by Katy Evans
He motions that he’s leaving, and I blow him a kiss and get back to work.
This is the opportunity of my life, and I’ve got one gorgeous Suit to impress next time he stops by to watch me.
“Thinking way, way into your future, Ford. Kids. How many?” I ask later that night as we discuss everything, from practice, to the company, to our possible future together.
Thankfully he doesn’t seem to have trouble picturing such a distant future. Or maybe it’s not that distant, after all. “Two. A boy and a girl.” He shoots me a look that asks, “You?”
“Two as well. Two girls,” I contradict, beaming. I’m so, so glad that he’s free.
“You know, you’re not really free,” I murmur against his mouth, unable to stop kissing him. “Because you’re mine, Ford.”
“That’s right, Dancer.”
We’re not in bed, because he got his piano in. We set it in the living room, and he played “Hall of Fame” for me. I listened, leaning over and watching his fingers. I smiled happily when he was done. Ian scooped me up and shifted me onto the top of the piano, wedging himself between my thighs. I kissed him, and I’m still kissing him now.
Ian
I’m free. Free and in control of my life. Things with Sara are good. Hell, better than good. I’m a different man. Her roommate is getting married, and I’ve convinced my kitten to move in with me. I’ve already given her the extra key. I’m moving fast—but I know what I want. I’m not going to start pussyfooting about it now.
Now Sara is accompanying her roommate to look at wedding dresses, and she asked me to pick her up outside the store where they’ll be getting measurements. I take a cab to the corner and as I step out and feel the ice-cold New York winter wind hit me, I push my hands into my pockets and start for the store. Feels like the world is right for a change.
I’m fucking high from how good I feel when I spot my woman’s dark hair as she embraces a blond guy just at the corner of our meeting place. An icy claw rakes through my chest.
Sara looks up and spots me, and I don’t break my stride, her smile swiftly morphing into a frown as she takes a look at me.
“Hey,” I say, my eyes on the guy.
“Hey,” Sara says cautiously.
I want to punch something. No. I want to punch him.
“This is Jensen. Jensen, this is Ian.”
“Ahh,” Jensen says. “The boyfriend.” He smiles.
“And you are?” I ask, a little tightly.
“I’m her friend. Her gay friend. I wouldn’t have offered that detail if you didn’t look ready to pull my skin out with your teeth. I’d rather make it to my date tonight. Alive.”
“Sorry.” I’m instantly apologetic.
He eyes me.
“You won’t ever meet someone as loyal as Sara. You think she just lets any guy in the way she’s let you?” He shakes his head. “First time, man.”
I rake my hand across my jaw. “Thanks, thanks for telling me.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m glad you’re together. She looks happy.”
I watch her. She’s irritated as I head over, putting my hand on the small of her back to lead her down the block to a restaurant where I made reservations for lunch.
“What was that?” Hell, she’s not just irritated. She’s pissed.
“I’m sorry.” I roll my eyes.
“What did you think, Ford? That I was out cheating ’cause I can’t get enough dick?” She glares, pushing at me and making me laugh over how pissed she is. “Seriously, even after the first time I met you, I couldn’t bear for any other guy to touch me because it wasn’t you. They paled in comparison to you.”
My smile fades, and I clench my jaw as I run my eyes over her features. I touch her, bringing her toward me by the shoulders even as she fights me a little. “I haven’t been with anyone since that night either,” I promise.
Her eyes glisten, and she finally willingly lets me reel her back to me. “So you care. You’ve cared since then.”
I cock one eyebrow. “You thought I didn’t?”
“If you cared, you’d trust me. Jesus.” She glares again, but there’s a smile on her lips as she curls against my chest to shield herself from the cold.
“It’s because I care that I’m paranoid as fuck. You think you’re the only one who feels vulnerable?”
She seems surprised.
I raise her hand to my lips and brush a kiss along her knuckles, giving them a little bite that I know she’ll appreciate. “I’ll learn to trust. You’ll teach me how to trust again.”
