Nothing Like The Sun

BLUE SILVER: NOTHING LIKE THE SUN …Georgie looked over at the buffet, which was groaning under the weight of platters ...

Author: Hart Megan

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BLUE SILVER: NOTHING LIKE THE SUN

…Georgie looked over at the buffet, which was groaning under the weight of platters and trays of goodies she’d been denying herself for months. “Hell, yeah.” If her enthusiasm seemed at odds with the sophisticated aura she was intent on projecting, Julian didn’t notice. He took her by the elbow, fingertips barely touching her but sending electric sparks of sensation through her just the same. She studied the buffet as though it were far more interesting to her than he was, even though her heart had begun to thump-thump so hard in her chest she was certain he could hear it. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin everything by turning into some sort of gibbering, drooling fan-girl, even if that’s what she felt like inside. He’d said something else, something that clearly required an answer, but so intent was she on memorizing every piece of glitter on his skin, she’d missed it. “I asked if you liked brie,” Julian repeated, as if he were used to dealing with gabbling fan-girls every day. And, Georgie realized, he probably was. She didn’t know why that thought moved her to straighten her back all at once, except for one thing. She hadn’t spent six months working to become a sexpot to throw it all away by being just another drooling, gibbering moron. She was a goddess, a sex kitten, a sophisticate. A self-confident and assured vixen with perfect hair and kick-ass shoes…

ALSO BY MEGAN HART After Class All You Can Eat Amidst A Crowd Of Stars The Clear Cold Light Of Morning Convicted Dream Upon Waking Driven Emerald Isle An Exaltation Of Larks Everything Counts Friendly Fire Lonesome Bride Love Match Love Me Two Times Monster In The Closet Moonlight Madness Nothing In Common Opening The Door Passion Model A Perfect Fit Playing The Game Pot Of Gold Right To Remain Riverboat Bride Sand Castle A Siege Of Herons Trial By Fire White Wedding With Steps Like Knives

BLUE SILVER:

NOTHING LIKE THE SUN BY MEGAN HART

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

BLUE S ILVER: NOTHING LIKE THE SUN AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2006 by Megan Hart ISBN 1-59279-578-1 Cover Art © 2006 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To Jacki, Natalie, Penny and Ellie— my compatriots in this adventure. Thanks for making it such a great ride! To Duran Duran for the inspiration— Sing Blue Silver, baby, over and over again. And to DPF, who rocks my world (even without purple hair).



Georgie Davis was coming out. Not of the closet, or at a debutante ball. No, Georgie was surging out of her push-up bra. “Big change from six months ago, huh, sweetheart?” Esther Feinman gestured with her ever-present cigarette clutched in one gnarled hand. “Remember, honey, the garter belt should go under the panties, if you want to be able to take them off in a hurry.” “Right, right.” Georgie snapped the garters, then cupped her breasts, pushing them upward. “I look like I’ve got a set of grapefruits on my chest! With maraschino cherries on top.” Esther laughed. “Well, honey, it’s pretty much a proven fact—if you want to catch a man’s attention, you gotta lure him with food or your titties. Grapefruits topped with maraschino cherries would do the trick, either way. I’m going to make some coffee. You want some?” 1


Still studying her reflection for flaws, Georgie nodded. “Sure, thanks Esther.” Alone in front of the mirror, she sucked in her breath and struck a pose. Then another. Not out of vanity, though anyone watching her might have thought so. No. Georgie was merely evaluating “the look.” “A little less Joan Crawford,” she murmured. “A little more Lana Turner.” Esther didn’t know about Joe, or the accident that had put him in a coma for three months. She didn’t know how Georgie had sat by his bedside that entire time, giving up friends and career advancement to be there for him, certain he was the man she was meant to marry. Esther particularly didn’t know that Joe, once recovered, had left Georgie for his physical therapist, a fit young blonde named Nancy, who could lift twice her own body weight and smelled constantly of menthol ointment. All Esther knew was that Georgiana Davis wanted to learn everything about being a top-class whore and had come to Esther to learn it, at the very reasonable price of five thousand dollars and weekly cartons of Pall-Malls and boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. So far, it had seemed worth every penny. Georgie pursed her lips and blew her reflection a kiss. “If you can’t get Julian Manchester into bed, you’d better give up sex for the rest of your life.” Esther didn’t know about Julian either, or Georgie’s plan to seduce a man she’d been in lust with for twenty years. Georgie gave herself another once-over from carefully coiffed hair to red-painted toenails. She might look different, but the funny thing was…she didn’t feel very different. She still felt like the same squeeing fan-girl she’d been twenty years ago when a flat tire had waylaid a girlhood dream. Georgie and her friends, The Silverettes, had never made it to the first Blue Silver concert they’d planned to attend. Now, 2


though, the band had reunited for a reunion tour, and Georgie didn’t intend to miss a second chance. “You all right in there?” Esther’s voice floated down the hallway. “Yes, just changing!” Georgie had to be back at the library in forty minutes. People would look at her a bit funny if she showed up dressed like this. She grabbed up her clothes, a plain, dark shirt-waist dress that left everything to the imagination, and dressed quickly, trading spiky heeled pumps for a pair of casual loafers and putting the borrowed heels back on Esther’s shelf. She smiled, looking around the room where she’d spent the past six months getting ready for what she hoped would be the night of her life. The news of the tour had been tucked away on an internet gossip blog between stories about one young starlet’s anorexia and a certain big Hollywood actor’s alleged plastic surgery. A small snippet, without even a paparazzi photo beside it. She almost missed it in scrolling through the site, but a name, Julian Manchester, caught her eye and she was hooked. She’d spent the next four hours Googling Julian and the boys, reliving the old crush and playing “Her Eyes” over and over again. They’d done a lot in twenty years, though none of it rivaled the band’s mid-1980s heyday, when pink hair and lip gloss had ceased to be the realm of women only, and zebra-striped spandex pants were considered “awesome.” Julian had recorded an album of classical music. The other lads had had their own varied projects. Now the boys from Britain were getting back together to do a tour of small clubs to promote their new CD, Renewal. An acoustic tour, stripped down, nothing like the grand arena days when thousands of screaming girls had danced themselves to exhaustion waving fedora hats. It had taken some work to put it all together. Calls to Cassie, Marcy, Lissie and Faith, the original fan club. Emails. Pleading. Begging. She 3


hadn’t quite made it to bribing before Cassie caved and agreed to use her connections to arrange for the band to kick off their tour in Harrisburg. That it would benefit the charity Ten Steps to the Moon was a bonus. That it would get her into Julian’s bed was a secret. “Come and get it while it’s hot!” In the kitchen, the homey scent of coffee cake made her stomach rumble, but Georgie declined the piece Esther offered. “No, thanks.” Esther tutted, but didn’t push it on her. “Lemme tell ya, hon, the best part about being retired? No more dieting.” Georgie grinned and helped herself to a mug of coffee. “It’s not so bad, Esther. And it’ll be worth it.” Esther laughed. “So, you like the bra or what? My cousin Sadie owns that nice little lingerie place down on Second, the Secret Garter. She’ll give you a discount, too.” It had given her some impressive décolletage. “I’m not sure I can pull it off.” “Honey,” said Esther with a martyred grimace, “that’s what you said about the fuck-me pumps, and look how well you took to them.” Georgie had to admit, she had become fond of strutting around in shoes that once would have turned her ankle at one step. She liked the way the heels emphasized her legs and accentuated the swing of her hips as she walked. But the boobs? “I don’t want to look like a porn star.” “Bite your tongue. I taught you better than that. Porn star!” Esther snorted. “No-talent blow-up dolls is what they are.” “Meow.” Georgie grinned at her mentor. “Esther, I’m surprised. Didn’t you tell me—” “All us whores have to stick together, I know. I know!” The older woman shrugged and lifted another cigarette to her crimson-painted lips. She sucked in smoke and blew it out in a long, steady stream. 4


“But, honey, there are whores. And there are whores.” Georgie wasn’t quite sure of the difference, even if Esther seemed convinced of one. “Right. Esther, do you think I’d make a good whore?” Blue eyes, still bright even in an age-lined face, twinkled as Esther looked Georgie over. “Honey, I think if you didn’t, you’d kill yourself trying. I never saw a girl work so hard as you.” Georgie had set out to become a sexpot the way she’d done everything else—by studying. A new haircut and contacts instead of glasses had been a start, but she’d also watched videos and read textbooks on human sexuality. She’d gone to strip clubs for lessons on how to pole dance. She’d hit the jackpot when she found Esther. Still spry at eighty, the woman had once boasted a career rivaling that of Heidi Fleiss. She’d been a whore, pure and simple, and proud of the fact. Videos about mating behavior were great, but Esther’s tutelage had taught Georgie how to put it all together. Every student had to eventually leave her teacher, though, and that time had come for Georgie. The Blue Silver concert was in just three weeks. “Is it all gonna be worth it? I got to ask you.” Esther stirred her coffee. “Is what going to be worth it?” Georgie winced at the bitter taste of her drink. Sophisticated ladies of the night might drink their coffee black, but Georgie liked hers much sweeter. “All this stuff you been asking me to teach you. How to walk, how to dance, how to smoke, how to drink. How to give head. What you aiming for, honey? I know it ain’t a career.” Georgie laughed. “No, Esther. Not a career. But the journey of a lifetime begins with a single strip.” Esther laughed with her and waved Georgie over to the kitchen table, where she shoved the sugar bowl toward her. “So then, what?” “One perfect night.” Georgie pulled a packet of artificial sweetener 5


out of her purse instead of the sugar, ignoring Esther’s tutting at the choice. “Ain’t no such thing.” “Well, I intend to try.” Georgie added fat-free non-dairy creamer and sipped the coffee again. It would do. She looked up to see Esther staring at her, shaking her head. “What?” “You’re a nice girl, Georgiana. I seen that the first time you came in here. Sure, you learned to walk the walk and talk the talk, but your heart ain’t in it. Is it?” Esther sounded curious, unsure. “I like sex, Esther. I always have.” “Oh, honey!” Esther guffawed, slapping the table so hard the mugs jumped. “That don’t hardly mean a thing!” Georgie smiled. “Sure it does.” Esther swept a gnarled hand over her bun of white hair. “A woman doesn’t squeeze her titties into lingerie and torture her feet to make herself enjoy fucking.” “Sure she does.” Georgie was dead serious. “Women can be visually stimulated, just the same as men can. Studies prove—” “Studies, schmuddies.” Esther waved a disinterested hand. “Does it work for you?” After a moment and a long sip of coffee, Georgie nodded. “Yes. When I put on those clothes, and the makeup…the shoes, especially the shoes…well, I get turned on, thinking about how I look to men. How what I can do to them would make them feel.” Esther was studying her carefully. “You like the power, hon.” Georgie nodded, a bit surprised at first but then, not. Not after she’d thought about on it. “I guess you could say that. I like feeling I’m in control of my body. Making choices.” “You like being something different.” Esther lifted a lecturing finger. Georgie shook her head. “Not different. If anything, something the 6


same. Just more.” She finished her coffee and stood. “I’ve got to get back to the library.” Esther walked her to the door, spouting last minute tidbits of advice. “Dropping something for him to pick up always works, hon, and don’t forget trick I taught you with the cherry stems…” “Yes. Yes, I know.” Georgie paused on the front porch. “Thanks, Esther. For everything.” Esther didn’t know the story of Georgie’s tattered love life, but she nodded, just the same as if she did. “You doing all this for a man?” “No.” On this, Georgie was firm. “I’m doing this for myself.” Esther stabbed her cigarette in the air in exclamation. “Well, good. Because that’s the only way to do it.” “I know,” Georgie said as she gave her teacher one last hug. “Believe me, I do.” *

*

*

“Yeah, bring me the dove gray.” Julian gestured to the shopping assistant, who scurried at once to obey. “I’ll try that one.” He stripped out of the black trousers he didn’t like and handed them to the girl, who blushed, but didn’t quite manage to avert her eyes. Julian paid her no attention, focusing instead on his reflection as he put on the new outfit. Dove-gray tailored pants and fitted bolero jacket, white shirt with lacy sleeves and pink velvet collar. He turned around to look at it from all angles. “Do these make my ass look fat?” “Oh, no, sir! No!” He gave the assistant a practiced smile, still not really paying attention to her face. “Seth? What do you think, mate?” Seth barely glanced up from the magazine he was reading. “Of course not. You look fit. Hey, says here up-and-comers The Strangers list ’80s greats Blue Silver as their inspiration. Were these kids even 7


born in the ’80s?” “I don’t give a rat’s arse.” Julian studied the clothes with a critical eye and stripped out of them when they didn’t suit. “This won’t do, love. I need something elegant without being cheeky. Something that’s not pretentious.” Nodding, the girl gathered the discarded clothes and hurried off. Now, Seth did look up. “Oh, because you’re absolutely never cheeky or pretentious,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Fuck you,” Julian amiably shot back. “You might be fucking Stanley Sad Sack, mate, but I intend to enjoy the hell out of myself this tour. Someone’s got to make the rest of you blighters look good, and I’ve got the money and the taste to do it.” Seth muttered something under his breath and went back to his magazine. Julian put his hands on his hips just above the waistband of his form-fitting boxer briefs. “Tell me you don’t look forward to this, even just a little.” Seth, of course, would likely rather poke out his own eyes than admit such a thing to Julian, even if Julian did know the man better than anyone else. He knew Seth hated and adored the idea of meeting up with his ex-wife again, but would the bastard say it? No. And if he wouldn’t say it to Julian, it was doubtful he’d ever say it to anyone, even himself. The assistant returned, this time with a deep plum suit cut in the style of long-ago days, with a gorgeous silk cravat and long-cut coat. Today’s choice was a far cry from the days of velvet knickers, brocade jackets and lacy sleeves, but it was nice. “Perfect.” Julian admired himself. He could move in it, and the fit, with just a bit of tailoring, would emphasize his slim form without making him seem frail. “Make me eight of them, love, all the same.” 8


