will slide another finger inside you. And I want you to enjoy it. Anything against that?"
"No," I breathe. "By all means, proceed."
He laughs softly in my ear, then slides another finger in. For a few seconds, he stops any movement, letting me accommodate, and then gently pulls his fingers out. When he thrusts them back inside, he does it hard. Again and again, he thrusts them inside me, his palm pressing on my clit, sending violent shivers through me. I dig my fingers in my thighs, fighting to express my pleasure in nothing more than heavy breaths. No one might be able to see us, but I don't want to risk being heard. Parker places kisses on my shoulder and the part of my neck exposed to him. Soft and gentle kisses, contrasting beautifully with the brutal moves inside me.
"Oh God, Parker," I say, looking for something, anything that I can bite to keep the entire hall from hearing my cry of relief. As I twist in my search, I meet Parker's lips. Or maybe he meets mine, I don't know . . . but my shattering orgasm finds me entangled with him in a fierce kiss.
Afterward, he keeps me against him in a tight half embrace.
"Do you have tissues?" he murmurs.
"Yes," I say, snapping out of my reverie. I reach for my bag under the seat in front of me. I give Parker a tissue and rearrange my dress while he cleans his fingers. After a few minutes, I find the courage to look at him and am startled when I realize he's been watching me.
"You are beautiful," he says.
"I—I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything."
I look at him silently, then pull him closer to me, trying to show him, again, that I want to please him. An electric current jolts through me when I touch him there. He's hard already. "I want you to have a good time too, Parker." But he takes my hand away, interlacing his fingers with mine.
"No time. Besides, I told you this night was for you."
"You’re a bit of a mystery to me," I say.
He smiles, but it startles me to recognize sadness in his eyes. At a loss for what to say, I just stay there, staring into his deep blue eyes. When the break is about to end, I attempt to free my fingers from his.
"We can stay like this while we watch," he says in a soft voice, so different from his usual commanding tone. "Only if you want," he adds quickly.
"Do you want me to stay like this, Parker?"
"Yes," he says. "I would like that very much."
When Dani enters the box, both Parker and I turn to face the stage, our fingers clinging to each other between our chairs, unseen to her. We watch the rest of the showing like this. But just as I didn't pay attention to the first act, I don't pay attention to this one either. I’m too busy enjoying these tender moments.
Chapter Five
Jessica
Dani and I don't talk at all in the cab on our way back home, but when we enter our apartment, I decide to drop all pretense of not having an interest in Parker.
I wait until both of us have changed, and when I go to her room to return the dress and the cape, I say, "Dani, I want you to tell me everything you know about Parker." Dani, who's already sitting on her bed, dressed in a nightgown, grins. I lean on the doorway with my arms crossed over my chest.
"Hmm, let's see," she says, faking to be thinking hard. "He grew up in England and went to the same boarding school as James." She frowns. "Actually, I think they went to the same boarding school only in high school. Not sure before. Anyway, he was sent to boarding school when he was eight."
"Wow," I say. "That's a young age to be sent away from home."
Dani flips her hand. "Nah, it's pretty common in our family. James was only sent there when he was eleven because mom couldn't be convinced to do it earlier. She didn't let me go at all," she adds gloomily, as if she deeply regrets it. "So, afterward, he went to Oxford. At some point he got involved with my brother in business. You already know he spent a few months in the US this year, working with my brother. That's actually when I got to know him more, but I can't say I really know him. He doesn't talk about himself, you know? But man, he acts like he knows me so well. Who knows what James told him," she mumbles, clearly annoyed. "He seems to have taken over babysitting me."
I smile, distinctly remembering James telling me over the phone that Parker was kind enough to agree to look after Dani closely. Now that my ego got over Parker rejecting me, I can think more clearly about those weeks in the aftermath of my accident. How he came by to make sure I had everything I needed, how he made me laugh. He made me angry too—constantly reminding me that I should be more responsible. But that only made me angry because I knew he was right. I might not know much about Parker, but I do know this: he's kind and caring. And smoking hot. And skilled with his fingers. Which makes me wonder what else he might be skilled with.