“Talking about things helps. And not putting any walls between us. Ever. Letting our feelings free.”
I scoop her up by the ass, buzzing my nose over hers as I drop kisses on her sweet face, gruffly whispering, “I love you. It seems impossible that as the days go by, I love you more and more.”
“It’s not impossible because I’m in the same boat. Same love boat.” She rolls her eyes as I drop her back to her feet. “Okay, bad joke.”
Saying the L word as frequently as I do to Sara sometimes feels like a death sentence. But you’d never meet a happier dead man.
That night, I can’t sleep. Sara breathes evenly beside me, her body coated with sweat from the pounding I just gave her.
Fuck, she makes the most delicious sounds as she sleeps. Sounds I feel jealous over, protective over. Because they’re sexual sounds. The little kitten is having a sex dream. And I want those sounds to come alive only for me.
I rub my hand down her spine, pulling her closer. She stirs in my arms, a sultry smile on her face as we lock gazes.
I run my eyes along her lips, drinking in the way she always wakes up and smiles at me when she finds me watching her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her voice is raw with sleep and definitely confused.
“I like the way you look, sweetheart. Can’t I look at what’s mine?” I stroke my hands down to her butt.
She nibbles her lip, looking like she might kiss me, her eyes gleaming in amusement.
“Are you thinking of sex, Ian?” she taunts me in a roughened whisper, stroking her fingers along my arm.
My body tightens. Hell, I’m at an odd, bewildered place where I’ll do anything she tells me. Jump in exchange for more touching. Do anything for more of Sara’s loving.
I groan. “Yes.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Her devilish eyes glitter.
“Maybe I’m waiting for someone to wake me up from this hell of a wet dream I’ve landed on.”
“And if I’m not a dream?” she taunts quietly.
I drink in her pale neck, a simple gold necklace at her throat, her hair loose—damn, I love it loose ’cause I can grab it, smell it, wrap my fingers in it.
She’s breathing fast, looks wound up and ready to be loved, and a heat rises in me as if I were exclusively made to accommodate her.
We share a look.
“Then I keep you, kitten.” I bend down and grab her closer, squeezing her ass in my palms, our tongues twined.
That’s all I want. Everything.
I catch and draw her to me and when a gasp leaves her lips, I bend my head and take it, take that gasp, that mouth, the moan that follows, the girl who’s got me.
That Saturday, it’s Sara’s big opening night. I’ve got the roses, twenty dozen of them, already waiting back home. I brought a dozen more to the theater and sit in the center front row, watching her dance her heart out in front of a crowd of thousands. I couldn’t be prouder of her.
She nails it. Triple threat who can act, sing, and dance. Hell, in two hours she brings down the house. Gets a standing ovation. I’m the first one to stand, clapping like I’ve never clapped before.
My chest swells. My dick jerks. My whole body involved with my goddamn heart. It’s like a helium balloon in my chest. I’m so full I could pop.
Up on the stage, Sara strides forward, grabbing her team’s hands as they bow, the widest, fucking most edible s
mile dancing on her lips. All those practices. Every excruciating effort. Even the days soaking her muscles in a cold bath. Every hurdle has been worth it. Every challenge has been conquered. Every test passed.
I’ve seen the brightest and most talented stars on Broadway. I’ve even seen them in Hollywood. But nothing can hold a flame to Sara, who burns more brightly than anything I’ve ever seen.
When the curtains close for real now, I snatch the roses and a bottle of champagne and stride backstage.
I know what to expect. Photo ops for the paper. Hell, I can already see the reviews she’ll get. A new star is born on Broadway!
Sara’s in her dressing room when I rap on the door and push it open. She swivels around in her chair and our eyes meet. She’s on her feet as I cross the room and she throws herself into my arms. I set the flowers and champagne aside and pull her in tighter.
I squeeze her, then toss her into the air, catching her by the waist only to plant a firm kiss on her mouth, both of us laughing.
“I’m proud of you, kitten. You slayed it tonight.”