“Yes sir!” The girl was breathless, cheeks tinged pink, and, satisfied with his own appearance, Julian took a moment to appreciate hers. Nice bust, tight little ass under a fitted dark skirt. Legs a little thick, but shapely ankles. The shoes needed updating, but she probably didn’t earn enough to shoe herself in anything grander than Kenneth Cole. He watched her without hiding it as she bustled away, looking over her shoulder and giggling a bit as she left the dressing room. “You never quit, do you?” Seth rolled up his magazine and tossed it in the garbage. “If you want me to leave so you can shag her in the dressing cubby, I’d be more than happy to.” Normally Julian would have responded with a snappy insult about Seth’s own love life, but something in his friend’s voice stopped him. “She giggles and her shoes are cheap.” “Ah. So the rest of her that you were so blatantly ogling doesn’t cancel out cheap shoes.” Seth sounded faintly amused. “She’s a shop girl.” Julian pulled a fitted t-shirt bearing the face of Marilyn Monroe over his head, and shook his hair to set it back in place. “That’s never stopped you before.” That was true, and Julian laughed as pulled on a striped Oxford shirt and deliberately misbuttoned it halfway. He bent to tie his shoes, which suffered from a delightful lack of polish. He looked up at Seth with a grin. “What can I say, man? I’m hungry and need lunch.” Seth leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. “You’re going to show up in next week’s Howdy magazine’s ‘What Happened?’ photo gallery.” Julian stood and adjusted his belt, then grabbed up his black leather jacket. “Bite your tongue. This is what’s known as practiced dishevelment, mate. It takes hundreds of dollars to look this unkempt. The fashion rags know the difference, even if you don’t.” 9


“And the rags are important to you.” This was true, too, if only because Julian received great enjoyment from playing with the media. He always had. “What’s the bloody point of being a rock star if you can’t fuck with the press?” he demanded, frowning at Seth’s bad mood. “You fuck with them, they fuck with you, right?” Julian frowned harder. “Yeah, so? It’s part of the package, a part I like. You don’t have to.” “No, but I bloody well have to suffer through it, don’t I? And it’s my picture that’s going to show up alongside yours when they start flashing their bulbs in our faces after lunch because you’re a bloody fucking peacock, who can’t just be satisfied with having a meal. You have to parade yourself around looking fucking ridiculous!” “Sir?” It was the shop girl, holding out some papers for Julian to sign. “Give us a minute, love,” Julian said evenly, not taking his eyes off Seth. The girl ducked her head and left. “What bit you on the ass and left a scar, mate? Or do I have to ask?” “Forget it.” Seth scowled, but that fierce expression didn’t scare Julian, who’d witnessed his friend in far fouler moods. “What do you want me to do?” Julian asked after a moment. “Give up drinking and smoking and fucking, just because you got your heart broken? Hide away in my country house and fiddle about with the gardens and make appearances at the local school benefit for an occasional thrill? Sorry, mate, I like the life I live. Sorry you find it ridiculous.” Damn, that stung, knowing Seth thought as much. Seth shrugged. “Let’s go eat, all right?” “Yeah, sure.” Julian shrugged, too, and pushed out ahead of him to pay the girl. He didn’t bother flirting with her. He’d lost his taste for it. Back at his flat, Julian’s personal assistant Sheila had set a pile of 10


clippings on his desk, along with a dozen or more invitations to various celebrity events. He sorted through them with less than his usual enthusiasm, tossing most. Then he took off the leather jacket and the Oxford shirt, the heavy shoes. Barefoot, he sat at his piano and began to play. He started with “Moonlight Sonata” because he knew it so well it almost played itself, and it was the piece he came back to whenever he needed to think. Julian had much to think about. The upcoming tour might not prove to be as much fun as he’d thought when he agreed to it. He’d thought getting back together with the group would be a blast, a reliving of old times. Something for kicks. If it brought interest to their latest album, so much the better, but even if it was just an excuse for him to wear some lovely clothes and play the old songs in front of screaming groupies, well, that was fine, too. It was all good, so far as Julian was concerned. As his fingers caressed the piano keys and the music flowed around him, he segued easily into “Her Eyes,” one of Blue Silver’s earliest hits. It might have seemed an improbable medley, mixing Beethoven with mid-80s New Wave pop, but as the inspiration for the melody had come directly from “Moonlight Sonata,” it really wasn’t such a strange marriage. He sang, low, his voice not as strong as Seth’s would ever be, but suited to this song anyway.

“Her eyes are nothing like the sun Her teeth leave kisses redder than then her lips Her skin so pale it makes me come undone Her hair, black wires upon my fingertips Nothing like the sun Nothing like the sun 11


Her eyes are nothing like the sun Her voice will never be a melody But I love the way she talks Her body moves like a woman’s moves Not like a goddess walks Nothing like the sun Nothing like the sun Her eyes are nothing like the sun No goddess, no angel, no demon, not perfect, Not pretty, not vain, not needy not greedy But when she looks at me I burn Even though her eyes are nothing like the sun.”

He heard the click-clack of heels on the marble floor and caught a glimpse of platinum hair from the corner of his eye. He stopped playing, the euphoria of the music rapidly disappearing when he turned and saw his visitor. “Belinda.” “Julian,” Belinda simpered. She put a hand on her hip and cocked it, emphasizing her curvy figure with an air so practiced it made his lip curl. “I called and called, but you wouldn’t return my messages.” “So you just decided to show up.” Julian got up and closed the lid over the piano keys. “I’m sure you were discreet about it, too.” She giggled, a sound he hated in women, the vapid, breathy I’msuch-a-sexpot titter so many had perfected. “Oh, of course.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then grabbed up his shirt to slide it back on. “What do you want?” 12


“You.” She pouted. “C’mon, Julian, I want to go to the premiere of Ben Darwin’s new movie. I have the most cunning little gown—” “No.” “No?” She pouted harder as he pushed past her to pour himself a glass of whiskey. “Why not?” Julian sipped the liquor carefully as he turned to face her. “Because I don’t want to go anywhere with you, Belinda. You drink too much and embarrass yourself.” She stomped a foot, not a good way to get him to give in, and crossed her arms. The position forced her already ample cleavage into an eye-catching display, but Julian didn’t let his eyes get caught. He’d seen Belinda’s boob job already, and though the work was fine, they felt like grapefruits. “It’s because you’re fucking that little indie film slut, isn’t it?” Belinda sounded outraged, as if she had the right to complain, when Julian had seen photos of her snogging a well-known politician just last week. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids,” he said, meaning to be ironic. The subtlety was lost on Belinda, whose blue eyes narrowed and red-glossed lips pursed. “I’ll forgive you, just take me to the premiere.” “So you can meet Ben Darwin and give him a blow job in the janitor’s closet during the after-party? No.” Julian finished the whiskey and set the glass in the wet bar’s sink. “Juuuleeee!” God, he hated the way she whined his name. “Please!” “No, Belinda.” He tried to be kind, but really, the bint was so bloody annoying. Julian was all for women using their feminine charms, and he never faulted a woman for flirting, but Belinda had catapulted herself from 13


interesting beauty to boring waste of a condom about ten seconds after he’d finished fucking her the first and only time. Now she was like some damned barnacle, behaving like they’d had a love affair instead of a misguided one-night fling prompted by too much vodka and a lowcut blouse. Belinda, unaware her pouting was only annoying him further, blew out a breath that fluttered her fringed bangs. “You’re so mean!” “I’m not mean, I’m honest,” he told her. “I’ve told you before, I don’t want to go out with you, and you’re only being…ridiculous.” The word, the same one Seth had used earlier today, came back to haunt him and Julian reached again for the cut glass whiskey decanter. “I know just the way you like it,” Belinda cooed, sounding more desperate. “Actually, you don’t.” He turned away from her to stalk across the living room toward the kitchen in search of Sheila, who could be persuaded to remove Belinda Miller from the house if she wouldn’t go on her own. Belinda trailed after him, shoes making tap-tappity noises on the floor. “Was that all I was?” She cried woefully after him. “A one-night stand?” Julian paused in the arched doorway to his kitchen. “Of course.” She let out a strangled, perfectly orchestrated sob that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, Julian!” Julian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. “Belinda. Darling. We fucked once, more than a year ago. Nothing more than that. I’ve been with a half-dozen women since then, and I daresay if half the stories about you are true, so have you.” She simpered again, still trying to work it. “I could call one of my girlfriends to come over…” He shook his head with a grimace, not because he was averse to sharing his bed with more than one person at a time, but because she 14


was now moving beyond ridiculous and towards grotesque. “No, Belinda, Jesus.” “But I know you like that!” she cried. “Diana Devon told Katie French that you went to bed with Hilary Orange and Lindsay Duff!” That was probably true, too, though he remembered the tangle of limbs and scent of sweet perfumes, and not the names of the women to whom they’d belonged. “Belinda, go home.” “You’re such a…a…libertarian!” she cried, stomping her foot again. Julian paused and swung round to face her again. “If you mean libertine, Belinda, then I’d guess you might be right.” “You’re a man-whore,” she shot back with more confidence in her choice of vocabulary. “Maybe that, too.” She wasn’t giving up, not smart enough to realize that wheedling never worked with him. “I brought something,” she said, digging in her tiny clutch purse. “Tickets to the Glitter Princess launch party for the new spring line.” “I don’t use Glitter Princess products,” Julian said with a laugh. “They make my skin break out.” Belinda’s expression clearly said she wasn’t sure if he were joking or not. “They’re not for you. I thought maybe Amie—” The last of Julian’ patience fled. “Do not attempt to use my daughter to get to me, Belinda. Not ever. Do you understand?” She put the tickets away and straightened her back, her expensively sculpted chin tightening. “Fine. I just thought—” “Obviously, you didn’t.” He cut her off. She nodded stiffly. “You really won’t take me?” Her denseness really wasn’t to be believed or borne. “Get out. Once and for all, Belinda. Get out!” “Fine! Fine!” she shouted, stomping toward the front door. “Fine, 15


Mr. Comeback Tour! Mr. Relive-My-Youth!” Belinda had probably been eight years old when Blue Silver had been in its heyday; the insult coming from a peer would have stung worse. As it was, it only made him laugh. “Good bye, Belinda.” “I…I hope they diss your whole show! You and all those other…old men!” She’d struggled for that one, spitting it out as Julian took her elbow to help her toward the front door. “I’ll be sure to pass that along,” he assured her. “You think you’re so great,” she continued. “Well, listen, asshole, I’m somebody, too! My acting career’s really taking off! I’m somebody, too!” He opened the door. “Everybody’s somebody, Belinda.” He ushered her through it. “What you don’t seem to understand is that, when everybody’s somebody, nobody’s anybody.” She blinked at this, trying to process it. “Huh?” “Good-bye,” he told her and shut the door in her face. Then he went back to his whiskey and his piano to ponder the state of his anybody-ness. *

*

*

“You’re sure they’ll come to the after-party?” Georgie looked over the racks of shoes with a practiced eye. She might not know Dolce and Gabbana from Calvin Klein, but she knew footwear. “Yes, yes.” Cassie sounded annoyed and bored, a combination made no less powerful by being diffused through the phone receiver clamped to Georgie’s ear. “Why wouldn’t they? Free booze. Free food. Groupies.” The disdain with which her friend said the word gave Georgie pause. “Will there be a lot of groupies? I thought this was going to be a private party. Small—for the band and us and the promoters and the 16


people from Ten Steps to the Moon.” Georgie picked up an elegant shoe, dark green leather, wedge heel. Very trendy. Tremendously expensive. Also ugly as all hell. She showed it to the clerk anyway, who went off to grab the mate. So far she’d tried on seven pairs of shoes, each costing as much as month’s rent on her condo. “Groupies are like ants at a picnic. Trust me, they’ll be there.” Competition. Georgie would deal with that when it came time. She settled into the seat and lifted her foot for the clerk to slide on the shoe. “Why, Georgie? Are you planning on getting laid?” Cassie’s voice had at last broken into amusement. Georgie, walking up and down to test out the shoes, didn’t answer at first. “Georgie?” “Not these,” she said to the clerk and went back to the shelves and shelves of shoes. To Cassie, she said, “Maybe.” Silence as dense as deep space probed her eardrum through the phone. Well, she’d known Cassie wouldn’t be a fan of the idea. Ever since Cassie’s return to Harrisburg during the lowest point of Georgie’s life, her friend had seemed to feel she needed to…well…maybe not protect Georgie. Maybe bolster would have been a better word. And she had, that was for sure, when Joe had made Georgie’s life a living hell not only by dumping her unceremoniously but suing her for funds to cover the bulk of his medical bills. Cassie had been there to help Georgie pick up the pieces. No better friend could a woman have. It was like the years between high school and now had never even passed. Except Georgie wasn’t as sweet and fragile as she thought Cassie sometimes assumed her to be. Until now, she’d never had a reason to let her friend think otherwise. Georgie picked up a pair of standard black heels ornamented with a silver metal toe and matching metal cap on the heel. She put it down 17


immediately; there were whores, as Esther said, and there were whores. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Cassie said at last. “I haven’t dated anyone since Joe and I split up,” Georgie said. “Don’t you think it’s time?” “You can’t be serious.” A pause. “You’re serious.” “As a skunk is stinky.” The next pair, brown braided leather with gold sequins, she didn’t even bother to lift. “Was this…was this the reason why you wanted me to set all this up?” Cassie sounded righteously indignant, and Georgie couldn’t blame her. “No. At least, not at first.” Ah. Now this was more like it. Dark plum satin, smooth line, classic shape. Six-inch heel, something she could easily get away with as she only stood five-two in her stocking feet. “I really want us all to get together and see the band.” “But now you’re planning on banging them?” “Only one.” She held up the shoe for the clerk, who nodded and headed off into the back to find a pair in her size. “Which one?” Now Cassie sounded suspicious, and Georgie paused. Her friend had sworn she was past Seth Graham like, forever ago. But that tone said something else. “Julian…who else?” Georgie sat again to wait for the clerk, who seemed to have disappeared for good. “He’s clearly the easiest to get into bed.” “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you’d be so…so…” “Irresponsible? Impetuous? Irresistible?” “Irritating!” Cassie’s cry was so loud the woman two chairs down turned to stare. Georgie gave her the cool look she’d practiced for hours in the mirror. The woman turned away. “All I need is an introduction.” “No. No way. You’re on your own on this one, Georgie. I set up the gig, I made sure the after-party was going to happen, but I sure as hell 18


am not going to help you get into bed with Julian Manchester. I don’t believe you really want that anyway, Georgie. That’s just not like you.” “Ah. Squeeing fan-girl, yes, predatory huntress, no?” Georgie held out her foot for the returning clerk, who slipped on the shoe. Then the other. She stood and walked to the mirror, admiring the sway of her hips and the way the shoes felt, not pinching or binding. Cassie’s brief pause meant she was trying to think of a way to agree without offending. “Well…something like that.” “Cassie, I love you,” Georgie said. “But I’m doing this.” “I don’t believe it.” “You don’t want to believe it, maybe.” “You don’t want this,” Cassie said, after another moment. “Believe me, it won’t be what you’re looking for. It’s not the fairy tale you think it is, Georgie.” “No? Too bad. I think I just found my glass slippers,” Georgie murmured. “Georgie,” said Cassie in a warning tone, “what are you doing?” Georgie was already pulling out her credit card and handing it to the clerk, who was wrapping the shoes in tissue paper and putting them into the box as if they were really made of glass. “I’m buying a pair of eight-hundred-dollar shoes.” “Holy shit,” said Cassie. “I believe you.” *

