Reunited Lovers (Friendship Chronicles Book 2)

by Shelley Munro

  “Are you going to do more than stare?” Gritty arousal filled his voice.

  “Definitely, but we do have the entire afternoon.”

  “On the bed,” he snapped out, urgency glittering in his pale blue eyes.

  Julia chuckled but kicked off her shoes, hastening her pace. “Let’s have a quickie before we get to the good stuff.”

  He cast a considering glance down at her bare legs, his gaze an invisible caress. “Very thoughtful of you to wear a skirt. Much quicker.”

  “And here I thought you favored skirts because they showed off my legs.”

  “Very true. Condom?” He was suddenly all business, yet his gaze slid to her breasts and lower, the visual touches leaving a trail of acute expectation. Her hands trembled as she reached into the side pocket of her pink handbag.

  When she glanced up, condom in hand, he was closer than she’d expected. Her lips formed an O, but the corresponding sound didn’t have time to escape because his mouth slammed over hers, drinking in her startled cry. Then all she could do was feel—the press of his hard body as he backed her against the nearest wall, the chill of the unforgiving surface at her rear, and the heat of his mouth as he ravaged hers. She gripped his shoulders to enjoy the ride.

  His right hand was a warm weight at her hip, the nip of teeth a bolt of pleasure-pain at her neck. That hand slipped under her skirt and inched up her leg. Tiny pinpricks of delight followed his questing fingers. When he lifted his head his lips were red, slightly swollen. Sexy. One-handed, he tugged the buttons of her silk shirt. One flew off making a sharp ping against a coffee table. He lowered his head, taking hard bites out of the swell of her breast. She gasped, holding his head to her, wanting, craving more.

  Somehow he loosened her bra, and then his lips surrounded her nipple, sucking strongly. An echoing pull twanged between her legs.

  “Ryan,” she whispered, trembling under his relentless attention.

  The hand under her skirt continued exploring until she squirmed, every particle of her body consumed with desperate hunger.

  “Need your fingers on me,” she said on a plea.

  He licked around her nipple and ran his fingers over the thin lace of her panties. Back and forth. Back and forth. His fingers slid underneath, curled then he gave a hard yank. Fabric ripped and he peeled the lace away from her body.

  “On the bed,” he said.

  “Oh, this is a comfortable quickie.”

  “Damn straight.” He dragged her away from the wall and half threw her onto the mattress. “Where did you put that condom?”

  She unfurled her left hand to display the condom while remaining sprawled on the bed, her skirt hiked up around her hips.

  Ryan grabbed the foil packet and ripped it open. Then he was on her, pushing into her, filling her while his mouth feasted on one breast. A wild symphony of sensations slapped her around, making her catch her breath and hold onto him for dear life. The scent of him, fresh and citrusy, familiar, made her nostrils flare. And the heat. The heat seared her flesh and pulled her into a place where pleasure ruled. It roared across her mind, tweaked at her breasts and streaked down her legs, growing bigger. Better.

  Her fingers dug into Ryan’s shoulders, her hips lifting into each of his rapid thrusts as she savored the hard and aggressive act, the curl of heat. A ball of liquid pleasure roiled in her loins, and her belly clenched. He nipped the side of her neck, the burst of pain detonating something inside her. She flew apart, only held together by her contact with him. He powered into her again, a decisive stroke then he stilled, fully embedded, a loud groan squeezing past his clenched teeth.

  “Damn, Julia. I love you so much.”

  They stayed connected, Ryan buried in her until the need to breathe drove her to struggle from beneath his larger bulk.

  “Are you going to tell me you love me one day?”

  Her gaze shot to his before uneasiness made her eyes slither away. She used to tell him all the time. Before.

  “I—” She broke off, swallowed hard. She needed to say something before the pause grew too long.

  “It’s all right. I get it,” he whispered, dropping a light kiss on her lips. “You’ll say it when you’re ready. For now it’s enough to know you’re here with me.”

  Relief struck her at his words, and even more when he didn’t sulk in the same way as others in her past. They spent the rest of the afternoon in their room, testing out the luxurious shower before making love again. There was chocolate involved, necessitating another shower.

