by Ashlee Price
I find Rick waiting for me in the small alcove outside the restrooms, which has a marble fountain between two wooden benches.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him, lowering the hand that I clapped to my chest in surprise.
“You were taking too long. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me.”
“Why would I do that when I don’t have my story yet?”
He chuckles. “It’s always work with you. Is that all that matters to you?”
“Don’t forget, Rick. I only had dinner with you because you promised me a story.”
“Now you’re hurting my feelings.” He places his hand over his heart. “Why would you do that, huh?”
He takes a step closer. I take a step back.
“Where’s the story, Rick?” I ask him. “Give me your notebook.”
He points to the back pocket of his pants. “Come and get it.”
I exhale. “You told me you’d give me the story after dinner.”
“And I am giving it to you.” He taps the notebook.
Son of a bitch.
Fine. If he wants me to get it, I’ll get it myself.
I approach him, reaching for the notebook, but as soon as I do, Rick grabs my wrist and wraps his other arm around my waist, pulling me close to him and pressing his lips to mine.
My stomach coiling, I try to wriggle free from his grasp, but he grips my wrist tighter. My purse falls to the floor as pain shoots up my arm. His other hand digs into my hip as well as he forces his tongue past my lips, effectively muffling my protests. Then he lets go to cup one of my breasts.
Panicking, I lift my knee and shove it right into his groin.
“Fuck!”
As he grabs his crotch in pain, I grab the notebook from his pocket, pick up my purse and run.
“Ingrid!” he calls after me. “Come back here, you bitch!”
I ignore him, running inside the bistro and making a beeline for the exit. Reaching the parking lot, I dash to the safety of my car, starting the engine as soon as I’m inside. I step on the gas and drive off without any hesitation or a backward glance. There’s only one thing on my mind.
I need to get home.
~
As soon as I get back to my apartment, I rush to the bathroom, pausing only to glance at Alexa, who’s fallen asleep on the couch with the TV still on.
I stand in front of the sink and open the faucet. Filling my palm with water, I bring it to my mouth, trying to get rid of every taste of Rick. As I do, I catch glimpses of my reflection in the mirror. My blue eyes are brimming with tears as I recall what Rick did. The scene is playing over and over again in my head in slow motion, every gruesome detail amplified.
I cringe.
How dare he force himself on me.
“Ingrid?”
Conner opens the bathroom’s other door, standing in the doorway with just a towel wrapped around his waist. The toned muscles of his chest and his abdomen are laid bare to me for the first time.
He comes closer and cups my face in his hands.
“What did that bastard do to you?” he asks through gritted teeth. “I swear I’ll—”
I place my hands behind his head and capture his lips, stealing both his breath and his words in one swoop.
When his lips remain still beneath mine, I pull away and drop my hands to his shoulders. He stares at me, his wide eyes searching mine.
I understand his confusion. I can’t believe I just kissed him, either. Strangely, though, I don’t regret it. If anything, I want to kiss him again, even if it’s just so I can forget that filthy man devouring me.
I want him to kiss me.
“Kiss me,” I tell him in a whisper.
For a moment, he still hesitates. Then he pulls me by the waist and his mouth falls onto mine.
Wrapping my arms around Conner’s neck, I part my lips. His tongue quickly slips through the crack, and I suck on its tip before granting it full entry and letting him take control. My heart begins to pound, and my breathing grows ragged as we deprive each other of air.
His hands caress my back and shivers creep up my spine. Moaning into his mouth, I tug at his hair, my fingernails raking his scalp.
Tongues gliding and lips smacking, we stumble into the shower stall, Conner’s hand gripping the back of my dress.
He unzips it, and I pull my arms through the sleeves. The dress wilts. He pushes it past my hips and it pools on the floor.
When his lips find mine again the force of the kiss slams me against the wall. The still-wet tiles are cold beneath my skin. I ignore it, and then forget about it entirely as the delicious friction from Conner’s tongue sends heat coursing beneath my skin.
He grabs my wrists and pins them above me just before his mouth leaves mine. I gasp for air, only to have my breath stolen again as his tongue traces the lobe of my ear.
I shiver, but more heat ripples through my veins, gathering in my breasts and in between my legs. My breasts swell, tingling, and a puddle forms in my underwear as the heat leaks out between my legs.
Conner kisses my neck, which I bare to him, before moving lower and planting a kiss in the valley between my breasts. With one hand still holding my wrists in place, the other unhooks my bra. My breasts bounce free but my engorged nipples still ache.
He captures one in his mouth, sucking on the mound of flesh, and I let out a cry that bounces off the bathroom walls. His tongue circles the peak just before his curled lips tug on it.
My hips jerk. My knees buckle.
He does the same to the other mound, and by the time they’re both wet, my panties are too.
He lets my wrists go, and his lips press against the curve of my belly before he drops on his knees. As he pulls my panties down, I grip his bare shoulders, leaning on them to maintain my balance. I almost lose it, though, when he clutches my hips and plants his mouth between my legs, his tongue delving inside.
