“Craig!” she cried out his name. She ground into his hand to stoke the fire and capture the essence of the flames racing through her.
Craig removed his hand and turned her face up to his. “Do you want to go on?” he whispered, his lips close against her ear.
She was already paralyzed with pleasure, a level of desire she had never felt in her life, but for her, it was more than just a question of sex. It was about commitment, a covenant that released her heart to love again. Throbbing with an insatiable, primal need she didn’t know she possessed, Taylor raised her hips in a plea for fulfillment.
“Yes,” she whispered, her breath broken with need. She wanted him. All of him. Right now. “Please, Craig—”
He needed no further encouragement. She helped him remove the rest of his clothes, both of them hurrying now, needing to touch, to explore in a glorious shared adventure.
Craig pulled her to him and held her tight as he slid inside her. Taylor moved into each thrust, accepting all of him and squeezing down on him as he retreated. Their bodies moved together as if sculpted from one stone. Sensations exploded through Taylor’s body, taking her higher and higher as the passion slowly built. Her hands coursed up and down his back, pulling him in, urging him onward.
“Taylor,” he groaned breathlessly as his hips surged. “Come to me, luv. I’m going to make you fly!”
Craig’s deep moans of pleasure stirred even more arousal in her. She lifted to him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Sensations were coming fast, building like a tidal wave, lifting her closer and closer to the pinnacle of passion, until the floodgates of pleasure opened and she finally broke free, rocketing into oblivion in a rush of blinding ecstasy that pulled cries of pure pleasure from deep inside her.
“Oh God, Craig,” she called his name as she floated into the abyss.
Craig clenched her hips, holding her still as he thrust deeper and deeper into her. Then he threw back his head and groaned as he shuddered with his own release, collapsing against her in an unbridled rapture.
Slowly the waves of pleasure ebbed to a stop, their bodies tangled together. Taylor lay still in the blissful nothingness, wanting to stay in this state of suspended animation forever.
Stroking her hair away from her face, Craig planted soft kisses on her ear. “It feels so right here, being with you,” he whispered, “Please, don’t go yet.”
Cradled in his arms, she raised her head up to place a kiss on his throat. “Yes,” she said softly, glowing with contentment, “I’ll stay.”
Craig pulled the sheet over them before pulling her close. They lay quietly, drifting off to dream. Craig’s arms wrapped protectively around her, sheltering her in a cocoon of shelter and safety. Slow, romantic ballads continued to play softly from the computer’s speakers, and she fell into a contented doze, euphoric visual fragments playing in and out of her subconscious.
Suddenly the images disappeared from her mind.
Her eyes flew open. She was jarred awake by a noise.
Was she dreaming? Gathering her bearings, it came again. A heavy, labored pounding on the front door. She shook Craig.
“I think someone’s at the door,” she told him.
Craig jumped up, fumbling for his clothes.
“Were you expecting someone tonight?” Taylor asked, sitting up on the bed to hurriedly put her clothes back on.
“Lord, no,” Craig said, finding his shirt and shrugging into it. “I can’t imagine who it might be. Do me a favor, luv. Go in the kitchen and look for a bite in the ‘fridge for us while I see who it is.”
She had just gotten her mid-calf combat boots on and straightened her hair when the slow, heavy knock came again.
“Go on,” Craig urged, his voice beginning to tense. He threw his pants on and pulled her up off the bed. He practically pushed Taylor toward the kitchen. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Taylor picked up the wine glasses and hurried to the kitchen. Craig closed the swinging door behind her. Then she heard him ask, “Who is it?”
She recognized the weak response as that belonging to Steve Mitchell, the band’s lead singer.
“Yeah, wait a minute,” Craig called back to him.
Hearing the familiar voice, Taylor walked back into the room as Craig opened the door.
“Craig!” Taylor cried as Steve fell into Craig’s arms from the open doorway.
Someone had worked on Steve with scientific precision. He had taken the worst beating Taylor had ever seen. He was weak, moaning incoherently while Craig helped him to the bed. His hair was wildly unkempt, his face full of scratches and cuts where blood was coagulating. His arm clutched his tousled shirt, presumably to protect a cracked rib or two. Bruises covered his arms where fists had assaulted him.
They helped Steve to the bed, where he collapsed onto the sheets. Blood poured from the cuts on his head onto the pillowcases.
“Go get something to clean him up with,” Craig commanded, glancing back at her. “Hurry!”
Taylor immediately ran to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth while Craig stayed with Steve. Frightened, she listened to their conversation.
“Steve, you all right, mate?” she heard him ask.
Steve moaned softly. “God, my head kills worse than someone hitting me with a fucking cricket bat.”
“What happened?” Craig demanded angrily. “Who did this?”
“They did,” Steve responded softly. “I met the frog tonight. He had a load of stuff. We got blitzed, and then we went to see Cabrera in a bar near the East End. He was real pissed. He said he—” His words were broken by a painful cough.
“Easy, easy,” Craig said softly. “Go on. What did he say?”