  “Do you want to go for a walk around Darling Harbor? Grab something to eat before I meet the others to leave for the stadium?”

  Her stomach let out a rumble, and he laughed.

  “I guess that’s a yes,” she said.

  “You could always come with me.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll wait for you in our room. How about if I order a special room service dinner for us? What time will you get back here?”

  “Around midnight. I’ll have to make an appearance to say hi to some of the sponsors and reporters, but I promise to make it quick.”

  “Deal,” she said.

  Ryan heard the roar as he left their dressing room. The opening act was doing a fantastic job warming up the crowd.

  “Dubois!”

  Ryan turned at the name. Seymour, their manager jogged to catch up with him.

  “I definitely need you to attend the after-concert function. I promised the press some sound bites from you all.”

  “Remember, I said I can only stay for half an hour.” Ryan held up a hand when Seymour opened his mouth to protest. “No, my wife is in town for the night. I want to spend time with her.”

  Seymour scowled.

  “I’ve done everything you asked me to do,” Ryan said. “But I am not about to ignore the fact I have a wife, a woman I love.”

  “What if she talks to the press?”

  “She won’t.” He didn’t hesitate in his reply. Julia wasn’t vindictive. Caleb, Neil and Jeff trotted out of the dressing room in full makeup, faces painted in white and blue, their true identities safe from exposure.

  “Ready to rock and roll?” Seymour asked in a hearty voice.

  “Walk in the park,” Neil said, waggling his drumsticks at their manager.

  They waited in the wings, and when their cue sounded, they ran onstage.

  “Dubois! Dubois! Raine! I love you, Beauchamp. St. Clair, look this way!”

  Fans of both sexes chanted their stage names. Ryan and the rest of the band waved back and took their places.

  “One, two, three,” Neil said, his low voice the prompt for their first song. A few beats later Ryan kicked in with the lyrics and a roar of approval rippled through the arena. Ryan flashed a grin at Caleb, not far from him. Doing something he loved, being loved—life didn’t get better.

  Still sweaty from their performance, Ryan followed Caleb into the room Seymour had set aside for the press. As they walked to the front of the room and took their seats, the clamor ceased and the press members snapped to attention. Most of the journalists peered intently, as if they wanted to see beneath the blue and white makeup each of the band still wore.

  Seymour remained standing. “You’ll have half an hour for questions.”

  “And make it snappy,” Jeff said, winking at the nearest female reporter. “I have a hot date tonight.”

  A chuckle swept through the room.

  “All right,” Seymour said. “We’ll take your questions one by one. Yes, sir, you in the front.”

  “This question is for Dubois,” the man said. “Is it true you have a two-year-old son here in Sydney?”

  The room burst into chaos, the questions coming fast, one after another. Ryan stared at the middle-age journalist until Caleb dug him in the ribs.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But the reporter did, and his steady expression told Ryan he believed his source. A club of trepidation beat Ryan over the head, silent protests ri
oting through him as he took in the man’s certainty. Pain shot through his temples and he lifted one hand to surreptitiously rub it away. Crap. His makeup. He placed his hand on his thigh instead. “I don’t have any children.”

  “But it’s possible,” the man said.

  Ryan shrugged, pretending confidence while his stomach squeezed to a painfully tight knot. No way. He’d always been so careful. Fuck, Julia would kill him, if she didn’t shove him out of the apartment first. “No comment.”

  “Next question please,” Seymour said, his quick glower at Ryan promising discussions in his future.

  “Your lover had plenty of comments when I interviewed her,” the journalist said.

  “Next question please,” Seymour repeated.

  “Do you make love in your stage makeup?” someone shouted.

  “Doesn’t someone want to ask an original question?” Caleb demanded. “It’ll make your story stand out from the others.” His grin remained pasted in place, but Ryan had little difficulty in discerning the underlying snark.