My eyes fall shut, rolling back in my head as pleasure seizes me.
I’m at the mercy of that skillful tongue, which takes a break from exploring my core only to suck on the nub hidden in my curls. I cry out, trembling.
Getting off his knees, he cups my face and swallows my next cry. I taste myself on his tongue and another shiver goes through me.
My hands slide off his shoulders, gliding over muscle. I let my fingers trace them, following the trail that leads lower and lower, stopping when they rub against soft cotton.
With one hard pull, I get rid of the towel, letting it fall to the wet floor. I reach for his crotch and wrap my fingers around his hard cock.
This time, Conner is the one who shivers. A moan escapes from his lips to mine.
And once again, I feel my power over him.
Heady with it, I stroke him, feeling him throb against my palm. My thumb brushes across the leaking tip and he jerks.
“Ingrid.” He speaks my name as a breathless warning.
When I don’t heed it, stroking him faster in a flurry of mischief, he grabs my wrist to stop me.
Conner pulls me out of the shower stall and out of the bathroom, leading me to Alexa’s bed. Throwing me on top of it, he kisses me again as he parts my thighs. The tongue dipping in my mouth reminds me of what’s to come, and my heart flutters in anticipation.
The tip of his cock presses against me and I pull my mouth away from his, gaping, gasping. Every breath after that is a gasp, and my lungs are deprived of air as he enters me slowly.
This time, I cling to him because I can, fingers raking across his back.
When his hips start jerking, I grasp his firm buttocks, digging my nails into his skin. I gaze into his burning eyes and realize that my own are brimming with tears. I close them as I move my own hips in rhythm with his.
The bed creaks. The smell of sex and sweat fills the air.
Cries spilling out of my mouth, I throw my head back as I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling myself unravel little by little. When he moves even faster, I come undone, shouti
ng his name to the ceiling.
“Conner, fu…!”
I tremble all over as my breath leaves me. My strength dwindles away.
But Conner still has his, and though I wouldn’t have thought it possible, he picks up his pace another notch, managing a few wild thrusts before he buries himself deep inside me and lets go.
I hug him as his body jerks, and when the tremors finally stop I let my hands fall limply to my sides. I part my lips to catch my breath, my heart still in an uproar.
Conner moves off me and lies panting beside me. I reach for his hand with what strength I have left and give it a squeeze. He squeezes it back, turning his head towards me.
At the warmth in his eyes, my heart skips a beat.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“I’m still going to kill him.”
I grin but shake my head. “He’s not worth it.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right.”
I smile.
Besides, I’ve already forgotten all about him.
Chapter Fifteen
Conner
I’d forgotten what home felt like, but now I remember it.
As I stand over the bed where Ingrid and Alexa are sleeping soundly, arms around each other, my heart dances to the beat of a soft melody playing inside my head. Before I know it, the corners of my lips curve up into a smile.
I move closer, seized with a desire to run my fingers through the ethereal mess of Ingrid’s hair, to plant a kiss on the top of my daughter’s head. I don’t give in, though. I don’t want to wake them. They both need their sleep, Ingrid especially after last night.
At the memory, my heart beats faster.
Ingrid might have been upset. She might simply have been looking for solace. Still, she came to me. She might not know it, but she bared more than her body to me.
She stirs, her head slanting to one side.
I step back and carefully make my way out of the room, glancing back at them one last time before closing the door.
On the kitchen counter, I scribble a note saying that I’m going back to Dallas to interview the couple for my story, something I didn’t get the chance to tell Ingrid last night.
Smiling, I end the note with ‘Yours, Conner’.
I put her mug over the note to hold it down and make sure she sees it, then grab my laptop and walk out of the apartment, humming.
I almost don’t want to leave, but knowing they’ll be here when I return spurs me on.
Glancing at the closed door behind me, I make a solemn promise.
I’ll be back as soon as I can.
~
“Can you tell me more about that first meeting?” I ask Howard Boyle. I’m sitting across from him and his wife, Sylvia, in the music room of their elegant and, of course, immense Dallas home.
He strokes his pristine, winter-white chin curtain. “Well, it was a rehearsal for an upcoming concert for a small hall in Boston. I remember the piece well. It was Richard Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’. She was a second violinist and she was taking the place of someone who’d gotten sick.”
“Myrna,” Sylvia supplies, her hands fidgeting with her pearl bracelet. “She got the flu.”
“I already noticed her at first, with her messy red hair…”
“I was in a hurry,” Sylvia says. “I was sound asleep when they called me and told me I had to fill in for Myrna. I had to rush to the hall. I barely had time to brush my teeth.”
“Yeah, she looked like she had just gotten out of bed,” Howard recalls, chuckling. “But then the rehearsal started. I began conducting, and when their section came, she held up that violin and she started playing and…”
“I messed up,” Sylvia interrupts. “I got out of tune and he scolded me.”
“He did?” I raise an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting that twist in the story.
“I did,” Howard confirms. “And she started spouting excuses and I lost my temper a bit, so I asked her if she was serious about playing the violin or if she could, in fact, play it.”