*

*

“…and Mama and Daddy Bill told me they’d let me get a pony!” Amie bounced on the smooth leather banquette, then paused to dip her fries in ketchup, an American habit he was certain appalled her French mother. “That sounds nice.” Julian knew Daddy Bill had been the one behind the pony idea. If he could say nothing else nice about the man, at least he could say he doted on Julian’s daughter. Amie chattered on about school and her friends, and Julian soaked 19


in as much of her as he could. It was never enough. “Mama says you’ll be in the States for months and months, Daddy. Does that mean I’ll be able to see you more often?” “I hope so, sweetheart.” Julian smiled at the girl, who had her mother’s dark hair, but his gray-blue eyes. “I’ll talk with your mama about it.” “About what?” The familiar voice turned his head, and Julian stood. Micheline was early, and irritated, and Julian had to struggle not to frown. She’d have no problem denying him the right to see Amie if he pissed her off. “Mama!” Amie ran to greet her mother. “Will Daddy be able to come to my birthday party?” Micheline gave Julian a cool look. “I’m sure your daddy will be busy with his tour.” The way she wrinkled her nose made it clear what she thought of Julian’s work. “Daddy?” “I’ll work it out,” Julian assured her, and the answer seemed to satisfy Amie. “Go wait with Daddy Bill in the car.” With a kiss and a hug for Julian, Amie did as her mother ordered. When she’d gone, Julian faced the woman who’d been more cause for trouble in his life than any other. “You look good. Have you had more work done?” Another woman might have been offended by the suggestion, but not Micheline. She viewed her body as a canvas to be forever improved upon. She barely looked like the woman he’d dated nine years ago. “My chin.” “It looks good.” She nodded, not even bothering with a thank-you. “Let me know about the party.” 20


She sighed, dramatically. “We’ll see.” He was surprised by her reluctance. She’d refused to name him as Amie’s father, after all, until he’d fought for and won the right to DNA testing that proved his paternity. A birthday party wasn’t, in her mind, any less important. “I want to be there, Micheline.” “I know you do.” “I have the right to be a part of Amie’s life.” Micheline gave an aggrieved sigh. “We’ll see, Julian.” He didn’t argue further. There was no point. She moved forward to give him two completely insincere air kisses to his cheeks and left him wondering how he ever could have thought he loved her. *

*

*

The concert was fantastic. Better even than her imagination could have made it because her mind had left out all the inconvenient details, like the drops of sweat flung off Seth Graham’s face as he leaned into the crowd to howl out the lyrics to one of Blue Silver’s biggest hits, or the way the Troy Douglas’ drumsticks had had his name burned into them in flowing script. Georgie had gathered all those little pieces, the details that made the experience real, to herself, where she could sort through them later at her leisure and imprint the memories so she’d have them forever. Georgie was transported, and having her friends there to share it had made it all that much better, even if Cassie had refused to introduce Georgie to Julian at the airport. It ended too soon, leaving her gasping for air and drenched with sweat. As the house lights came up, she giggled and gushed with Marcy and Faith and gave Cassie a high five. She even squeezed Arliss. “I’ll see you at the after-party,” she told Cassie as the crowd swept toward the doors. Cassie gave her a dark look. “Yeah, yeah.” Still grinning, Georgie ran across the walkway over the street from 21


the theater to the hotel, and took the stairs to her first-floor room, booked for the express purpose of swift access. A good whore didn’t need hours of primping to look her best. One of Esther’s lessons, taken to heart. Georgie had rehearsed this like she’d practiced everything else from how to deep throat—she didn’t think she could eat a banana again for years—to how to look as sexy putting her clothes on as she did taking them off. She leaped into the shower, scrubbing, hair under a shower cap to keep it from getting wet. Pits, tits, clit and ass, out of the shower, pat dry, not rub, to keep some moisture on her skin. Lotion, smelling faintly of vanilla, not a scent she preferred, but one studies had shown men responded to. Then, using an additional trick from Esther, she ran a finger through soft folds and pressed it to her wrists and behind her ears; the soft feminine scent of her own body, enhanced by perfume and nearly indistinguishable, but, Esther assured her, guaranteed to drive a man wild should he get close enough to smell her. Georgie fully intended to get Julian close enough to her. Still naked, only ten minutes gone by on the clock, she used the straightening iron to touch up her hair so it fell smoothly to just below her shoulders. Practiced fingers swiped on foundation, liner, mascara, lipstick. She used glittery powder on her face, shoulders and bust. Twenty minutes now, by the clock, and her hands had begun shaking. Like an athlete who’d trained for months to run a race or a dancer who’d rehearsed for years to perform a ballet, Georgie was about to face the results of her hours of practice. “Stop. Deep breath,” she told her reflection, which looked slightly wild-eyed. “You can do this.” She tilted her head and ran a tongue across her lips. During her hours of vigil at Joe’s bedside, Georgie had lost herself in classic movies. She’d modeled herself on those sex symbols. Marilyn, Lana, a bit of Scarlett O’Hara, and don’t forget to add a dash of Bette. Davis, 22


not Midler. Thus armored with the faces of screen legends, Georgie dressed. Bra, garter belt, panties, stockings. At last, the fitted blouse of dark plum, the top button, shaped like a dragonfly, nestled just between her breasts. After that, the slim black linen skirt. Nothing fancy. It hit her just above the knee and had slits on either side that opened invitingly when she walked or sat, to reveal a glimpse of black-stocking clad thigh. She made sure her seams were straight, then picked up the shoes. “You’re my lucky charms, ladies,” she told each one, kissing the dark satin and not feeling the least bit silly for doing so. “Take me where I want to go.” She put on the shoes. And she was there. *

*

*

“Bloody fucking great concert!” Julian beamed, clapping Troy on the shoulder as he passed. “Seth, mate, you were fucking brilliant!” High on the applause, Julian grabbed Seth round the waist and planted a wet kiss on the taller man’s cheek. “Fucking hell, man! Tell me that doesn’t get you harder than my granny’s fruitcake!” Seth shook his head, wet hair spattering Julian’s suit, but Julian didn’t care. Seth’s grin told him all he needed to know. They jumped up and down, laughing, pounding each other’s backs and whooping like they were kids again. “If you two poofters have finished,” said Brad, with a roll of his eyes, “can you let a fellow through? Some of us want something to eat.” Seth broke away, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. C’mere, you bastard.” But Brad, laughing, was ducking away and Seth was chasing him, the pair of them as giddy as old times. “Pete,” said Julian, catching sight of the band manager’s familiar stubbled face. “You have to admit, we were fucking gorgeous out there.” 23


“First night,” Pete grumbled. “A bunch of wet-pantied housewives re-living their horny youths.” Julian laughed and gave Pete a hug, too. “So long as their panties are wet and they’re horny, does it matter if they’re housewives?” Pete scowled, wiping off the kiss Julian had planted on his bristly cheek. “Keep your fucking lipstick smears to yourself!” Julian winked. “I’m not wearing lipstick, Pete. Just gloss.” Pete muttered a faintly scandalous curse and waved his hands at Julian, shooing him. “Get on with you! Some of us have work to do! Go greet your adoring fans!” “I intend to do just that.” Julian ran a hand through his hair, swiping it smooth, without having to even look. He straightened the cravat and tugged the cuffs of his shirt down just below the jacket sleeves, then headed down the backstage stairs toward the room where they’d set up the after-party. He’d been to swankier, but this suited him. The other fellows were already scavenging the buffet and the bar, or being chatted up by the various folks who’d been lucky enough to score an invite to the shindig. Despite what Pete had said, the crowd was not mostly housewives. Julian saw promoters, easily discerned by the way they stood proudly by the banners advertising their water and sneakers or whatever the bloody hell else they were trying to sell. A few media blokes, cameras slung round their necks, were already busy scarfing up the free food and booze. The charity group, fresh-faced and glowing with earnest intent, stood by ready to natter on about their cause. But that was for later, when he had a checkbook and could actually do something for them. He also spotted another familiar after-party crowd… “Groupies,” he said, with a purposeful leer directed at Cassie. “Point me in their direction, love. I know you’ve got some stashed away.” 24


Cassie gave him that regal look he’d always liked, especially when it had meant she was ganging up with him against Seth—yes, it was wrong, but oh, so good just the same. “I’m not your pimp, Juli.” Julian put hand over his heart. “Careful, Cassiopeia, my queen, you’ll hurt my feelings.” Cassie’s sniff didn’t sound amused. “You’d have to have some.” This took him aback, a bit. He and Cassie had always gotten on well in the past, well enough for him to keep her on his annual Christmas card list and keep her phone number in his address book anyway. He studied her, his smile not fading because he was good at that. Pretending he was happy when he wasn’t. “Ouch,” he said. “Why the hate?” She didn’t say anything, but the direction of her gaze told him enough. She looked away from the sight of Seth across the room, and Julian let out a low whistle. Before he could say anything, Cassie turned on him as quickly as only a woman incensed could turn, and poked her finger into his chest. Hard. “Ouch!” “Say one word, and I will have your balls for breakfast.” Julian blinked, rubbing the sore spot. “Are you flirting with me?” “Not even,” Cassie said and turned on her heel, stalking off into the crowd, leaving Julian to stare after her, confused. “What the—” But he had no more time to ponder the mood of his best friend’s ex-wife because, at that moment, the crowd parted and he lost the ability to breathe. A goddess. An angel. A…a… Vocabulary failed him. A woman. She’d just entered the room, pausing in the doorway for half a heartbeat, before she put one foot in front of her and moved through the throng. He hadn’t always been so callous about the fair sex. Absolutely not. Julian had fallen in love. Hard. More than once. It had taken him three 25


or four times of getting his heart broken before he’d come to understand that a more stand-offish attitude worked better than pouring out his soul to a pretty face. Because no matter whether she was a bookish O-level student or a glamorous fashion model, the same thing remained—inevitably, he was shafted. That couldn’t change the fact that Julian loved women, all sorts. Tall, short, thin, thick. But he had an especial fondness for the classic, voluptuous beauties of old-time movies. Women who knew how to dress, who carried themselves like queens instead of galumphing along like ponies with hoof disease. The woman he’d spotted clearly knew how to do just that. He started across the floor toward her, but lost sight of her as a group of young women crowded in front of him. Julian signed their breasts with a grin and a kiss for each of them, but his gaze kept searching for the mysterious woman. Lana Turner mixed with Marilyn Monroe and a hint of…who? “I am so into your music,” chattered one of the girls, stepping in front of him as he made to move away. “That’s great, love,” he said, still distracted. “Yeah, like, “Her Eyes” is like my favorite song.” This caught his attention and he looked at her. “Is it? Why?” She seemed a bit flustered for a moment at managing to capture his eye, but she gave her hair a flip and thrust her bosoms forward in a way he recognized as practiced. “Yeah, like, I love that line, ‘Her teeth leave kisses redder than then her lips.’ It’s really cool. How she’s like a vampire or something.” Julian flashed her a grin, even as he started moving away again. She might have a set of Grade-A tits and a nice enough face, but what was the point? The last thing Julian wanted to do was have to explain himself all over again to some young thing who was hot to get into his pants because she’d just seen him up on stage. 26