  Ryan maintained his comfortable sprawl, only half listening to his friends answering questions. A kid. No way! He’d know if he had a child. Surely the woman would have contacted him? Hell, maybe not. Julia was his wife and she hadn’t caught up with him during their European tour. The journalist captured Ryan’s gaze, his eyes narrowing and a hint of excitement coloring his cheeks. They stared at each other for a long moment until Ryan broke contact when someone called his name. Luckily Neil took the question because Ryan only heard white noise.

  “We’re working on a new album,” Neil said. “It’s some of our best work yet.”

  The reporters blinked at the piece of information and two asked questions about their progress.

  “You’re wearing a wedding ring,” one of the female journalists piped up during a brief lull, her nosy gaze fixated on Ryan’s wedding band.

  “That’s because I’m married,” Ryan said, barely restraining from scratching his cheek. The last thing he needed was smeared makeup.

  “When did you get married?”

  “Who is she?”

  “Does your wife see you without makeup?”

  Ryan had told Julia the press would ask questions. “I’ve been married for almost a year. No, you don’t get to know her name, and yes.” He winked at the female reporter. “My wife gets to see me without my stage makeup.”

  “What will your wife say about your love child?” the initial reporter shouted.

  Ryan didn’t want to consider her reaction because it scared him. While they’d worked things out, their relationship was still fragile. He tapped his index finger against his thigh, weighing his response before deciding it was best to stick to the tried and true. “I have no comment.”

  A few minutes later, Ryan signaled Seymour and indicated he intended to leave. In the dressing-room he showered, rid himself of his makeup and changed to jeans and a scruffy T-shirt. Black boots and a cap advertising his favorite rugby team completed his dress. With well-practiced sneakiness, he exited the dressing room and left via a rear door. Meeting no one’s gaze, he merged with the crowd still loitering outside the stadium. He’d have trouble getting a cab, but the rail station wasn’t far from the arena. He’d be back in Darling Harbor in no time.

  When he entered their hotel suite, Julia was doing stretches and working on a new routine for the club.

  “Hi.” She unfurled her body until she stood at full height and threw herself at him. “How did the concert go?”

  “Brilliant,” he said, then scowled, the remnants of the tension headache nipping at him. A son. Nah, it was a bullshit story aimed to cause chaos with his marriage. “The press conference afterward not so good.”

  “Oh?”

  “Later. It’s not important, just the normal crap. How’s the new routine going?”

  “Not too bad,” Julia said. “I figured I might as well do something useful since there was nothing on the telly.”

  “Do you still want room service?”

  “All sorted,” she assured him, glancing at the clock in the small kitchen area of the suite. “Our meal will arrive in half an hour. I’d better shower before it arrives.”

  “Don’t get dressed,” he said, his gaze skimming along the lines of her body and lingering on the tight tank top and leggings. “I’m only going to rip your clothes.”

  Julia snorted. “You owe me some lingerie.”

  “I’ll take you shopping tomorrow morning. It will be my pleasure.” Ryan enjoyed watching her as she sashayed away to the bathroom, happiness pushing away the anxiety about the reporter’s revelations. Super sexy and all his. He couldn’t lose her.

  Yeah, the kid was another one of those nuisance pieces, full of rumors and pretense rather than fact. Some woman who wanted her minute of fame in the press, and he’d provided the vehicle for her to propel herself into the spotlight. Still, he’d better tell Julia about the latest over their dinner. Plus the fact Seymour had booked them one more concert—a small intimate thing to celebrate someone’s birthday. The girl’s parents were paying megabucks, and he and the rest of the band were donating the proceeds to charity. As much as he wanted to beg off this concert, he couldn’t.

  The shower went on and Ryan stalked to the phone. He had no idea what Julia had ordered for dinner, but a bottle of champagne wouldn’t go astray.

  A tap on the door announced the arrival of their meal. Ryan opened the door and let the room service waiter wheel in their dinner.

  The waiter set a table for them, complete with candles and a pink rose in a vase. Ice clinked as he arranged the champagne in an ice bucket. “Would you like me to open it for you, sir?”

  “Please,” Ryan said.

  With the champagne taken care of, Ryan tipped the man.