“I stood up and I started playing a Bartok concerto…” Sylvia stands up, reenacting the moment with an air instrument.
“It’s a notoriously difficult piece,” Howard informs me. “I’ve never been able to play it well myself, but she pulled it off and she blew everyone away, including me, of course. Needless to say, I didn’t scold her after that.”
“He didn’t speak to me after that,” Sylvia corrects, sitting down.
“Because I was already in love with her,” Howard admits. “And I didn’t know how to face her. You know, when you’re in love with someone, you know you want to be with that person more than anything, but if you don’t know whether that person feels the same, then you just feel so afraid. I was terrified.”
“Unknown to him, I was already in love with him, too.” Sylvia holds her husband’s hand, giving him a tender smile. “The moment I saw him up there, I just knew he was the one.”
I shift in my seat. “So, how did the two of you come to terms with your feelings? How did you each finally find out how the other felt?”
“I was playing the piano,” Howard says. “After a rehearsal. I just felt like it. And she entered the room and played her violin. We played together and there was just this magic in the air.”
“It was a concert just for two.” Sylvia turns to her husband with a dreamy look in her eyes. “And when it was over, he stood up, I fell into his arms and we kissed.”
He turns to her, their lips almost touching.
I look away, almost feeling like an intruder instead of an interviewer. “How long after that did you get married?”
“It was years later,” Howard answers. “We decided we’d focus on our careers first. We traveled the world. She became my concert mistress. When we weren’t rehearsing, we’d explore the cities or we’d simply lock ourselves up in a room and play our own music.”
Sylvia blushes.
“It wasn’t all champagne and roses, though,” Howard adds. “We had our squabbles. We had our jealous fits.”
Sylvia grins. “Oh, I remember.”
“But by time we got off stage, everything was patched up,” Howard says.
I rub my chin. “The music really was your connection, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” they answer in unison.
I make a note of it on my laptop.
“Now, could you please tell me about life after the orchestra?”
~
An orchestra of two, I type on my laptop in the middle of the hotel lobby.
Reviewing the screen, I put in a few more words, then I close the lid with a rush of satisfaction and sit back as I pick up my cup of coffee.
Bringing it to my lips, I look around.
The holly and the sparkling tinsel have come down now, replaced by pink hearts and colorful flowers.
In just over a week, it will be Valentine’s Day, which means my story is nearly due, so it’s a good thing I already have it done.
In just over a week, Tiffany, Ed, Ingrid and I will all find out who gets the job.
Speaking of Tiffany, I suddenly spot her crossing the lobby in a black-and-white dress, her electric pink heels clattering across the marble floor.
What on earth is she doing here?
Before I can look away, she turns her head and our eyes meet. Smiling, she walks over to me while I quickly gather my things to prepare for a hasty exit.
“Conner.” She says my name with a smile that matches the gleam of her large earrings.
“Tiffany,” I acknowledge without much enthusiasm.
Her hand goes to her hip. Her nails are the same shade as her shoes but with more glitter. “What are you doing here?”
“Work,” I answer curtly.
“That’s weird. Me too.” She places her other hand on her cleavage. “You know, I’m so sorry for how I behaved last time. You did get the apologies I sent you, right? I hope you don’t mind. I asked Cassie for your number.”
; I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
She lets out a deep breath. “I was desperate. I was going to do what you suggested, too, but I’ve had the most unbelievable stroke of luck.”
“You found your story?”
“Yes, or rather, it found me.”
She turns around, gesturing to the couple behind her—a brunette in her thirties dressed in red with a white shawl, arm in arm with a man in a crisp dark gray suit and a black scarf. Lifting his dark sunglasses to the top of his head of salt-and-pepper hair, he smiles.
A lump forms in my throat and my muscles tense as I recognize him.
Oh, fuck.
“Conner, this is Damien Shore and his fiancée, Margot,” Tiffany introduces us. “Mr. Shore, this is Conner Blake, a colleague.”
I stand up as Damien offers me his hand, swallowing before I shake it. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Shore.”
“No. I’m pleased to meet you,” he says. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
His grip tightens and my chest does as well.
“You know him?” Tiffany turns to Damien with raised eyebrows.
“You bet I do,” he says, still not releasing my hand. “He was a guest at my party just before I went to prison.”
The lump in my throat gets bigger.
“Tell me, Mr. Blake, did you enjoy that party? I do pride myself on throwing the best parties, you know, and satisfying all my guests.”
“I did,” I answer.
He lowers his voice. “That woman with you was something, wasn’t she?”
My heart stops. He knows about Ingrid?
“Where is she now? I wonder.”
I lower my gaze. “I…”
“Oh, Conner isn’t with any woman at the moment,” Tiffany says.
“Is that right?” Damien asks.
Why is he so interested?
He lets my hand go. “Well, not everyone thinks they need love.” He strokes Margot’s cheek. “It took me seven years in prison to realize otherwise. I’m grateful to you, really.”
Tiffany’s brows furrow. “Am I missing something here?”