“Actually, sweetheart, it’s not about vampires at all.” He knew why she thought so. Damn them for agreeing to make its video some sort of campy Dracula rip-off. It had seemed like fun at the time, but ever since then, most people thought he’d been writing about a bloodsucker when, in reality, he’d been paying homage to a Shakespearian sonnet. “It’s not?” “No,” he said kindly, for it wasn’t her fault she was young and didn’t seem to know anything about literature. “It’s not.” “Oh. Oh, but—” And he was off again, searching for the woman he’d seen before. He spotted her chatting with Cassie. Brilliant. Seth’s ex could introduce him to her friend. The crowd closed ranks again and he lost sight of them both. When it opened, though, he saw her again, standing alone this time. She was glancing over her shoulder, looking annoyed, as she walked. It took only a dip instead of a dodge for her to step into the path of a media thug dead set on getting his share of the fresh plate of canapés. The lout didn’t even stop, just pushed on, and the object of Julian’s attentions grimaced as her foot came down wrong. He was there in the next instant, a hand steadying her at the elbow. “Careful there. Come out of the path of rampaging photogs, yeah?” He tugged her gently toward a chair set off to the side. She sat. “Thanks. I twisted my ankle.” “I saw that.” Julian looked to find the man, but he was already gone. “Wanker didn’t even stop. Let me take a look.” Before she had time to do more than murmur, he was on one knee in front of her. And hell, if she wasn’t gorgeous enough to stop his heart, the shoes sealed it for him. Dark violet satin. Pointed toe. Shaped heel. And not cheap knock-offs either, these were genuine hand-tooled leather soles and hand-stitched uppers. The woman knew her shoes. He put her foot on his thigh and made a show of probing her ankle. 27


“It looks fine to me. Does it hurt?” “No. I think I’ll be fine.” He looked up at her face and was instantly bewildered by the look of amusement on her face. “What?” “You’re looking at my shoes like you want to ask them out on a date.” Julian grinned. “They’re great shoes.” “I know.” He got up and took the seat beside her, then held out his hand. “Julian Manchester.” She took it, shook it gently, but didn’t let her palm linger in his. “I know. We’ve met…sort of.” “Have we?” Damn. Well, that happened more often than a polite lad would have admitted. Julian wasn’t that polite. “You’ll have to be kind and remind me, love. I meet a lot of women.” “I don’t doubt it.” That small, amused smile was beginning to work its way under his collar. He raised a brow. “Have I taken you to bed? Is what you’re implying that I’m an oaf for not remembering?” “No. I haven’t let you take me to bed yet.” Yet. Gorry, she was a vixen, this one. He loved it. “Charity ball? Garden party? Did you come to my door for the census?” She chuckled at last, a sound low and rich, like melting butter. She shook her head. “No. I’m Georgiana Davis. Cassie’s friend.” That explained why he’d seen them talking, but when had he— “Ah, yes. At the airport. But…wow. Whoa.” He leaned back, ogling her up and down. “I wasn’t wearing the shoes,” she told him, just as though she had his number, all right. The thing of it was, she likely did. “Georgiana. What great name.” 28


“I usually go by Georgie.” Georgie was a tomboy’s name, though this woman in front of him was anything but. She crossed one shapely leg over the other, and her skirt fell just so, exposing a glimpse of bare thigh above the black stockings. Delicious. “That’s funny,” he said. “I sometimes go by Juli. So you’re the lady with the bloke’s name, and I’m a fella with a girl’s.” Georgie laughed, tipping back her head, and Julian watched the line of her throat. He’d like to lick it, all the way from her chin down to the crevice between her breasts. Glitter gleamed there, faintly, and that pleased him as he was a big fan of glitter. She looked at him again. “Thanks for helping me, but I think I’m fine. I don’t want to keep you from something.” He looked round the room. Everyone seemed to be having a great time, drinking and eating and flirting. He looked back at Georgie. “What would you be keeping me from?” She waved a hand at the party. “That.” “Oh, that.” He mimicked her gesture. “That I can get anywhere, anytime.” She raised an eyebrow. “And?” “And,” Julian said, leaning in so he could catch a whiff of her scent. Hell’s biscuits, she smells good. “I’d rather be talking to you than fending off giggling girls who want to talk about vampires.” Again, that laugh. He wanted to sink inside that laugh and wrap himself up in it like pulling on a cashmere sweater. Georgie tilted her head, a curl of deep brunette hair falling over one eye. “Vampires?” “That girl”—he indicated her with a lift of his chin—“thinks “Her Eyes” is about vampires.” “Oh.” Georgie leaned forward a bit to look at the girl. The movement brought her face very close to his when she turned to look at 29


him. “Well, that’s just silly. Anyone who took the time to listen to it would know you lifted it from Shakespeare.” And that was it, there it was. She knew about “Her Eyes.” Julian was lost. *

*

*

“Do you like Shakespeare then?” Julian leaned forward to talk to her, exhibiting a classic sign of male interest. Georgie, inspired in part by the song Julian had written in 1983, had done her Master’s thesis on Shakespeare’s sonnets and their influence on modern poets, of whom she considered Julian one, but now didn’t seem the time to mention it. “You could say that,” she answered. This close he looked even better than he had from eight feet away on stage. She could see the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, and the faint smudge of eyeliner. The way the purple tint in his hair faded to white blond so gradually, going from plum to violet to pale lavender… “Lots of people could say it,” Julian told her. “Not everyone means it.” “I think we’re told we ought to like Shakespeare,” Georgie told him. “But to tell you the truth, I prefer Oscar Wilde.” Julian blinked, and Georgie cursed herself for letting intellect overrule libido, however momentarily. Maybe this whole idea had been a mistake. Then, in the next moment, Julian leaned forward again. “Shakespeare gives me a bit of a headache sometimes,” he told her, as though imparting a great secret. “But he did know how to write a smashing good love poem.” God, he smelled good. A cologne she couldn’t name, under laid by the scent of soap and water. She’d expected the tang of sweat, but though he definitely smelled male, he didn’t reek. Pheromones, she told herself, shifting slightly in the chair as her body reacted. He smells like 30


sex. “Is it starting to hurt?” Julian looked concerned. Her ankle. She hadn’t really twisted it, just taken advantage of the fortuitous collision to feign a reason for him to help her. She stood as though to test it. Julian stood, too. She didn’t have to crane her neck to look into his face, something she appreciated. Being with Joe, who’d topped six feet, had always left her with a crick in her neck and shoulders. She liked being able to look Julian in the eye, or nearly so. He had gorgeous eyes. Gray-blue, and darker than she’d expected. A grin spread across his face like syrup on pancakes. “Do you want to get something to eat?” Georgie looked over at the buffet, which was groaning under the weight of platters and trays of goodies she’d been denying herself for months. “Hell, yeah.” If her enthusiasm seemed at odds with the sophisticated aura she was intent on projecting, Julian didn’t notice. He took her by the elbow, fingertips barely touching her but sending electric sparks of sensation through her just the same. She studied the buffet as though it were far more interesting to her than he was, even though her heart had begun to thump-thump so hard in her chest she was certain he could hear it. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin everything by turning into some sort of gibbering, drooling fan-girl, even if that’s what she felt like inside. He’d said something else, something that clearly required an answer, but so intent was she on memorizing every piece of glitter on his skin, she’d missed it. “I asked if you liked brie,” Julian repeated, as if he were used to dealing with gabbling fan-girls every day. And, Georgie realized, he probably was. She didn’t know why that thought moved her to straighten her back 31


all at once, except for one thing. She hadn’t spent six months working to become a sexpot to throw it all away by being just another drooling, gibbering moron. She was a goddess, a sex kitten, a sophisticate. A self-confident and assured vixen with perfect hair and kick-ass shoes. “I do.” Her smooth tone came out just the right way. Before she could, Julian grabbed up a plate for her and layered it with a slice of gooey brie oozing from its baked crust and several cream puffs covered in chocolate. He took a plate for himself, added some food and gestured toward the door to the hall. “Let’s go where it’s quieter, yeah?” She followed him into hallway, which was not only quieter, but cooler. Julian held out her plate, and she imagined she saw challenge in his eyes. Georgie took the plate and lifted a cream puff with her fingers. “Girl after my own heart,” he said. “No forks. Eating chocolate. I think I’m half in love with you already.” “That’s a nice line.” Georgie held up the cream puff and tucked it between her lips. Taste exploded on her tongue and she let out a breathy moan in reflex. Julian’s eyes gleamed again. “I might want to take your shoes out on a date, love…but tell me, what is it exactly that cream puff is doing to you?” Georgie laughed and licked the chocolate from her lips. It really was a dance, she thought. And for once, a dance to which she knew all the steps. “Want to try it out?” She offered the cream puff. Julian eyed it speculatively, looking at the small pastry, then into her eyes. “Sure.” This was it, another test of her ability to convince him and herself she was some sort of sex diva. As Julian leaned forward to take the cream puff from her fingers, Georgie drew in a long, slow breath. His lips closed over the dessert, and his tongue rasped on the pads of her 32


fingers. Sweet fire shot straight between her thighs, and the breath she’d been holding let itself out with a small hiss of pleasure. Julian took her wrist to hold her hand steady while he lipped the last of the cream from her fingertips. When it was gone, he pressed a brief, moist kiss to her palm, then closed her fingers around the heat it left behind, never looking away from her eyes. She saw an invitation there, and nearly laughed out loud at how easy it had been. “I have a suite at the hotel across the street,” he said. “Do you?” Her voice, thank God, wasn’t as shaky as her thighs. He nodded, not letting go of her wrist. “I do. It has a big bathtub.” “Are you implying I’m dirty?” Georgie murmured with a tilt of her head. The smile came naturally this time, so lost in the role in which she’d cast herself, she no longer had to struggle for it. Julian lifted a brow. “Why? Are you?” Georgie moved close enough to feel his breath upon her face. Her hand twisted in his grasp, and thus joined, she felt the beat of his heart in his wrist beneath her fingertips. It skipped erratically when she leaned in to brush her lips against his ear. “I guess that depends on your standards.” He turned his head the barest inch to murmur into her ear. “And if I said I wasn’t sure, but a man could hope?” She breathed in his scent again, soap and something spicy and fully male. The fringes of his plum-tinged hair tickled her face. Heat from his body swept over hers, and her nipples peaked, while her clit began to thump-thump with her pulse. “Something tells me you’re the sort of man who’s used to getting lucky.” Amusement and arousal blended her voice into a husky tone, something rich, like caramel. Almost as thick and dark as his. “I don’t kiss and tell.” He inched closer, the two of them to any outside eye merely sharing secrets. Georgie pulled slightly away to look into his eyes. She memorized 33


the eyelashes, dark and thick beneath the mascara, the smudge of dark liner, the deep gray of his irises and the dark, black pools of his pupils. “Do you intend to kiss me?” She breathed the question, her mouth close enough for him to take if he wanted it. “I do. Anyplace you’ll let me.” The hand not holding hers slid around to her hip, pulling her the last inch against him. She gasped a bit at the full-body contact. Her clit throbbed, the lacy scrap of her panties rubbing without mercy. Julian’s hand slid down to cup her ass and bring her closer against the bulge in his pants. “So what are you waiting for?” Georgie asked. Her body was prepared for Julian’s kiss, but her mind was not. His mouth closed on hers, nudging open her lips. His tongue ran along her lower lip. She gasped at the tickle and he slid his tongue inside, stroking. It would have been a fantastic first kiss, even if she hadn’t been primed and ready for him by years of imaginary foreplay, and even though Georgie had thought she’d be overwhelmed with thoughts of, I’m kissing Julian Manchester, the reality was she was too consumed with the taste of him to do more than briefly remember she was now making out in a dark hallway with a man whose face had once been hung inside her locker at school. Somewhere along the way he’d stopped being Julian Manchester, Blue Silver keyboard player, and had become simply Julian, the hot guy flirting with her. Somehow, she’d ceased to play the role she’d studied for so many months. Instead, she’d become it. Julian broke the kiss and pulled away just enough to look into her eyes again. He swiped a tongue across his lips. “Gorgeous. Cream puffs and red wine and brie. A heady combination.” Georgie laughed. “Mmm. Are you sure you’re not tasting garlic?” Julian made an inquisitive face. “Hold on…let me be sure.” He bent to kiss her again, even more thoroughly than he had the first time. She opened for his kiss. Their tongues tangled and twisted. 34


He nibbled her mouth, tasting it and sucking in the breath she let out. “No garlic,” he said against her mouth. “Just delicious Georgiana.” She shivered at the way he said her name. Julian pressed against her for another kiss. He took her hand and put it on his ass, pressing his crotch against her belly. Georgia gave a little moan, and the next moment, he slid his hand from her hip to cup her breast. His thumb slid over the peak of her nipple, taut and straining through the silk of her blouse, and Julian let out a sigh and buried his face in her shoulder. “You smell so good,” he muttered. He pulled away to look at her. “Come to my suite with me.” If she did, would she regret it? Or more likely, would she regret it if she didn’t? “We’ll have to get out of here,” she said. Julian smiled, and any doubts she had vanished. “This way.” The party was still in full swing when they pushed their way through the crowd, Julian holding her hand as naturally as if they’d been together years. He nodded and waved at people, but didn’t stop, and Georgie admired the skill with which he wove them through the crowd and past the small knot of local reporters taking advantage of the free booze. “Look away when I say three,” he said under his breath. “One. Two. Three.” She did, and a moment later a flashbulb lit the back of her head. She heard an exclamation and Julian chuckled. “You’re a natural.” It took only a few minutes to cross the bridge to the hotel, where more photographers waited. She hadn’t thought of this aspect, the paparazzi. “How do you stand it?” Julian ducked them both into the small alcove of the elevators and pulled her close to him for a kiss just before the doors opened and he tugged her inside. “I live for it, don’t you know that?” 35


The elevator started with a small jerk that pressed her close to him again. “That’s right. You’re a media darling.” He laughed, both hands on her rear. “They’re kinder to you if you give them what they want more than you don’t. They’ll have a lovely full smile from me and my mystery woman, unnamed, whose beautiful face sadly was turned away. If you’d rather be dissected in the tabloids,” Julian said, dipping his head to nibble her jaw, “we can go back down and pose for a few pictures.” The elevator doors slid open onto a quiet, plush-carpeted hall. Decorative sconces gave off a faint glow, illuminating the heavy dark wood doors and gleaming brass suite numbers. Julian took her hand, leading her out and toward a room at the end of the hall. “Me,” he continued, “I’d rather have a bit of mystery about who you are.” “Would you?” she asked as he slid his card key into the door and swung it open. Julian led her inside, pushing the door closed and shrugging out of his jacket, which he tossed onto a nearby chair. He pulled her into his arms for another kiss before she had time to even look around. “Definitely.” Damn, with him kissing her like that, Georgie couldn’t really think about whether she ought to be offended or flattered. “Why—” His kisses stopped her words. “Because I don’t want to share you with the world just yet.” Julian’s mouth moved from her mouth to her jaw and down to her throat. That sounded like a line to her, but she let it pass, determined to enjoy the moment. She wasn’t here to marry the guy, just to shag him silly. She gasped when his hands came up to cup her breast and his mouth pressed her cleavage. “I did say anyplace you’d let me,” Julian reminded, his grin so cheeky she had to laugh. 36