Steve took a labored breath to gather his strength. “He said he was going to show us what happens to the ones who—who give him a hard time. He said we had to do as he told us from now on, or next time—next time he won’t be so easy on us. This is going easy, by the way.”
Craig’s fist slamming against the wall in front of him rattled the glass in the bay window and made Taylor jump in the bathroom like a startled cat.
“Montagne must have told him what I said yesterday,” he said. “That bastard!”
“Yeah,” Steve moaned. “He let me go at first, and I thought I was safe. Then I left the pub, and there were three heavies waiting for me. I didn’t see them at first ‘coz there were a few other people around. But a couple of blocks later, I looked back and saw them, and I knew. I started to run but they caught up with me. Then they just came at me. Before I knew it, they were dragging me into an alley and beating the living daylights out of me. I was so sloshed, I couldn’t fight them. Next thing I remember was being thrown out of a car onto the street in front of your place—” He winced with pain.
Taylor had heard enough. She quickly returned to Craig’s side. She gingerly wiped the blood from Steve’s face. He twisted with pain, but Craig held his head in place. Finally, he started to relax a little while Craig fixed the cuts and bruises.
Steve slowly opened his eyes. Through a glassy, drugged gaze, he surveyed her with interest. “Who are—oh, I remember you now,” he said weakly. “Yeah, the American—”
“Shhh, don’t talk,” Taylor directed him, wiping the dirt from his neck. “Lie still and rest.”
“Not the best introduction, is it?” he chided softly. “I’ll be fine, but maybe you can find me a jigger of whiskey, darlin’.”
His eyes turned to Craig. “I wouldn’t have come up here if I’d known she—”
“Don’t talk, Steve,” Taylor repeated firmly, then stood up. “Craig, call the police!”
“No!” Craig jumped up. “No police. We’ll take care of the situation ourselves. Don’t worry about him, Taylor.”
“Craig, he needs help! He could be serious
ly hurt, and they need to find who did this to him!” She picked up his cell phone from the coffee table.
Before her fingers could touch the dial pad, Craig came up behind her and forcibly grabbed her arm with an iron-like grip. He took the phone from her hand and put it back firmly on the table. Then he swung her around to face him.
“I said no, Taylor.” His voice turned hard, a tone she had never heard from him before. His beautiful warm eyes, previously inviting, were now clouded with an icy chill as they drilled into her. She stared back at him in shocked amazement for a long moment. The force of his mood took her completely by surprise.
“Craig, what is wrong with you?” she asked. “Don’t you care that Steve could be severely injured? You’re jeopardizing your own friend’s life if you don’t get him some help!”
“And you, miss, are involving yourself in something that is none of your affair,” he responded coldly.
His insulting, hostile attitude triggered her anger in response.
Breaking loose from his grip, she confronted him. “I’m not some kind of doll you can just throw around, you know,” she said hotly. “I’m trying to help you, for God’s sake!”
“And I told you we don’t want your help,” Craig said quietly, his eyes narrowing menacingly.
He looked back at Steve who lay motionless on the bed. Then he turned back to her. Taylor felt like she was suddenly facing someone she didn’t even know.
“You have to leave. Now.” Without waiting for a response, he reached for his phone and called for a cab while Taylor stood mute with shock. Then he turned back to her. “You’ll have to take a taxi home tonight,” he informed her. “I would take you, but I can’t leave him here alone.”
“With fucking pleasure!” Taylor snapped after finding her voice. She was so furious she could hardly get the words out.
She felt like a common street girl, dismissed for the night. With her hands shaking, she shot him an icy glare as she gathered her things to await the cab outside.
Craig reached for his blazer. “Hold on a minute, and I’ll walk you down,” he said, his voice softening. “No offense about what’s happened, I hope.”
“Really? Well, offense taken!” Taylor retorted. “Stay here with your friend and your dirty little secrets!”
She stalked toward the door and glanced back one more time before slamming it shut. She saw a mixture of regret and anger in Craig’s eyes. But then she thought she glimpsed something else. A glimmer of relief.
Or was it fear?
Chapter 7
Craig tossed his guitar on the bed with disgust. He had just gone over the songs that would be recorded at least a dozen times today, but they sounded more like boozy chuck-aways than the quality melodies he had written. He moved his hand over the strings like a zombie, and even though every note was tight and perfect, the songs came out as utterly lifeless as he felt.
He picked up his pack of cigarettes, lit one, and gazed thoughtfully out to the span of artists’ studios, craft shops and quaint cafés that made up Covent Gardens. It was a wet day in the city, as usual, and the fine drizzle that London was famous for covered everything with a gray, dismal pall of tiny droplets.
His songs sounded like crap, and his mood had been as cold and unpleasant as the London fog, and he knew why. The culprit was Taylor Fairchild.
Try as he might, he couldn’t forget the time they spent together recently. Her image occupied his mind like a shadowy cobweb in a dark attic. Over the last week, he’d tried to forget about her, tried to erase the picture in his mind of her standing there in his apartment, angry, confused, and looking as if he had just slapped her face. He wanted to call her immediately and apologize for his insulting behavior, but she was so angry the other night, he knew she wouldn’t listen to him. So he purposely avoided the telephone, resisting the impulse. He had even stayed out these past few nights, hoping the late hours and usual flock of women who frequented the area nightspots would get things back to normal for him.
