“I’ve invested too much in you over the years, girl, and I’m not giving you any choice! The contracts are signed!”
“If they are, then it is your doing. I’ve not signed anything.”
“Actually, she has,” Campagnone said, putting a proprietary hand on her shoulder. “Miss Baker has signed a contract with this orchestra which obligates her to perform with us through the end of next season. So you see, she is no longer available for touring.”
Meg tried not to react in any way to Campagnone’s bold announcement. The contract she’d signed that first day had only been for the end of the current season—through this coming June.
“And I tell you I have the contracts!”
“If you signed them in my stead, then they are forged—and your responsibility. I am under no obligation to you.”
He straightened to his full considerable height in an attempt to intimidate her. “This is madness! You owe me everything! You are a soloist! A virtuosa! How can you possibly leave that life and lower yourself to…to this?”
“As far as I’m concerned, this symphony is a tremendous step up from where I was before!” Meg said.
“But…!”
“I don’t know of any other way to put this,” she said, fighting for calm, “but I am declaring my independence. I will not go back to New York at any time in the future, with or without you!”
“Seems pretty clear to me,” John said, stepping up to her side
“I don’t know just who you think you are,” her father began.
“I’m the one who’s protectin’ the lady, here, from your unwanted attention,” John said.
“John…” she whispered, suddenly afraid for him.
“That won’t be necessary,” Campagnone said.
His signal brought some uniformed guards forward to escort her father and his bodyguards from the premises.
“This isn’t over!” the older man shouted as he was being hauled out of the room.
“Yeah, it is,” John said.
The room was silent for a long beat, and Meg had to force herself to look at Campagnone.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“No,” he said sharply. “It is not for you to apologize.”
“Darn right,” John said, putting his arm around her shoulders.
“But you lied for me,” she said, wanting desperately for Campagnone to know how much she appreciated his support.
“I didn’t lie,” he said in mock horror. “I only…exaggerated a little bit.”
“By twelve months!” she said.
Campagnone only smiled and shook his head. “It is not the length of the contract I exaggerated. Rather the fact that you have not yet signed it for me.”
She looked at him in a mixture of shock and hope. “You want me to stay.” It wasn’t quite a question.
“Well, of course I do,” Campagnone said. “Do you really think I’d let you go after the way you have been performing? We are lucky to have you.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.
Patty Coleman started clapping, and soon everyone joined in. Meg found herself blushing once more.
Laughing, Campagnone put his arm around her and murmured in her ear. “Just remember, mia bella ragazza: I still cannot pay you a quarter of what you were earning touring Europe.”
“But I don’t need a quarter of what I was earning to live in Nashville.”
“True enough!”
He stepped back and looked at John. “You will bring her to us first thing in the morning, so she can sign the contract, yes?”
John grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He reached out to shake hands with both John and Bart. “Now take her home and keep her safe.”
“You bet.”
But as they left the hall, Meg was left to wonder what else her father had in mind. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t give up so easily.
* * *
“We’ve picked up a tail,” Matt said, glancing in his rearview mirror as he drove them toward home.
“I thought that was too easy,” Candace said.
Once they had all piled into the SUV safely, Bart had filled everyone in on what had happened at the reception.
“Let ’em follow us home,” Mark said. “We’re ready for ’em.”
“No!” Meg said. “Please. Shifting will not protect you from bullets, and I know my father’s companions are armed.”
“She’s right,” Mel said. “And besides that, we don’t know what kind of trouble he can make for this family, if you all become bears and beat up on him.”
“I had somethin’ else in mind, darlin’,” Bart said, pulling out his cell phone.
After a moment, someone answered.
“I need to speak with Lieutenant Ferguson.”
“Who is Lieutenant Ferguson?” Meg asked Mel.
Mel smiled. “Listen and learn.”
“Ferguson? Bart Saint, here. We may be headin’ for a little trouble tonight, and we could use your help.”
Five minutes later, Bart ended his call.
“Who is Lieutenant Ferguson?” Meg asked once more.
“He’s a very nice police officer who helped me,” Candace said.
“He’s a Shifter, too,” Addy said, “so he understands.”
“And knows how to keep a secret,” Luke added.
“What do you want me to do, Uncle Bart?” Matt asked from the driver’s seat.
“Just head on home, Matt.”
“You’re going to confront them,” Meg said fearfully.
“No, we’re not,” John said, taking her hand. “Lieutenant Ferguson is. Right Uncle Bart?”