“I plan to take you up on that.” He lifted a brow again and glanced toward the half-open door just beyond the sumptuously decorated living area. “In that case, shall we test out the tub I was telling you about?” Oh, he was a player, wasn’t he? A clever way of cleaning them both of the smell of sweat and smoke, perhaps, or maybe just a blatant excuse for them to get naked? Georgie decided she didn’t care. She wasn’t here to play spin the bottle. She was here to fuck, plain and simple, as many times and in as many positions as she could manage before the night was over. “Well?” Julian smiled again, rubbing his hands up and down her sides. It was amazing how easy it had become to cast her inhibitions aside with something as simple as a pair of kick-ass stilettos and a tube of crimson lipstick. “Lead the way.” He did, taking her through a bedroom with a bed so big it looked like it could sleep four easily, and into a bathroom that made her gape. “Oh. Wow. This is nice.” He seemed pleased at her frank appreciation. Still holding her hand, Julian went to the edge of the large sunken garden tub and gestured. “Big enough for two.” Georgie looked around, then gave a delighted squeal at the shower. “Ooh!” Letting go of his hand, she stepped into the curving tile shower. Inside the curve it had a huge sunflower shower head, multiple jets and dials, and a curving tile bench along the wall. “I am in shower heaven!” Julian leaned against the shower’s edge, arms crossed, grinning. “Feel free to try it out.” “Oh, no doubt.” Georgie grinned and ran a hand along the decorative sun and moon design. “This is an eyegasm.” 37


Oops. Out had slipped a Georgie-ism, her façade of calculated sexual sophistication cracking for a moment. To hide her embarrassment, she picked up and pretended to study the bottles of shampoo. When she looked up, Julian was staring speculatively, the light of interest in his eyes gleaming even brighter. “Eyegasm,” he murmured. “I like that.” That small affirmation clinched it for her. She was going to fuck the breath out of Julian Manchester, give him mouth-to-mouth to revive him, and do it again. “Come here,” she said, her voice gone so low and sultry it sent a shiver down her spine. In three slow steps, Julian stood in front of her. Georgie reached for his wrist, touched his pulse beating there, then slid her hand up his arm, his shoulder, to cup the back of his neck. She tugged him closer, the final step that brought his body flush to hers. His breath had quickened. So had hers. His hand came up to rest on her hip, those long fingers tightening slightly. His lips parted as his eyes traveled over her face, and she wondered what he was thinking. It didn’t matter. Georgie tilted her head and pulled his mouth to hers, inch by indescribable inch, until she felt the brush of his breath on her mouth. Yet he didn’t move forward to kiss her, and she smiled, pleased he was letting her take control. Out slid her tongue to trace the full bottom lip she’d fantasized about for so long. He tasted of chocolate. He put his other hand on her other hip. Georgie kissed Julian slowly, savoring every second of the contact. She pushed her tongue inside his mouth, tasting him further. She caught his moan with her mouth, and the sound of it made her break the kiss, though she pulled away only far enough to take a breath. “Put your hands on me,” she told him. 38


The next kiss was harder. Faster. Julian slid his hands up to her breasts, cupping them through the soft silk of her blouse and the lace of her bra. Her nipples, already tight with desire, throbbed as he passed his thumbs over them, and it was her turn to moan. “That noise is so fucking sexy,” Julian said against her mouth. Georgie stepped back, toward the bathroom counter, and he moved with her as easily as if they’d choreographed the action. “I believe in positive reinforcement.” Her ass hit the edge of the counter and she pulled him down for another kiss that left them both gasping. “Touch me,” she ordered, and Julian seemed all too happy to oblige. Her mouth opened beneath his as he slid a hand beneath her skirt, pushing it up and spreading her legs so he could move between them. He kissed her, hard, tongues thrusting, then tipped her head back with a nudge from his mouth and kissed her throat. Wet heat bloomed on her skin as his tongue followed the path his teeth and lips left, and Georgie moaned again. Julian muttered something against her skin. His hand traced the top of one stocking, then the inside of her thigh, on skin so sensitive his touch made her pussy clench in response. His other hand had buried itself in her hair, and Georgie leaned back a little, supported by his hand on the back of her head. When his palm shifted to cover her cunt, she moaned again, louder this time, and tilted her hips into his touch. Only a sheer triangle of fabric, already damp with the evidence of her arousal, kept her skin from his. Julian’s finger stroked along folds outlined in silk. She bit her lip at the tickle of his touch. He didn’t tease her for long. His fingertip circled lightly on the bump of her clit. The friction of her panties on the tight knot of nerves only added to the pleasure, but hell, she was already so turned on it was 39


a wonder she didn’t come right then and there. His hands moved all over her, but she didn’t worry about falling because no matter what he was doing, he never let go. Georgie put her arms around his neck, bringing his mouth back to hers as his hands both moved under her skirt to lift her up enough to slid her panties down, and she was already smiling when he broke off with an exclamation. “Bloody hell,” Julian said, pulling back to look at her. “You’re a clever girl, aren’t you?” Panties worn over the garter belt, not under. That way he could take them all the way off without getting caught on the garters or the stockings. Julian pushed down the scrap of fabric that had aspired to be underpants and bent to kissing her again. The countertop was cool beneath her buttocks, but compared to the heat in the rest of her body the chill was welcome. He pulled her closer, fingers working the buttons of her blouse and opening it. He slid his hands up to her breasts again, pinching her nipples through the lace of her bra, then deftly undoing the front hook and letting the material fall away. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Gorgeous.” She arched her back a little, pushing her breasts upward, and Julian took the invitation without pause. His mouth closed over one nipple, suckling, and her breath hissed out. His fingers stroked the curls between her legs, before finding her clit again. He pinched it lightly between his finger and thumb, and Georgie jumped a little. “Oh, fuck,” she mumbled, startling herself. “That’s… tremblendous…” “Yeah?” Julian left her nipple to put his mouth close to her ear. “God, you smell good. What are you wearing?” “Vanilla. And me.” She parted her thighs further as his finger dipped down to slide between her folds. When he brought it up again, slickness coated her clit and her fingernails dug into his shoulder so 40


hard he hissed. “Fucking hell. Fuck, that’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” He nuzzled beneath her ear, breathing deep. “You’re driving me fucking insane.” He was driving her pretty wild, too, with the slow stroke-stroke on her clit. Her breath caught in her throat when he probed lower, nudging against her entrance. God, she wanted him inside her all the way, but all he did was press the tip of his finger inside her cunt, while he rubbed her clit with his thumb. Thank God she’d taken a shower in her room because there was no way they were going to last long enough to use his. “Put your mouth on me, Julian.” Georgie had never said that before. Not to anyone. But here and now she didn’t care. All she could think about was him tasting her, of how his tongue would feel caressing her clit, how much she wanted to feel his hair tickling the insides of her thighs. She put a hand on each side of her and gripped the counter. In one smooth series of motions, Julian ran his tongue down her throat and over her breasts, down her ribs and her belly while he pushed her skirt all the way up to her waist. Georgie leaned back, her head pressing the mirror behind her. She spread her legs, waiting, and Julian didn’t disappoint. He kissed her cunt with as much finesse as he’d wooed her mouth. When his tongue flicked out to flutter on her clit, she lifted her hips with a small cry. Julian’s hands grabbed her hips and held her against his mouth as he licked and stroked her pussy with his tongue. “Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart,” she heard him say. “Make that noise again for me.” As if she could help it. Primed by years of mental masturbation, Georgie couldn’t have stayed quiet if she’d had duct tape across her mouth. And she didn’t want to. Her own cries of pleasure, the noises he 41


was pulling from her with every lick, turned her on as much as anything else. Julian’s hand traveled over her thigh, down the smoothness of her stocking-clad calf. “I fucking love this,” he muttered. “A woman in stockings. I want to fuck you with these still on, Georgiana.” He kissed her thigh, nibbling, and slid his tongue along the seam at the back of her stocking. The touch tickled the back of her knee, and he was up again, face buried between her legs, tongue dancing on her clit. She put a hand on his head. Her hips rocked. Her ass slid a bit on the smooth marble counter and her fingers gripped the edge hard enough to hurt, but she barely noticed the ache. All she could think of was Julian’s tongue against her pussy, licking. He pushed a finger inside her, stroking her inside as well as out, and she tensed. She was going to come. His tongue slowed, and she groaned. He kissed her clit, then blew a hot puff of breath against it. His fingers slid in and out slowly. He blew another gust of air. Every muscle tensed. Georgie looked down, watching him. Julian licked her once more and then looked up at her as she tumbled over the edge into orgasm. It was endless and yet only a moment, an explosion of pleasure that left her gasping his name. She wanted to remember this moment, the details, but her mind refused to take a snapshot. The edges blurred too much. The echo of his name against the bathroom’s tiled walls, the sound of his murmured words of encouragement, the flutter of his dark lashes as he looked up at her, watching her come. The curve of his smile as she shuddered from the force of the climax he’d just given her. They all seemed as clear as diamonds, but in the next moment had already begun to fade and, as she caught her breath, Georgie tried to little avail to gather the strands that would make up the tapestry of this memory. Julian got to his feet and kissed her, lingering, before he pulled 42


away to look into her eyes. “You look pensive.” “Try sated.” Georgie sighed, smiled and linked her hands behind his neck. Julian smiled, too. “I’ve been called a cream puff before. Good thing to see I can make you moan as much as the one you ate downstairs.” This glimpse of self-deprecating humor seemed so at odds with his shameless playboy image that Georgie kissed him again to cover her surprise. “Much better than a cream puff. Really.” Julian laughed. “I thought maybe I was going to be one-upped by a pastry.” He nuzzled her hair and ran his hands up and down her back beneath her open blouse. His fingers played notes on her spine much the way he’d play a keyboard. In spite of the mind-blowing orgasm she’d just had, a tingle of arousal threaded through her. Thank God for the ability for multiple orgasms. She pushed him gently, hopped down from the counter and slipped her arms out of her blouse and bra. She tossed them out the bathroom door onto the bedroom floor, then unhooked her skirt and stepped out of it to add it to the pile. She turned to him, her hands on her hips, resting her weight on one leg to emphasize her curves. “I believe you mentioned something about fucking me still wearing this?” She ran a finger along the garter belt’s lacy edge. Julian was already undoing the buttons of his shirt. “I remember something like that, yeah.” Georgie smiled, moving back toward the bedroom, crooking her finger. “Well, come on, then.” Funny how easy being sexy became with an appreciative audience. And Julian was definitely appreciative. He followed her, adding his shirt to the pile on the floor and working open his trousers. He pushed them over his lean hips, the boxer briefs he wore beneath nudging 43


downward to reveal the flat plane of his belly. He wasn’t tall and broad like Seth or Brad, but the clothes had made him look thinner than he was. Revealed, his naked chest was muscled, not scrawny. A light scattering of chest hair the color of a lion’s mane surrounded his nipples and threaded a line down his belly to meet a thatch of pubic hair only slightly darker. His cock pushed at the front of his briefs, but he stopped with his fingers hooked into the elastic edge while he kicked off the trousers and used one foot to push off a sock, then switched to do the other. She’d seen photos of him in bathing suits and a series done in underwear much like the ones he wore now, back when he’d done a brief moonlighting stint as a model for Ragged Tiger Fashions. Though years had passed, not much of Julian’s body seemed to have changed. She knew already the curving scar on his abdomen, left from a motorbike accident that happened during the filming of one of Blue Silver’s early videos. She knew the way his hip bones jutted when he twisted. But she had never, not even in any illicit paparazzi photos, seen his cock. She knew the rumors. There were entire message boards dedicated to discussing the size and girth of Julian Manchester’s python. She’d never really paid much attention to them, figuring them for exaggeration, wishful thinking or just plain invasion of privacy. Now, faced with the man himself, she wasn’t sure whether or not to be excited or afraid. He took a step toward her, his fingers still hooked in the elastic waistband. “Now might be the best time to mention this, love. The nightstand drawer is fully stocked.” If it hadn’t been, Georgie’s clutch purse would have provided the necessary equipment. There was no way she was going to bed with anyone without using a condom, much less a man renowned for his sexual prowess and excess. Still, it made her feel better to know that he 44


might be promiscuous, but he wasn’t irresponsible. “Good to know.” She backed up and felt the hotel bedspread’s softness on the backs of her legs. She turned, tugged it down and sat on the edge. Julian still hadn’t taken off his boxers. “Come on, then, sweetheart,” she said, putting on a pretty decent imitation of him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” His eyebrow rose at her use of his lingo, but he didn’t take his clothes off. Something occurred to her, something ridiculous, considering she was, literally, bare-assed naked. She knew Julian’s body, knew much about him, the name of his first pet, his child…hell, she knew his address in London. But he didn’t know her at all. She’d just gotten naked with a man she’d “known” for years, but to him, she was a stranger. And getting naked in front of an utter stranger could be daunting. “Let me see you, Julian,” Georgie said, voice husky. He pushed his briefs down over his hips and stepped out of them. She hissed in a breath, her tongue sliding along her lips in a reflex. His prick was as lovely as the rest of him. And yes, it was long, and it was thick, but completely perfect and proportioned. Julian cleared his throat, and she realized she was staring. “I was afraid it was going to split me in half,” she said with a laugh. He looked startled. “Were you?” He looked down, taking it in hand and stroking lightly. “And now you’re reassured? Should I be embarrassed?” She laughed again, and he gave her an admiring glance. “Fuck, you have a sexy laugh.” She’d never thought of it as particularly sexy, but then she’d never imagined herself as anything she’d become tonight. “I like to laugh.” “Me, too.” He stepped closer, hand still on his cock. Georgie watched, fascinated, as his length vanished and reappeared 45