But they weren’t normal, and he had an uneasy feeling that they would never be again. Even Soho’s pub life failed to lift his spirits. After the last call for drinks, he would turn up his collar and go straight back to his flat, turning away from the suggestive looks cast his way by homeward-bound women.
He clenched his fists. Taylor’s walking out the other night still bothered the hell out of him. A woman had never walked out on him before. Why couldn’t she have just done as she was told and stayed out of the way?
Oh, come on lad, he scolded himself. What did you expect, after acting like a total jerk when Steve showed up? He was more accustomed to total submission from the other women he fancied himself with, flighty females who never asked questions. Why hadn’t he realized by now that she was different?
His brows drew downward in a frown. Why even bother with her? After all, she hadn’t made a single effort to talk to him for a week about what had happened. Who does she think she’s dealing with anyway, an ignorant kid?
Moreover, if she had any idea of the double life he unwillingly led, she probably wouldn’t understand. He imagined those ebony eyes of hers widening with disgust, calling him a no good, low-life drug peddler.
He felt exhausted from not having slept in days. Every time he’d try to clear his mind and rest, visions of her would float into his mind. He would see fleeting images of her charming smile, the silky softness of her skin that his fingers seemed to have touched eons ago.
Oh, bollocks! She’s just like the rest of them. Selfish and demanding, possessive, and downright too emotional. How could he ever have gotten entangled with her in the first place? She’ll get her audio files and be gone soon enough, and that will be the end of that. He wasn’t about to let the lady take over his life. To hell with their relationship and to hell with her!
He took another drag on his cigarette, slowly exhaling the smoke against the windowpane. It wasn’t working. The more he tried to deny the truth, the more it persisted.
And the simple truth was that he was falling in love with the American girl who had so thoroughly put a kink into his routine.
So where does that leave you now, lad? he thought. Why not rush over to her room right now, and beg her forgiveness?
Craig smiled in spite of himself. No, he wouldn’t go begging after her. He never had to grovel for a woman’s affection, and he never would.
Or perhaps he was afraid of what he might find if he did go to see her. Perhaps she would be with someone else, someone she liked better. He didn’t know if he could take that, either.
What difference does it make who she sees, anyway? he thought. She didn’t owe him anything, and he, as far as he was concerned, was a free agent. She was just a brief diversion, like a hunter who was momentarily distracted by his own reflection in a forest lake. Let her have her stupid demo. Nothing would probably come of it, anyway. He knew the odds against an unknown band making it in the American music scene, let alone breaking in on his own side of the pond. In fact, her story of being an American in the music business could be completely fabricated to get his attention. His infatuation with her would pass just as soon as she’d gone home.
He ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. Then he settled back and picked up his guitar. Best to keep working. He certainly had plenty of time. It was going to be a long, lonely morning.
~ ~ ~
Taylor had changed into a pair of jeans and a knit pullover she’d bought while shopping with Susan and was grateful for the warmth they now provided against the chilly drizzle. She knew styling her hair would be futile in this weather, so she let it hang loose down her back, running a brush quickly through her soft, black tresses. She looked casually fashionable, a perfect look for the gray overcast outside.
A dull pang of desire had been tugging at her for Craig Phillips. His presence gave her joy th
at she never felt possible, and she longed to be near him again.
She tried consoling herself with the reminder of what happened between her and Diesel Barnes. She should have known the outcome of getting involved with another egotistical, temperamental musician. She came to England to give her mind a rest, and just the opposite had occurred. The moment she arrived, Craig Phillips had waltzed into her life, shaking her steeled composure and breaking down all the fences she had so carefully built around herself. She thought she could handle their relationship as a casual affair, but never had she realized what a powerful opponent he would turn out to be. Lately her thoughts were scattered, her level of concentration almost nonexistent.
Now he was out of her life, and instead of feeling relieved, his absence left her with a deep feeling of emptiness.
She wasn’t making the most of a fabulous vacation, to be sure. She had spent the entire day yesterday shopping with Susan, struggling to keep up while her friend raced through London’s shopping district, buying up countless numbers of clothes and souvenirs in record time. Even the Burlington Arcade, a huge collection of shops and emporiums, failed to liven her spirits. The city suddenly held no magic for her.
She replayed the scene at Craig’s flat over and over in her mind. Everything was fine until Steve showed up. Though she could understand his desire to take care of his friend, she was puzzled by his sudden cold and arrogant demeanor when she offered to help. It was as though he suddenly looked at her like a complete stranger. What could have caused such a switch?
Craig made it blatantly clear that he wasn’t going to let her in on what was going on. If that were the case, she decided, then so be it. She didn’t need to be involved in any trouble while visiting another country. She would simply put as much distance as possible from their personal relationship and concentrate on Craig strictly as a musician. After all, she was in the business of promoting talent, and his personal life was his own business.
A Perilous Pursuit Page 9