“I know! I know! God, did you hear the crowd?”
“Baby, I was one of them.”
She squeaks and leaps up and down, and then quickly wipes the corners of her eyes and wraps her arms around my waist, pressing herself closer. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it. Thank you, Ian.” She grabs my face and presses her lips to mine, and they taste of her tears and I can’t get enough of her. I’ll never get enough of her.
Sara
It’s six months later, and I’m getting the meal ready for dinner while Ian reads a script in the living room. We’re having Bryn and Christos over. I’ve never really hosted a formal dinner, and I want to impress my man, our friends, and myself.
Turning off the oven to make sure the brisket doesn’t overcook, I peer into the living room. Ian’s dark head is bent, and he’s got this cute, really hot and thoughtful look on his face. A hand covers half of his jaw, his lips unsmiling as his gaze scans the page.
I do a little pirouette in the living room, then leap into the air and land stealthily back on my feet. Like a cat.
Ian’s gaze slowly rises to meet mine, and his lips begin to twitch. “Do that again. I missed it.”
“No you didn’t.” I smirk and chassé forward, loving the way he looks at me, the way my Suit makes me feel.
“You’d say anything to get me to dance for you.”
“That’s right,” he says, setting the script aside and sitting up on the couch.
I oblige and do a sexy turn and begin dancing for him, the most seductive dance I know. Every bone and muscle in my body hurts after dancing my ass off for the past six months straight, but nothing else matters except pleasing my man.
It doesn’t hurt that I love it when he watches me dance.
It turns me on.
What can I say?
Come on, this guy lights me up so bad I sometimes can’t sleep for fear of waking up and finding him gone.
“Okay, enough.” I stop dancing, head over, and pull him to his feet, pecking him on the lips because I just can’t help myself. “We have guests arriving soon. I’m doing my best to impress, but you still need to pick the wine.”
He squeezes my ass and plants a kiss on my temple as he heads to the small wine fridge he set up by the bar. I hear Ian rummaging through the bottles, taking out one, inspecting the year, before sliding it back in and taking out another.
Getting busy, I plump up the pillows on the couch and straighten a photograph on a small side table. I drink in the image of us—our first photo together. It was a selfie, one we took randomly when we went out to dinner one night after I moved in, and it struck me that I didn’t have a picture to put up in our new place. Which we’d just finished furnishing.
Insisting he come closer for a picture, Ian took a bite out of my earlobe as I snapped the image. My eyes widened and my mouth parted as I faced the camera. I looked like I was shocked that he’d ever bite me.
He’s been the best partner I could have ever hoped for. He makes it a point to come home every day at 6 p.m. so that we can spend time together. We sometimes visit his Gran, or take a walk along the park. We sometimes hit up coffee shops, wine shops, or cafés—and have even found ourselves wandering down the bank of the Hudson, cuddling in the chilly air. He still loves to work, and I love his drive and determination. His ambition, too. So as long as he makes an effort to be with me, I have no complaints.
I know that relationships take effort. Ian Ford can be too much of a perfectionist and a little too possessive sometimes. He’s a territorial man. But still I love him. What can I say? This Suit turned my world upside down. Sometimes I think I left my heart in his pocket on the same day I gave him my panties in a tight little wad.
The sound of the doorbell pulls me out of my musings, and I jerk to attention when I realize Bryn and Christos have arrived.
“I’ll get it,” Ian calmly says when he sees the look of panic on my face.
I rush back to the kitchen to be sure the rosemary potatoes are still in the hot drawer where I left them. Then I thrust my hand into a glove and pull out the brisket from the oven. Setting it on the stove, I hear Bryn and Christos’s voices as they walk inside.
I hurry around the kitchen, trying to make sure everything is perfect.
Bryn and Christos are married now. His ex-girlfriend came clean about some secret dalliance she and his brother Cole had been having, and after a shotgun wedding that made the news all across Manhattan, she’s given birth to his little baby boy. The two lovebirds just left for their honeymoon, and Christos and Bryn are taking care of the baby until they return.