into the cave made by his curled fingers. She licked her lips again. “Come here,” she said, and he did at once. Again the sense of power filled her, erotic and heady. The sense of being in control, of doing, not simply being done to. She reached for him. Her fingers closed around his length. She felt his skin, thin and hot. She stroked, moving it, and his pulse rushed against her palm. Julian made a low noise in the back of his throat when she stroked him. She looked up to see him bite his lip, his eyes on her hand. He looked at her. He smiled. She smiled, too, connecting with him in a way that surprised her as much as the cream puff comment had. It proved she didn’t really know him after all, no matter how much she knew about him. She felt suddenly tender toward him, a bit guilty at using him to prove a point in her own life. She stroked him again, from the crown of his prick to the base. She slipped her other hand beneath to cup the weight of his balls, her thumb stroking the seam in his flesh. He shivered. “Kiss me,” Georgie commanded, and Julian did that, too. He moved over her, pushing her back gently onto the crisp sheets. He put a hand on either side of her head and covered her body with his. His cock pressed between them, a line of heat against her belly. His mouth urged hers open and his tongue moved inside. A flash of memory returned. The feeling of his fingers inside her and his tongue on her clit. Her pussy fluttered, and sighed in anticipation of how good his cock would feel inside her. She pushed him gently until he rolled onto his side, and she followed him. She slid her leg between his, nudging her thigh upward to press his balls, while she reached between them to stroke his erection. Their mouths met, and Julian left her lips to find her throat again. Bliss, pure bliss as his teeth nipped and nibbled. Georgie pushed him all the way over onto his back and straddled 46


his thighs. She ran her hands up his stomach and ribs to circle his nipples with her fingertips. They tightened under her touch and he drew in a breath. She bent forward to lick one, and his cock, trapped against her belly, leaped. “You like that?” she asked, taking another lick. He tasted a little spicy. “Yeah…” His answer trailed away into a groan as she used her teeth on his chest. She continued kissing his chest and rubbing her belly on him. Julian’s hips lifted, pushing himself against her in response to what she was doing. She was doing this to him, she thought in wonder. Her caresses, her kisses, were making him moan softly and thrust. She loved it. She slid up his body to bite his earlobe. “Tell me you want to fuck me.” “Oh, I do,” Julian murmured, his hands going around her back to pull her closer. “Tell me.” She licked the spot she’d just bitten, and he rewarded her with a hiss of breath. His cock throbbed against her. “I want to fuck you, Georgiana.” Julian’s hands moved down to cup her bare ass. “I want to fuck you so much it hurts.” She believed him because her pussy was telling her the same thing. “I want you inside me.” He groaned. “I want to be inside you, all the way. You’re so fucking hot and wet. Your cunt is so tight…” His words, the bluntness of them, lodged her breath in her throat. Her nipples were hard as steel, her pussy aching, her clit so swollen with desire every shift of her thighs caused delicious tremors to shudder through her. She’d never been a fan of dirty talk, but this didn’t sound dirty. It sounded…necessary. It sounded basic, truthful, the bare bones of need 47


expressed with language as blunt as the desire itself. “I want you to fuck me, Julian,” she whispered in his ear, a sort of half-sobbing cry. It was all she’d thought about for months. She couldn’t wait another second. Everything had become raw need for his hands and mouth on her, for his rod inside her, for the mindless oblivion of orgasm. “I need you to fuck me,” she told him, and his hands ceased their restless motion on her back momentarily. She pulled away to look into his eyes, not caring at the moment if the persona had slipped a little, if he saw beneath the façade. “I need you.” If he’d said anything, even if he’d agreed, the mood would have shattered. What he did instead was kiss her, hard, so fiercely their teeth clashed and she tasted the metallic tang of blood. Somehow they rolled and shifted, crawling in tandem, turning their bodies lengthwise on the bed, while she reached to fumble in the nightstand. She grabbed a foil packet and tore it open as he kissed her. Panting, she sat back, stroked a hand downward and unrolled the condom over his cock. She’d done it so many times in Esther’s apartment it took only a second and then she shifted forward. He lifted her. She moved. He put a hand to the head of his penis and guided it inside her as she lowered herself. They groaned in unison, nearly identical noises of satisfaction, when his cock hit her cervix. She took him in all the way, her knees clamped tight at the sides of his hips. Her garters bunched, but the stockings stayed in place, rubbing on the hairs of his legs in a way that made Georgie quake from the added sensation. Julian’s hands clutched the backs of her thighs, just above the stocking tops. His fingers were hot, her skin hotter, and they curved around beneath her buttocks to tickle her. She sat up straight, one hand on his chest, the other going unerringly to her clit. He rocked her, his cock pushing inside her, then 48


out, while she rubbed herself in tandem. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he said, sounding a little dazed. “You touching yourself.” She looked down at him. Sweat had darkened his hair, hanging over one eye, and she reached to push it off his forehead. She relished the silkiness of it against her palm, then let her hand cup his cheek. He turned his face to kiss her palm, then bit it gently. There didn’t seem to be a place any longer for words. No “Shift here,” or “A little to the left.” He hit every spot she needed him to as he thrust. They rocked together. Her clit grew under her fingertip and Georgie had to fight to remember to breathe. She leaned forward, her hand gripping his shoulder for support. Julian kissed her, but their mating distracted them and they let their mouths brush each other, breathing in what the other breathed out as they focused on his penis moving inside her. He could move harder this way, thrust deeper, and he did. She cried out, no longer needing the pressure of her hand on her clit, because she rubbed against his belly with every thrust. Unlike her first orgasm, which had rolled over her like a runaway train, this climax ebbed and flowed, dancing out of reach in a way that would have been frustrating if it hadn’t been so damned tantalizing. She moaned his name, and he groaned and thrust harder. Sex had never been like this for her, so effortless. Everything he did worked toward getting her off. His mouth found her throat again, his teeth scraping, and her cunt clenched around him. He gave a cry, sounding startled, and thrust so hard he moved her entire body. “Do that again,” he said under his breath. She did, working internal muscles, and Julian’s breath stopped for a moment before he let it out in a sigh. “Brilliant…” She laughed, gasping, and his eyes opened. His pupils had dilated, the black circles nearly devouring the blue-gray irises. Georgie felt like 49


she was drowning in them, lost in Julian’s eyes. He laughed, too, the sound as breathless as hers had been. He moved them both, pushing her up and following her so he was sitting and her legs were wrapped around his waist. His hand cupped her buttocks and moved her as he thrust. “Laugh again,” he said. She did, not because anything was particularly amusing, but because it seemed the natural expression to make when faced with the bliss her body was experiencing. “Every time you laugh, you tighten around me,” Julian said. “Fuck, it’s driving me insane.” He captured her mouth again. He was kissing her when she came, and he swallowed her cry of pleasure. She couldn’t think of anything but how good this felt, this explosion of ecstasy that filled every cell of her body. His hands tightened on her, and he thrust and cried out into her mouth. His cock pulsed and throbbed inside her. Sweat glued them together, chests and bellies. His arms went around her back, cradling her close, and his face fit perfectly into the curve of her shoulder. His hair tickled her cheeks as she closed her eyes, holding him as close to her as he was holding her. “Bette Davis,” Julian said suddenly, startling her. She looked down at him. “What?” He grinned. “Lana Turner, Marilyn Monroe and Bette Davis. That’s who you remind me of.” The spot-on way he’d nailed her inspiration floored her, but Georgie rallied. “Fasten your seat belts. It’s going to be a bumpy night,” she quoted from All About Eve. Julian ran his hands over her back. “You’ll have to give me a few minutes, love. I’m not as young as I used to be.” Georgie blinked, and a minute after that, they were both laughing 50


again. *

*

*

“I’m going to absolutely murder all the chocolate in here.” Julian slid an arm behind his head, watching Georgie pull open the mini-bar. She’d donned the plush robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, but had barely tied it. Every time she bent, he caught a tantalizing glimpse of breast, belly, thigh. She looked over her shoulder at him, her hair falling over one eye, and her smile did him in. Utterly. They’d had mind-blowing sex, followed by conversation about poetry, politics, literature…his mind had been as thoroughly satisfied as his prick, and that was something that hardly ever happened. She was bright, this one, in addition to being sexy, and he couldn’t believe Cassie had never before introduced them. “Want some?” “No, love, you go wild.” He was done with his years of raiding the mini-bar for sugar in the wee hours. It would only rest heavy in his stomach. It was hard enough to keep trim on tour, he didn’t need to add to it. “Okay.” That smile again, not quite sly. She rooted around inside and pulled out some outrageously expensive confection of nuts, nougat and chocolate. Tearing off the paper, Georgie came back to bed and sat next to him. The robe gaped open, but she didn’t seem concerned at the view she was giving him. Julian took advantage of that lack of self-consciousness to fully enjoy the sight of her body. He watched her take a bite. Watched her lick her fingers. “What?” She paused after swallowing the mouthful of chocolate. “You’re a delight to watch.” She said nothing for a moment, concentrating on licking her fingertips clean. “How so?” He waved a lazy hand. “I like the way you eat. And sit. So easy. 51


You’re a woman who knows herself. I like that. I spend too much time with women convinced fat can be acquired from the mere aroma of a hamburger. They wear their bodies like designer outfits, to be admired and updated every time the style changes, not something to be comfortable in.” She blinked rapidly, the candy forgotten in her hand. She looked down, and Julian sat, thinking he’d offended her. He reached to touch her face and get her to look at him. “Georgie?” She put the candy on the nightstand. “Come here.” He leaned in automatically, without stopping long to think on how it was she could command him so, as if she expected nothing less than immediate acquiescence, or about why he was all too happy to give it. She kissed him, putting his face between her palms and holding him in place. He tasted chocolate. She tasted him, sliding her tongue along his lips and diving inside like he was a treat to be devoured the way she’d eaten the candy. Intoxicating, to be kissed this way, when usually he was the one doing all the work. She broke the kiss, both of them breathing hard. She looked into his eyes. “I want to try out your shower.” Julian grinned. Fully sated by their round of lovemaking, he’d been too lazy to get up and clean off. But this was an entirely different incentive. “The eyegasm,” he murmured and ducked his head to run his lips along her neck. Georgie sighed and tilted her head to give him access. He licked her skin, tasting sweat and something purely female and arousing. The robe gaped a bit wider and he reached in a hand to cup her breast, the nipple already erect and taut on his palm. “Come on,” she breathed, inching back. “Don’t distract me.” “You’re distracting me,” he protested, but followed her willingly 52


enough. She shed the robe as she headed for the bathroom, and the graceful way she let the material reveal her body as it fell away made his cock twitch. She was sex on heels, this one, even if, at the moment, her glorious pumps had been cast aside. In the bathroom, Georgie twisted and fiddled with the faucets until the hot water squirted out. A moment after she did something else and steam, scented with eucalyptus and lavender, fogged from hidden jets in the tile. “Nice,” she commented, turning to look at him. “I might never leave.” “Wouldn’t that be nice?” he said, without thinking, and she gave him that mysterious look again, like she was weighing him. Georgie didn’t answer him with words, just crooked her finger at him as she backed into the shower’s curving entrance. Julian followed, breathing in the steam and letting out a little sigh of pleasure when the hot spray needled him. “Fuck, I’d stay in here for hours.” He turned to let the water pound on his back. Georgie had settled herself on the curving tile bench. “I’d sleep in here if I could.” Julian put a hand on the wall above her head, looking down at her. He’d often thought the same thing. Hearing her say it aloud made him smile. “Me, too.” “We should invent that. A shower bed.” Georgie reached for his hip, her fingers splaying on his wet skin. She pulled him a step closer. He put his other hand on the wall. “We’d make millions.” She took his cock in one hand, stroking it from semi-interested to fully awake in a matter of seconds. Julian’s breath stuttered in his throat when she moved between his legs to cup his balls. Her thumb stroked the wet flesh, a finger explored along his perineum, and he obliged her 53


by setting his stance a bit wider. “Millions,” he agreed, not capable at the moment of coming up with a more clever reply. She reached for the soft washcloth and the bottle of shower gel he’d brought along. No harsh, cheap hotel soaps for Julian. She squeezed some onto the cloth, then tilted her face up to him. His body shielded her from the direct spray, but water droplets had gathered in her hair like diamonds. Her skin gleamed with moisture and flushed from the heat. Her makeup hadn’t smeared, and he was tempted to ask her the brand of mascara she used, but didn’t. Her hand, stroking him with the washcloth, was more important at the moment. She washed his cock, then his balls, jerking him with an air he found utterly arousing in its seeming innocence. Her hand slid between his legs, up and down his thighs, her grasp made slick with suds. In moments he was groaning and pushing forward into her hand. “I haven’t had anyone wash me since I was in nappies,” he breathed. “And let me tell you, sweetheart, nanny never did it like that.” Georgie laughed, that rich sound he found so erotic. She put aside the cloth and let the water rinse him clean, while she ran her hands up and down his sides. “I should hope not.” She let her hands stop their roving, one on each hip, and pulled him another step closer. Seated as she was, his erection was on a level with her luscious mouth. She licked her lips and looked up at him from under lashes aglitter with condensation. He pulled in a breath, waiting. Georgie didn’t tease or disappoint. She opened that perfect mouth and took him inside, all the way to the root, and Julian let out a muttered exclamation at the sudden sensation of heat on his cock. She took him in just a bit farther than he’d expected her to, and his hips bucked forward in unconscious response. He nudged the back of 54