  “Thanks. Will there be anything else?”

  “Not tonight,” Ryan said.

  With a final nod, the waiter left, closing the door behind him.

  Julia wandered from the steamy bathroom, dressed in a fluffy white robe. He walked to her and pulled her against his chest, breathing deeply at the warm skin of her neck. She smelled of flowers.

  “I missed you.”

  She pulled away, lacing her fingers with his. “You have to do your concerts. Besides, we’re together now. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

  Ryan followed her to the table, pulled out a chair and seated her. “Champagne, madam?”

  “Please.” Her eyes twinkled, and in that moment he fell in love all over again.

  “Would it work for you if we kept the length of tours shorter, if I was away for a month at the most, instead of six months?”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  Ryan squeezed her shoulder and plucked the bottle from the ice bucket. “You’re my wife, Julia. Your needs are important.”

  “Yes,” she said with a bright smile that echoed in her eyes. “That would work. But I get it. I understand you have to tour to promote your music. It’s part of the job.”

  He handed her a glass and poured champagne for himself. “To us.”

  She grinned and clinked her glass against his. “To marriage and love.”

  “To my beautiful wife.” Emotion swelled inside him then, something bright and precious. Knowing she was willing to make their marriage work, and she was mentioning love meant everything to him. It gave him hope for the future, for the time when they’d start a family and grow old together.

  Julia’s stomach let out a demanding grumble. “Told you I was hungry.”

  The tomato soup flavored with the bite of herbs disappeared rapidly. Ryan dunked up the remains of his soup with a piece of bread. “Beats a diet of pizza and burgers. What else do we have?”

  “Smoked salmon fillets and salad with coffee and truffles for dessert. What happened at the press conference? You seem distracted,” she added, her gaze skewering him—a demand to tell her now.

  Ryan pushed away his bowl, no longer hungry. He sighed, not wanting to break the
spell when things were going so well between them. “A woman has come forward and is telling everyone I’m the father of her baby.”

  Her sharp inhalation broke the silence. “And are you?”

  The even tone hurt way more than a shout or cutting words of anger. “I haven’t slept with another woman since I met you.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “No.” He shrugged, unhappily admitting the truth to himself. “I don’t know.” Before Julia he’d slept with other women. Too many women. The kid’s age made it possible and that sent uneasiness rioting through him, as did the reporter’s attitude. “I don’t have any details, but I suppose there’s always an outside possibility.”

  “I see.” Once again the even tone.

  “Damn it. I never pretended to be a saint before I met you. Caleb and I both partied hard, but the minute I met you everything changed. This kid—it’s probably not even mine. If she takes things further, a DNA test will provide the truth.”

  Julia nodded slowly, her chest rising and falling as she heaved a sigh. “You’re right. No point worrying until we learn the details. I wasn’t a saint before I met you either, so I don’t have the right to call you on things that happened before we met.”

  Ryan bit back a scowl, not liking what she was saying. Double standards. True, but he couldn’t help the way his mind worked. He fiddled with his soup spoon, unwilling to look at her or let her witness any of his misplaced jealousy.

  Julia reached across the table, placing her hand on his. “Thank you for telling me. It can’t have been easy.”

  “No. I…I… God, I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “You won’t. I’m here to stay.” Although the words were encouraging, the lack of ease in her smile alarmed him.

  Julia woke from a fitful sleep. Ryan was curled around her, skin pressed to skin and they lay as close as two people could. He’d told her the truth, kept to their deal about honesty even though he’d risked alienating her with the news.

  She wasn’t that brave.

  She swallowed, remaining motionless in case she woke Ryan while her mind continued to chase around a mental obstacle course. She’d lied by omission. Tonight had been another opportunity to tell him about their baby—the one she’d lost. It would’ve been the perfect time to tell her husband that because of the fallout from the STD, it was unlikely she’d conceive again, not without difficulty. Tears welled and flowed down her cheeks, soaking the sheets, yet she remained still, biting her bottom lip to stop from sobbing. Guilt filled her, mired her down and refused to let her move forward.