As I watch them come in with the baby in Bryn’s arms, I can tell they’re the happiest uncle and aunt there could be. Christos can’t stop admiring both his wife and the baby, while Bryn coos at the handsome blond-haired little boy like she’d rather talk to the baby than anyone else in the room. Even when she sounds half stupid as she does it. I step out of the kitchen and cross the living room to greet them.
“Oh. Sara! Becka asked me to give you this.” Bryn peers into her tote bag, and Christos murmurs to his wife, “I’ve got it,” as he reaches in and pulls out a large paperback.
“Is this her book?” I glance at the book that Christos hands over, and my heart swells in pride when I read Becka’s initials and last name on the cover.
“Here, hold him while I help Sara,” Bryn tells her husband.
I carry Becka’s book to the kitchen and set it aside while Bryn and I get everything ready to take out to the dining table. I can’t help but suspect the obvious. This girl is dying for a baby, or the stork might already be on the way.
“You’re pregnant,” I say with a smirk. “If not, you soon will be. Look at that.” I nudge her to look at Christos with the baby in his arms. I laugh. “Poop and diapers. Look at you, Bryn Christos.”
“Don’t laugh,” Bryn warns.
My smile fades when I see Christos hand the baby over to Ian. He’s frowning, as if he doesn’t know what to do with the creature.
My heart melts, tumbles, burns. Ian looks up at me with an expression of confusion, as if he has no idea what he’s doing holding a baby in his arms. Our gazes hold. My ovaries explode. Nothing new. My stomach clutches wantonly for my guy.
“Sara,” he says, sounding fierce.
I laugh and shake my head. “I’ve got my hands full of snacks; I won’t rescue you from that baby, Yummy.”
“Sweetheart,” he warns. “Help. Now.”
I shake my head, smiling, but set the tray aside as Christos recovers the baby with a low, rumbly laugh.
I walk over to Ian, who’s looking down at his hands as if they’re infected.
“You look very handsome with a baby in your arms,” I whisper.
“Don’t get any ideas.” He drags a hand restlessly along the back of his neck, but he’s smiling. And I know that one day soon, we’ll get there. He and I.
“I’m
getting quite a few ideas.” I bite my lip saucily.
He reaches out to grab the back of my skull and leans over. “You drive me crazy.”
“That’s the point. My life mission.” I drop a kiss on his addictive mouth and scoop up the baby from Christos. Now I feel Ian looking at me and Bryn waggling her brows telling me, maybe we’ll be pregnant together.
I love testing Ford’s limits.
“I know what ideas. I’ve got a few of my own,” he murmurs huskily in my ear, leaning down to look at me with heavy-lidded, dark-lashed eyes, and the look he gives me as I hold the baby makes my toes curl, like they did after he watched me dance on opening night.
He’s still watching me oddly when we sit down to have dinner. Bryn sets up the baby in a stroller and the baby sort of dozes off to sleep while we talk about business, movies, Ian’s next film, House of Sass, and my Broadway show.
“So does Ian go and watch you dance every night or what?”
“Not every night,” I say, tongue in cheek. Because to be honest, he’s been there for almost every one—missing only a few performances when work got in the way.
I still remember opening night. Ian, along with the public, watched me dance my heart out. Ian received me at the end of the show with a townhome full of red roses. He kissed me and told me how proud he was of me.
He still looks at me like that every night he watches me perform; as if it’s the first time he’s watched me dance. He looks at me like a guy in love.
I fucking love you, you fucking hot Suit, I think, as our eyes meet.
Giving him a private smile and feeling flutters when he does the same, I carry the dessert plates to the kitchen and set them in the sink.
I spot Becka’s book and skim through the pages. It doesn’t take me even a minute to realize she’s writing something important. Something personal about her trip to New York.
Holy shit.
Is she in love?
Suddenly, I really want her to be.
Suddenly, I really want whoever this lucky guy is to respond to her in kind.