her throat, a delight to which he’d rarely been treated, despite the many who’d claimed they had the talent. Then yet again she pulled him closer, tightening her lips around him. “Fucking hell,” Julian said, as she slid his length slowly out of her mouth and sucked gently at the head. That was all he could say. No woman had ever taken his entire erection down her throat before; there’d been damn few who’d even managed half. Enthusiasm could surely make up for lack of skill, but Georgie had both. She took him in again, using a hand to stroke his balls, and he was glad for the wall to help him stay upright. She used her other hand to anchor his cock as she sucked. When a moment later she withdrew her mouth, but added the use of her hand, he groaned. Hand and mouth, working in tandem, she fucked his prick. The water pounded down over him, sluicing over his shoulders and down his chest and belly toward his groin. It slid into the crack of his ass, the backs of his thighs, ran through his hair. It was like being sucked off while a thousand tongues stroked the rest of him, and Georgie clearly knew just how to use that to her advantage. Using her hands and mouth she moved and shifted him, sucked and stroked, urged him toward an explosion of pleasure that made him frankly a bit lightheaded. He moaned her name, the taste of it as sweet to him as the candy he’d refused. He looked down at her head, her hair now soaked and hanging over her shoulders. She’d put a hand between her legs. Her fingertip circled on her clit. The sight of it made his balls throb and he pushed into her mouth, helpless against the desire to fuck, to move, to satisfy the ache in his balls. He stroked a hand over her hair, pushing it off her face and away from her mouth. She paused in pleasing him to look up at him, her gaze unreadable, until she smiled. She leaned back against the wall, one hand still moving up and down on his prick and the other getting 55


herself off. It was entirely erotic. The sight of her pretty pink slit, open to his gaze as she stroked her clit, made pre-cum ooze out of him in one small orgasmic spasm that made him gasp. Georgie moaned, her lashes fluttering. Without thinking twice Julian went to his knees in front of her. He parted her thighs wide. Her hips tilted as she moved to the edge of the bench. He moved to let water patter against her clit, standing upright and engorged. She cried out as the water caressed her folds. Enthralled, he bent to taste her. She cried out again. He put a finger inside her, then another, and fucked her that way, while he alternated between licking her pussy and letting the shower tickle her clit. Georgie arched her back, her head against the shower wall. Steam floated around them, turning everything hazy. He wanted to be inside her so badly he shuddered, but didn’t want to take the time to leave the shower and rustle in the nightstand drawer. Instead he satisfied himself with tasting her again. He added a third finger, stretching her, and when she yelped and dug her fingernails into his shoulder, Julian’s prick answered with another spasm. “Fuck,” he muttered, nuzzling that sweet pussy and pulling away to watch her cunt surround his fingers. “I’m going to come just from feeling you on my tongue.” Georgie’s half-cry tightened his balls. Julian curved a finger, seeking the small spot inside her. She jerked when he found it. Her nails dug harder, but he didn’t care. The shower would wash away the blood and he was so far gone into pleasure he barely noticed the sting. She cried out his name, a never-fail trigger to his libido. He moaned hers, something that happened far more rarely. Her cunt tightened on his fingers and the tiny bud of her clit between his lips grew larger. She shouted, a sheer, abandoned cry of ecstasy that sent him over the edge. He came, cock jetting spurt after spurt of come, without even his 56


own hand to force it. Nothing but the sound of his name in her passionhoarse voice and the smell and taste of her as she came beneath his tongue. He came forever, each spasm forcing a groan from him. He eased his fingers from her and kissed her clit, still twitching, and then lipped it gently, while she twitched. He kissed her soft curls, then her belly, up to her breasts, her throat, and found her mouth. He kissed her and she put her arms around his neck, holding him close to her, and he took her in his arms like it was the most natural place in the world for her to be. The water pounded down around them, with a sound like rain, and he looked into her face, shaken by the sudden force of emotion rocking him. She was crying. But the next instant, Georgie smiled and Julian convinced himself it was nothing but the shower that traced water down her cheeks. He kissed her again, searching for the taste of salt, but even if they had been tears, the shower had washed them away. *

*

*

Georgie opened her eyes in a darkness the clock told her was just pre-dawn. They’d slept for only two hours, and her body protested being so rudely deprived of the benefit of dreams, but Georgie forced her eyes to stay open. Dreams would come later. They’d have to, because they’d be all she’d have after tonight was over. Right now, she had to make the memories that would come later in dreams. She’d never intended for this to be more than one night. This night had surpassed all her expectations, but it was more than the sex. Julian was smarter than she’d have guessed, with a sense of self-deprecating humor she was helpless not to find charming. He might appear to be a vain and foppish fashion plate, a man-whore, but he was also an unfailingly considerate lover. And he was smart. Not just a smart-ass, which she’d expected. He 57


knew Shakespeare. He knew Wilde and cummings and Burns, Bach and Beethoven and Mozart. Beneath the purple hair and glitter was a brain. That scared her. It was easy to imagine taking the rock star to bed, taking advantage of his prodigious bedroom skills. It was his cock she’d wanted, but she’d already half-fallen for his brain. Falling wasn’t part of the plan, she reminded herself harshly. One night. She listened to the sound of his breathing, the slow steady in/out push of it comforting. She’d missed sleeping with Joe more than she’d missed having sex with him. The warmth of a body beside her in bed, knowing there was someone there. Georgie ran her hands over her body, her fingers sliding between her legs. She was tender there, but in a good way. Stretched. She stroked her clit a little, lightly, thinking of how his tongue felt on it. The bundle of nerves, prompted by her imagination, tingled. Georgie rolled onto her side, facing him. In the darkness he was little more than a series of humps under the blankets. She inched closer, seeking his warmth, and pressed her body to his. Julian shifted, his arm going around her and pulling her close. Chest to chest, cunt to cock. She slid her thigh between his. His fingers stroked her bare shoulder blade. His sleep-slow breath ghosted along her face. His mind might be sleeping, but his cock, bless it, had other ideas. It stirred against her, lengthening in the trapped spot between their bodies. The soft sac of his testicles weighed on her thigh and she pressed upward, gently, rocking her body against him. He murmured, his mouth finding her jaw, but she couldn’t be sure he was awake or only dreaming. Georgie let her hand slide down the knobbed ridge of his spine, one bump at a time. She traced the cleft of his ass, dipping low between his thighs to stroke his balls from behind. 58


At this intimate touch, Julian shifted with a murmur, and his cock twitched. Three times in a night was a lot to ask, but she was going to try. Georgie kissed his skin, a shoulder or chest, she couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter. Her tongue flickered out to taste him. He tasted clean, no surprise considering the amount of time they’d been in the shower. Her fingers trailed along the back of his thigh and over his ass again. Julian pushed his cock against her stomach. His lips tickled her ear. His breathing had quickened. They didn’t speak. The darkness helped, somehow. It took away the need for words. Their mouths met, open, tongue on tongue, and they spoke that way. Hands stroked along skin. His cock throbbed on her belly. She didn’t need to talk to tell him what she wanted. Julian just knew. With some easy shifting, he rolled her. The entire night, Georgie had felt in control. In charge. She’d been the one calling the shots. It was nice to give up, a little, to him, to not know what was coming next. She sighed, arching a bit as he settled her head on the pillow and covered her body with his. He moved slowly. Slow kisses, slow caresses, until every nerve tingled and fizzed with desire. He knew how to play a woman’s body with as much skill as he played a keyboard, but this felt different. She didn’t feel played. With Julian tracing the line of her jaw with his lips, she felt…taken care of. The feeling startled her into a gasp, smothered by his mouth as he kissed her again. His hands ran up her sides to cup her breasts, and, in the next minute, he’d brought them together so he could suckle first on nipple, then the other. Georgie floated, pushing all thought from her mind. She wanted concentrate on Julian, his scent, mouth, hands. His cock, now pressing hotly against her thigh. His hand moved down between her legs and found her clit with the 59


same infallible grace he’d had all night. He stroked her once, twice, then found the slow, circling pace she liked. Georgie sighed again, parting her legs and tilting her hips. So good, this was so good, made somehow better for being in darkness. Julian stretched, and she heard fumbling. She kissed his chest, the patch of hair tickling her nose. He let out a little sound when she nipped him, and a moment later had caught her mouth again. He raised himself off her. She heard the crinkle of foil, then he murmured something made indecipherable by their kisses. His prick nudged against her, and Georgie reached a hand to grasp the base of it. She guided him. He pushed inside her, inch by slow, delicious inch, until he’d seated himself completely. Then he lowered himself again to kiss her. Georgie put her arms around him. She traced the lines of his shoulder blades, his spine, the twin dimples just above his buttocks. How familiar the curves and edges of his body had become, in so short a time. She let her fingernails dig into his shoulders and smiled when he hissed. Georgie relished the feeling of him on top of her. She’d never been able to come in this position, but that was fine. Considering she’d had more orgasms tonight than she’d had in the past three years, she wasn’t going to complain. With darkness shielding them, it was easy to imagine the bed beneath them had become a rocking ship. He moved inside her with slow, liquid ease, and feathered kisses all over her face. Georgie rocked with him, happy to take her time. The sooner they finished, after all, the sooner they’d be done. If they could make this last forever, she’d be all too happy. Julian’s breathing quickened. “You’re amazing.” The whisper took her by surprise. The woman he’d taken to bed would have had a snappy comeback, but by now, Georgie had none. 60


“Shhh,” she whispered in reply, and he did. Desire rose inside her as his pace quickened. She wanted to meet him again, one last time, but was certain she couldn’t manage. Her mind was more than willing, but the body just wouldn’t comply. Julian slowed again. His lips fastened on her neck and he sucked gently, urging a gasp from her. He slid a hand beneath her ass, lifting her. And somehow, something shifted. Like magic, he’d rearranged them so now, with every thrust, his belly rubbed her clit. The pressure was slight, intermittent, but he had again slowed his pace to allow her to catch up with him. And it was glorious. She’d already been aroused, but this extra stimulation eased her toward a climax so much better for being unexpected. A hand slid beneath them might have worked, too, but this…this was… “Fucktastic,” Georgie gasped. His face buried in her shoulder, Julian laughed. He moved again. She twitched, her clit throbbing. She hooked her heels around the backs of his calves and put her hands on his ass, pulling him closer. “I want to make you come again,” he whispered in her ear. “Will you?” He made it sound like she’d be doing him a favor, and Georgie kissed him again. “Yes,” she said, rocking her hips along with his thrusts. “Oh, yes.” The sound he made was enough to take her almost there. She held him close and they moved together. He moaned. She sighed. She came. Her orgasm washed over her and she gave in to it, gave up to him, took all he had to give and then, just a little more. Georgie forced a breath, then another, ecstasy rippling through her. She bit down on his shoulder, hard, and he thrust once more, hard. He called out her name. Julian sank down on top of her. His heart thumped against hers. 61


After a moment, he rolled off and spooned her, holding her close. She waited for him to speak, but Julian said nothing. Georgie said nothing either, aware now she could pay attention to how the room had lightened as the sun risen. His hands smoothed along her belly and he snuggled against her back. She waited until she was sure he was asleep again before she got up and dressed. She wrote a note, agonizing over what to say, leaving him her email address and phone number, but at the last minute she tore the sheet of paper from the hotel pad and not only tore it into shreds, but flushed it down the toilet. The only thing that would be more embarrassing than him not calling her would be him having her phone number and still not calling her. This way, at least, she couldn’t be convinced to hope even halfheartedly for something that would never happen. One night, she reminded herself, looking at him from the door of the suite. He looked so elegant, even in sleep, the sheet draped with perfect grace over his lean hip and his hair so luxuriously tousled. She thought about kissing him goodbye just for the chance of smelling him again, for feeling his warmth on her lips, but in the end, the real Georgie, practical librarian Georgie, won out, and she left without a look back. *

*

*

“Forget about her,” Seth advised. Julian jerked open the throat of his silk shirt to reveal the remains of the perfect half-circle bite on his shoulder. “As if I could, with this to remind me?” He paced, flicking open the silver lighter and holding the flame to his cigarette, even though he’d sworn off smoking half a decade ago. Another hotel, another suite, another fuck-worthy shower. Another set of groupies waiting downstairs, too, but Julian didn’t want any of them. “I want Georgiana Davis’s phone number,” he said, sucking in smoke that made his eyes water. “Why are you being such a fucking 62


bastard about it?” Seth, the wanker, gave a lazy shrug from his spot lounging on Julian’s couch. “Sorry, mate. What can I do? It’s some sort of pact, or something.” “Fuck the bloody pact,” Julian barked. He looked at the fag in his hand and scowled. “This tastes like shit.” “What do you want me to do, Jules? I asked Cassie, and she wouldn’t give me the number. You ask her.” “I did.” Julian stubbed out the smoke and ran a hand through his hair. “She told me to bugger myself. She said if Georgie didn’t leave me a note, there must be a reason for it, and she wasn’t going to give me her number, no matter what I bribed her with.” Seth laughed, looking entirely too much like the cat who’d eaten the canary. “What did you bribe her with?” Julian tossed up his hands. “Nothing! I have nothing to bribe her with!” “So let it go, mate,” Seth told him. “Look, I know this must’ve put your nose out of joint, but really, I’ve never seen you like this over a woman.” Julian stalked to the mini-bar and yanked it open. “I can’t even fucking look at chocolate bars without thinking about her, Seth.” Silence while his best mate pondered that bit of information. “Ouch,” Seth said. “Yeah, ouch.” Julian slammed the fridge door closed. “She was something. She was lovely without being blatant about it. She was fucktastic…” Her word, one he couldn’t seem to stop using. “She was smart, man. Really smart.” Seth made a conciliatory noise. He’d know how much that meant to Julian. “She knew about “Her Eyes,” eh?” Julian sank onto the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah.” “Sorry, man.” Seth got up and clapped him on the shoulder. “But 63


we’ve got a show in three hours. Think you can pull yourself out of your lovelorn funk long enough to perform?” “Fuck you,” Julian said, morose, not looking up. “No thanks, mate. I’ve got a better offer.” Julian looked up with a scowl at Seth’s smug grin. “Sure, rub it in.” Seth shrugged, then reached over to squeeze Julian’s shoulder. “Write a song, Jules. It’s always worked before.” Julian groaned. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Write a song. Me without my piano and a show in three hours. Right.” Seth paused at the door. “You can do it, you know. But maybe you’d rather wallow in your self-absorbed grief?” The pillow would have hit him if he hadn’t been fast enough in closing the door. *