"Not much of a help, am I?" Dani asks.
"Not really," I admit.
"You can always Google him."
"What? I could never do that."
Dani raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"It would just feel . . . wrong."
Judging by Dani's look of complete bewilderment, it feels anything but wrong to her.
"What could I possibly find about him anyway?" I ask.
Dani snorts. "Tons, I bet."
"Why?"
"He comes from one of the richest families in England. The press here is obsessed with them."
"How come? I bet there are plenty other rich families."
Dani hesitates, and slides under her covers before answering. "Well, last year his brother had some major problems with his business. And Parker's dad died when Parker was seven, in a hunting accident."
"Oh, that is very unfortunate,” I barely manage to say, shaken. “I’ll let you sleep. Do you want me to turn off your light?"
"Sure, thanks," Dani says, eyeing me closely.
"Good night."
I turn off her light and then walk to my room, suddenly feeling dizzy. My laptop is next to my bed, and I stare at it for a few minutes from the doorway.
Then I grab it, and sit on my bed cross-legged, trying to ignore my rumbling stomach. It takes some time for my ancient laptop to start. I look for an ashtray in the meantime and light up a cigarette. I almost decide to give up on the whole thing, because it still feels wrong. Just typing his name in Google feels like I'm breaking some unseen barrier. As Google lists the first results, I realize I don't even know what I'm looking for. Not anything about his family history, really. As far as I'm concerned, memories about family bullshit belong buried somewhere deep, deep inside one's brain, where no one ever has access. Hell, I wish I didn't have access to all my memories. I can only imagine how Parker feels about his. No, I'm not looking for anything about his family. I'm looking for something that tells me Parker is the passionate yet tender man I came to know tonight. But Google, my faithful companion when it came to assignments during my college years, disappoints.
I get page after page of info on Parker's brother, Robert. I skip most of them, but can't help noticing the headlines seem to be more than six months old, nothing very recent. What I find is mostly gossip about Robert hooking up with one socialite or other. What little I find about Parker concerns business, mostly. He’s thirty-one years old, which I knew.
He's not only involved in James's businesses, but also several others here
in England. I don't really understand what his involvement is, but I make a mental note to ask him the next time I see him. I stop for a second, wondering how he could just leave everything behind and move to California for six months. One article states that Parker recently took over Blakesley Enterprises, a mining equipment company that belongs to his family, which his brother had been running for years before Parker took over.
There's almost nothing about Parker's private life. There is virtually nothing about him during his college years. There are some pictures of Parker in recent years, attending various public events. He's never photographed alone, but the two or three women who appear in rotation by his side are always the same. Two of them his cousins, and I learn one is an old friend. No socialites like his brother. No scandals. One article actually says, "Give us something worth writing about for once, Parker." Another calls him Britain's mystery man.
I close my laptop. Parker is as much a mystery as he was before. I grab my phone to set the alarm, which is when I notice a message from him.
Parker: Asleep?
He sent it fifteen minutes ago, but I reply anyway.
Jess: No.
I expect him to type back, but he calls instead.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey. How come you’re not sleeping?”
“Dani and I started chatting, and then...I googled you.”
“Find anything interesting?”
“Nope. You’re just as mysterious as ever.”
He laughs softly. “I like keeping you on your toes.”
“Were you really eight when you were sent to boarding school?”
“Yes... it’s quite common here. In my family at least.” He sounds a little sad all of a sudden, and I don’t want that, so I switch the subject.
“So...what’s it going to take to make you less of a mystery?”
“Seeing me more often would be a start.”
“You...you want that?”
“I’m a stick-in-the-mud, order-obsessed guy and you’re the opposite, and I have no clue what I’m doing here. But I like being around you, and you like being around me.”