“That’s right. As soon as we pull in, Mel, I want you and the other the ladies to head up to your apartment. Go inside, lock the door, but don’t turn the lights on.
“Addy, as soon as you’re in, I want you to Shift. Sittin’ in the dark, you’re gonna need the eyes, ears, and nose of your cat, just in case somebody’s stupid enough to try to get in through the front or up the fire escape.”
“I’ll be ready for them,” Addy said.
“I’m countin’ on it.”
“What about all of you?” Mel said, sounding worried.
“Well, we’ll be waitin’ for the old man and his bodyguards in the parkin’ lot.”
“But…!” Meg began.
“Now, don’t you be worryin’ none, Meg, ’cause right behind your father and his men, there are gonna be a handful of police cruisers pullin’ in with their blue lights flashin’.”
John grinned. “I’m guessin’ if your daddy’s men are armed, they’re gonna be spendin’ the night in jail.”
“At the very least,” Mel said.
Ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking area behind the big house, and the women scrambled out. Mel led the way up the back stairs to their apartment, leaving the lights off as they entered and locking the door behind them.
“Let’s sit in the living room,” she whispered. “Come on.”
Mel, Candace, and Meg sat on the couch, side-by-side, and in another moment, Meg saw one of the room’s shadows Shift. The next thing she knew, there was a huge, yellow cat leaning against their legs.
Mel absently scratched Addy’s back, and Candace rubbed her ears. Meg sank her fingers into that thick, tawny fur and held on.
“Look! Blue lights!” Candace said.
Sure enough, they saw blue lights flashing from down the hall through the bedroom windows. Addy left them, then, and began to prowl around the apartment. She finished in the back bedroom and soon rejoined them as herself.
“I think we’re all clear, now,” Addy told them. “The two big guys are in handcuffs. I saw the police puttin’ them into the back of their cars. I’m guessin’ the driver and your father aren’t armed, on account of they’re not bein’ arrested.”
A few minutes later, they heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the back stair and the deep voices that told them it wa
s the Saint men. Matt opened the front door with his key and flicked on the lights.
“Everybody okay in here?” he asked.
“Just fine,” Mel said stepping into his arms.
Meg followed her example, stepping into John’s arms and holding him close.
* * *
Adrenaline carried Meg back to John’s apartment, and she paced restlessly once they were inside. John moved to light the gas fireplace, though it wasn’t cold, then settled on the couch to watch her.
“Anything could have happened out there,” she said. Her hands were shaking and she clasped them together tightly at her waist.
“Not ‘anythin’, Meg.’”
She turned on him in exasperation.
“How can you just sit there after what my father threatened to do to you tonight? And what about tomorrow and the day after and next week? You have to know he’s not going to give up.”
“Actually, I don’t know that.” He leaned forward and reached out to pull her toward him. “He’s gotta know by now that you can’t be intimidated into comin’ back to him. And what’s he gonna do? Kidnap you? You’re no good to him, iffen you’re not playin’ that stupid violin that moron bought for you. And it’s not like he can make you play anythin’, is it?”
“He might be able to,” she said, reaching out to touch his face with trembling fingers, “if he threatens the people I care deeply about.”
John took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. “You’re just gonna have to get used to the idea that we Saint men do everythin’ we need to do to protect our women folk. That’s the way it’s always been and always will be.”
Meg felt tears threaten and closed her eyes tightly. “And you Saint men need to get used to the idea that we women worry about you while you do.”
“That’s good to know,” he said, tugging on her hands until she came down into his lap.
He placed her hands on his shoulders then pushed her legs open until she was straddling him, her full skirt flowing around them both. She wore stockings with her black concert dress, and she felt heat as her thin panties rubbed against the hardness at the front of his trousers. He took her face between his palms and kissed her, his lips soft against hers, until after another moment, she changed the angle and bore down on him, deepening their kiss until he moaned with pleasure.
“Please love me,” she whispered against his mouth, when she finally came up for air. She rubbed herself against him and felt her dampness increase. “I have such a need for you.”
“Oh, darlin’,” he murmured against her ear as he nuzzled her there. “I need to love you like I need to breathe.”
She sat back then, staring into his deep golden eyes. “Then show me,” she whispered, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.
He’d taken off his tie in the car, but his dress shirt had tiny little buttons that threatened to defeat her as she fumbled with them with trembling fingers. Then he helped her finish the job and sat forward far enough to shrug out of his jacket and shirt, which she pulled away and tossed aside. His t-shirt followed, and she ran her hands through the fur on his chest before leaning forward and letting her lips trail her fingertips.