*

*

She waited for her life to resume, for her job to once again consume her time. For her taste in clothes to revert to the standard librarian garb that filled her closets. She was still waiting when she opened the door, expecting the pizza delivery boy, and instead stared into the face of the man she’d been trying hard to forget. “Hi—” Julian began, and Georgie didn’t bother giving him the time to finish before she’d grabbed him by the front of the shirt and kissed him like her life depended on it. He tasted as good as she remembered. Even better, actually. She’d caught him with his mouth open, but, to give him credit, he recovered fast. His tongue stroked hers. His hands came up to slide beneath her hair, tangling in it. Standing on her front porch he was a head lower than her; in the next moment she’d pulled him across the doorframe and her head tilted back, still kissing him, as he came up a step. Julian kicked the door shut behind him. Two steps forward, and she pushed him against the wood hard enough to rattle the windows. He 64


gasped into her mouth, one hand leaving the back of her neck to grab her ass, kneading it. She broke the kiss out of necessity, in order to breathe. “What are you doing here?” “Getting ready to fuck you senseless, I think,” Julian said, sounding as surprised as she felt. Then there really weren’t any more words. Gasps and groans aplenty, but nothing much to say. She’d been wearing a plain t-shirt and faded flannel sleep pants, fresh from an evening shower. It took only two seconds for him to lift the shirt above her head. Another three to push the loose waistband down over her hips. He pulled off his black leather jacket. She yanked open his belt. By the time they got to the couch, moving with flawless choreography, she was naked. Julian’s mouth slid from Georgie’s lips to run along her throat, down to her breasts, as he pushed her onto the cushions. His hands fumbled with his jeans as he suckled a nipple. A moment later he’d moved down her belly to nuzzle into the curls between her thighs. He pushed her legs apart, gripped her hips. She cried out when he licked her clit, which had begun to throb the moment she’d seen him on the front porch. Julian groaned. His hands tightened on her hips. He slid a hand beneath her ass, pressing upward to bring her cunt close to his mouth. He kissed her there, alternating flicks of his tongue with broad, flat swipes. This was good. Great. But she wanted more. She wanted him inside her again, the way she’d imagined so many times since their night together. She wanted to take his cock down the back of her throat and taste him. Fuck, she wanted all of it at the same time, but his tongue was making her mindless, and she couldn’t do anything but ride the waves of pleasure sweeping over her. Her body tensed, every muscle going taut. He slid a finger inside 65


her, curling it to stroke her g-spot as tongue circled her clit. It was too much. She couldn’t hold out. Georgie shuddered, her back arching as she came. Stars blinked in her vision, and she heard a slight ringing in her ears. She was coming so hard she thought she might actually faint, a thought so startling she found the strength to laugh. Laughing made the orgasm surge harder inside her and she writhed with it, until spent, at last, she collapsed onto the cushions with a sigh of sated relief. “Fuck, I’ve missed your laugh,” Julian said after a moment, and Georgie looked down at him. “And I have to say, love, that’s some sort of record. Even for me.” He sat up, and at the sight of him, shirt still entirely buttoned but his jeans pushed halfway down his thighs, she laughed again. “Come here,” Georgie said. Obediently, he did. She kissed him thoroughly, putting her hands to the side of his face to hold him in place, while she took her time exploring his mouth with hers. When she pulled away to look into his eyes, Julian was breathing hard, his pale cheeks flushed. “Hi,” he said, finally. “Hi.” He reached up to stroke her hair away from her face. “I take it you’re happy to see me.” Georgie smiled. “What makes you think so?” Julian gave a pointed glance down to her nudity and his dishevelment. Georgie laughed again and sat up, rearranging them into a more comfortable position. She was pretty boneless from the climax he’d given her, but in no way replete. “Happy doesn’t begin to cover it,” she told him honestly. His grin lit up his face. “I told Cassie you’d want to see me.” “Did you?” Georgie set to work undoing his shirt buttons. “I did.” He shrugged out of the shirt and lifted his ass so she could 66


push his jeans the rest of the way down. His cock appeared and she took it in her hand at once, stroking. “I told her—ah…” His reaction to her touch sent a shiver down Georgie’s spine. Later she’d think about what this meant, him showing up like this. For now she wanted only to accept it as the granting of a wish, one she’d made so fervently she’d been certain it wouldn’t be granted. “You can tell me about it later,” she whispered into his ear, straddling him. Her hand moved on his cock, and Julian shuddered. His hands cupped her rear. They kissed again, softer this time. He let out a small gasp when her hand curved, twisting around the head of his dick before sliding down again. She tipped his head back to gain access to his jaw and throat, where she pressed her lips over the beat of his pulse and sucked gently on his skin. His hips leaped, pushing his cock harder into her hand. “Fuck,” he murmured. “I want to be inside you, Georgiana.” “I want that, too.” She lifted herself off him, and let go of his erection to take his hand. “Come with me.” She led him up the stairs to her bedroom, where she laid him back on her pillows and followed him. Laying on top of him, his cock a thick, hard line of heat against her belly, she kissed him again. His hands roamed her back, tracing the curve of her shoulder blades and the cleft of her ass. Georgie’s own nightstand was fully stocked, though she’d had no reason to use anything in there. She’d just taken Esther’s advice, to always be prepared, to heart. She was glad she had. Still kissing him, Georgie reached into the drawer for a condom. Still kissing, she opened it. But then, instead of reaching between them to slide it on, she sat up, gave him a wicked grin, and held up the round latex circle. She tucked it between her lips and lowered her mouth, unrolling the condom down his length in a move Esther had forced her to practice to 67


perfection, but which she’d never actually used. It had been worth learning, she thought at the sound of Julian’s moan. “You’re bloody amazing, you know that?” Georgie laughed, looking up at him. “What can I say? I’m a girl of many talents.” Julian reached for her and she gladly moved up his body to meet his kiss. “I can see that.” For a moment he looked into her eyes, saying nothing, and the momentum begun with their first kiss faltered for a moment. For the first time that night Georgie had time to think about what she was doing and what was happening. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” Julian said, his fingers stroking through her hair. Georgie kissed him again, slower this time, not sure what to say. His hands caressed her skin, up and down her sides. He nudged her hip, and she straddled him again, this time lifting her body to center herself before sliding down his cock. When she’d sheathed him fully inside her, she leaned forward to brush his lips with hers. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.” It was the truth, and therefore easy to say. His arms went around her, pulling her close. They moved together, bodies in perfect tempo, making a melody all their own. Point, counterpoint. Though it had been a month since the last time, Julian hadn’t forgotten what she liked. Or perhaps it wasn’t a question of remembering, maybe his body and hers automatically meshed. She didn’t know, didn’t care. All she could think about was how he felt inside her. How he tasted. Felt. Smelled. The sight of his eyes, staring deep into hers. Her second orgasm rolled over her with slow and easy precision. Perfect harmony to the melody of their lovemaking. She cried out with it, falling forward against his shoulder, where her mouth found a 68


familiar spot and she bit down in her ecstasy. His fingers clutched her as he thrust upward, his hoarse shout mingling with hers. He pulsed inside her. The ripple of climax slowed inside her, and Georgie caught her breath. Julian hugged her. She put a hand over his heart, feeling the thumping slow. After a bit she rolled off him, but kept her head on the pillow close to his. He took her hand, their fingers linked. She listened to the sound of his breathing for while before she spoke. “Cassie told you how to find me?” “No. She wouldn’t. Said if you’d meant me to find you, you’d have left me a note.” Georgie smiled and turned her mouth to kiss his shoulder. “Sounds like her.” “Yeah. But what she didn’t know was, you had.” She paused. “But I didn’t.” Julian turned his head to look at her. “You did, sweetheart. You can thank Seth for me finding it. He told me to write a song because I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I pulled out the notepad from the Come Inn…I make a habit of collecting them, you see, because I never know when I’ll need to write down a song. You tore away the top sheet, Georgie, but you left the imprint behind. I shaded it with my pencil, and there it was.” Her laugh was chagrined, this time. “I thought—” “I know what you thought,” Julian said. He kissed her forehead. “I’m a ferocious slut, and I know it. I don’t blame you for running out on me.” She didn’t contradict him, though there was more to the story than that. “I’m sorry, Julian.” He waved his hand dismissively. “No worries, love. It’s true.” She got up on one elbow to look at him. “But what are you doing here?” 69


He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About Shakespeare and Wilde. About chocolate bars. I’ve met a lot of women, Georgie, but none like you.” “Ah.” Georgie nodded, then ducked her head a bit. “It was all an act, though. That’s not me.” Julian sat up suddenly, looking shocked. “What? Not you? Blimey!” He looked so shocked she had to laugh again. “Who was it then?” “Hush,” she scolded. “That’s not what I meant.” He pulled her to him for another kiss. “Why don’t you let me figure out who you are then?” It was tempting, but Georgie wasn’t so sure she was ready for that. “Julian—” “Cassie told me about him. The ass-crack, Comatose Joe, she called him. I don’t blame you for being wary. And if you were just out for a night of good fun, Georgie, I understand. Believe me, I do.” He gave her a rueful smile. “And if what just happened was nothing more than an extension of that fun night, well, I guess I understand that, too. But if you’ve a mind toward it, I’d like to see you again.” Georgie sat up, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry, Julian, it’s not that I don’t want to.” “I understand,” he said, reaching for her hand. He squeezed it gently, then brought it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “But do you believe me when I tell you that instead of sitting somewhere in a posh hotel sipping champagne, I chose to drive my sorry arse from Ohio to here, and I’ll have to drive to New York tomorrow to catch the next gig? And that I did that because I couldn’t stop thinking about you?” He was here, which meant that was true. “I believe you.” “We’re playing the East Coast for the next three months,” he told her. “And my daughter’s birthday is in two weeks. She and her mother live in Virginia. I’ll be back and forth for three months, Georgie, never 70


more than a few hours drive or a short flight away from you. All I’m asking is that you consider letting me see you. If, at the end of three months, you’ve decided you can’t stand the sight of me, well, I’m off to Asia anyway and you’ll be shut of me.” “And if I don’t decide that?” she asked quietly, studying him. He looked sincere. Julian’s grin sent a tingle all the way down to her toes. “Then I’d say there’s always phone sex, love, and the food in Japan’s fucking fabulous.” Georgie laughed. “Has anyone ever been able to resist you?” “Sadly, yes,” he told her seriously. “But I’m hoping you won’t.” Georgie looked down at their clasped hands. She’d meant to have only one night. But nothing said things couldn’t change, right? She leaned forward to kiss him. “All right. Let’s give it a shot. Cassie’ll kill me, but okay.” Julian laughed. “Cassie’s got her own business to concern her, I think.” That was true, too. She kissed him again, then touched the mark she’d left on his shoulder in much the same place she’d done the first time they’d been together. “Sorry about that.” “Oh, that,” Julian scoffed. “Bloody vampire, you are.” “I heard you liked vampires,” Georgie teased, and ducked away from him as he made to grab her. “I’ll show you what I like, and it does deal with sucking,” he told her. “But not blood.” Laughing, she let him pin her. He kissed her, but softly, the looked into her eyes. “Nothing like the sun,” he murmured. “Bloody Will Shakespeare knew what he was talking about, yeah?” “Yeah,” Georgie said. “But I told you before, I like ee cummings.” 71


“Well, then,” said Julian. “Let’s see what I can do about helping you with that.” She groaned at his pun, but a moment later groaned, when his fingers found her clit and began to circle it just the way she liked. “Didn’t Wilde say each man kills the thing he loves? I think you’re going to kill me, Julian.” “Well,” said Julian sliding lower, “it’d be a bloody fucktastic way to go.” Then they stopped talking for a while, and made poetry of a different sort.

72

MEGAN HART Megan Hart began her writing career in grammar school when she plagiarized a short story by Ray Bradbury. She soon realized that making up her own stories was better than copying other people’s, and she's been writing ever since. Megan began writing short fantasy, horror and science fiction before graduating to novel-length romances. She’s published in almost every genre of romantic fiction, including historical, contemporary, romantic suspense, romantic comedy, futuristic, fantasy and perhaps most notably, erotic. She also writes non-erotic fantasy and science fiction, as well as continuing to occasionally dabble in horror. Megan’s goal is to continue writing spicy, thrilling love stories with a twist. Her dream is to have a movie made of every one of her novels, starring herself as the heroine and Keanu Reeves as the hero. Megan lives in the deep, dark woods with her husband and two monsters…er…children. Learn more about Megan by visiting her website… http://www.meganhart.com. *

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Don’t miss Nothing In Common, by Megan Hart, Available from Amber Quill Press, LLC It’s all fun and games—until someone catches your eye…

To Sarah Lazin, gorgeous men are like bargain-basement grab bags—nice wrapping with nothing inside but junk. She’s ready to dismiss Alex Caine as just another pretty face, but she soon learns there’s much more to him than that. He’s a man she could love, if only she can forget her past and the handsome lover who scorned her. Will Sarah give Alex the chance he deserves, or will she keep pushing him away by saying they have “nothing in common”?

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