“You still have too many clothes on, darlin’,” he growled, and the next thing she knew, he had slid the zipper down the back of her dress.
The weight of the velveteen pulled the dress away from her shoulders, and he finished the job with quick fingers, baring her to the waist. The black lacy confection beneath was no challenge at all, and in another moment, he grasped both her bared breasts in his big hands, lifting them to suckle. Meg arched back on a soft cry, and she clung to his arms to keep from falling as she continued to rub herself against the now bulging front of his pants.
“Please, John!”
He chuckled. “We’ll get there.”
“Not soon enough!” she complained.
“We can start by getting’ the rest of this contraption off you,” he said, gathering up her skirt and pulling the whole dress over her head so he could toss it aside.
She now sat astride him in nothing but stockings, a garter belt, and lacy panties so insubstantial that he simply tore them away, leaving her bare and vulnerable.
“Now it’s my turn,” she said, as she ran her hands down his belly.
“I reckon so,” he murmured, reaching for his belt. “Lift up a bit.”
She raised herself on her knees while he dealt with his shoes, pants, and shorts, sliding them down and off. Then she lowered herself, rubbing against him and feeling the wetness.
“We’d better take it a little slower this way, darlin’,” he said, taking her waist in his big hands. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
But she would have none of it, taking him into her hands and guiding him to her opening then coming down hard on him. She cried out, the pain/pleasure taking her by surprise, but she wouldn’t allow him to control her motion, as she set a fast pace, rising and falling on him like a piston.
“You’re a wild thing, you are,” John said through clenched teeth, but she heard approval in his voice as his hands shifted to her breasts, allowing her to take the lead in their coupling.
She didn’t speak—she couldn’t, for she was too caught up in the pleasure.
Then he suddenly placed his big hands under her arms and lifted her off him.
“No!” she screamed at the loss.
But he only laid her on the floor, pulled her legs up over his shoulders, and entered her in one long, hard thrust. She screamed again at the startling invasion then sank her teeth into his shoulder. He roared his pleasure, flooding her with his seed.
A long time later, Meg stirred, feeling the warmth of the fire on one side and the cool air of the room on the other. His weight had her pinned to the hard floor.
“John?”
She felt him inhale deeply then he rolled to his side, keeping her between him and the fire. In another moment, she felt the afghan from the couch settle over them. He pulled her leg over his hip. He was still deep inside her, and feeling him stir, she squeezed her inner muscles.
John chuckled. “Can’t get enough, eh?”
“What just happened?” she asked, in a tiny voice, utterly shocked by her own behavior.
“I’m thinkin’ we might have made a baby.”
She stiffened then abruptly relaxed. “Do you really think so?”
“I’m hopin’ so, Meg darlin’, ’cause I sure want to give you a reason to stay with me.”
She managed to lift her head far enough to look down at his face. “I don’t need another reason,” she said, reaching out to trace his lips with her fingertips. “I wasn’t planning to go anywhere. I love you.”
He nipped at her fingers and smiled.
“I’m right glad to hear that, ’cause I surely love you.”
“If we did make a baby,” she said, moving her hand to play with the fur on his chest, “it would probably be a good idea for us to get married. Don’t you think?”
He reached up to caress her face. “I think that’s a really good idea—even if we didn’t make a baby just now.”
“Okay.”
She laid her cheek on his chest with a sigh and heard his chuckle. “’Course, we might want to try again, seein’ as how a baby would be a really good thing.”
“Maestro Campagnone might not think so, losing a second violinist to maternity leave so soon.”
“He’ll get over it,” John said rolling over and covering her once more.
Meg smiled. “I guess he’ll have to,”
Bartholomew
Bearly Saints V
by
Becca Fanning
Kitty Konstantine slammed the telephone onto her desk and jumped up, knowing if she didn’t move, she’d break something. She crossed the wide expanse of her office to stand and look out the floor-to-ceiling window, hugging her arms tightly to herself. It wasn’t just the frigid air conditioning making her cold all over. Her father’s harsh voice continued
to ring in her ears.
“I made you the Head of our Music Division, and you can’t even manage to get our best band to play at Opryland! You do realize they are our best band, don’t you? You do realize how much it would mean to have one of our bands headlinin’ at Opryland, don’t you? Or do you?”
Leeward Bear (BBW Shifter Romance) (Fisherbears Book 3) Page 134