Chasing Stars (4 page)

I notice her breathing become even. What the hell, is she sleeping? Unbelievable, just like that. Though I would not have done anything anyway, it is unnerving to see her so calm. How can someone tease and seduce in one minute, only to fall into a profound sleep the following?

Yes, I am pissed at myself, but also at her ability to undo me. Almost.

Was she on fire just a second ago, or is my own desire messing with my imagination. I need a second shower. I stand up, stretch my aching muscles, and readjust my jeans.

I stride to the kitchen. Before I reach for a coffee refill, I open the faucet to splash cold water over my face. It will have to suffice.

My thumb twirls the band on my finger, reminding me of what it stands for and infusing me with resolve. With renewed strength, I grab my earplugs and tread back into the torture chamber. Five hours and this is over.

For a few seconds, I wonder where I am. The room is quiet. Warm fingers press lightly over my skin, and I feel a firm sweep over my ribs. That’s what woke me, and I am so turned on.

Hell. With whom did I go to bed? For a moment, confused and disoriented, I am afraid of opening my eyes.

The scent of ink reminds me of where I am, and relief flushes through me.

Waking up with a stranger has always terrified me, though it never got in the way of me going to bed with a man I just met. In all honesty, I enjoy every second of the night, until the following morning when the brief disorientation of waking up scares me and, against my will, a wave of regret and sadness replaces the fun from the previous night. I usually fight the feeling, but it always gets the best of me.

I have never had a steady relationship. I learned very early, how usable we all are, and how vulnerable you become, when you become attached to someone. Instead of being used, I became the one who uses others. In return, I offer a glorious night of pleasure to those who venture to be with me. It is a win-win deal, no hurt feelings on either side.

I don’t understand why and, frankly, I don’t care to. Waking up under the gentle stroke of Will’s steady hands made me yearn for some unknown crap.

The soothing music is gone and the only sound I hear is the silent humming of his airbrush gun swishing over my skin.

“What happened to the music?” My voice is raspy, longing.

“Every five or so songs, I have a fast-paced song on the playlist.” I notice when he stops the air brushing. “You know, to keep me awake. You slept so peacefully. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

The genuine concern in his voice breaks something inside me. I feel the absence of his hand and hear the wheels skidding on the wood floor. Music fills the room again. The calming beat of the song places me back at an idiotically relaxed state.

I open my eyes. My arms, tucked under the pillow, are numb. I turn my head to have a full view of him, and our eyes meet.

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness,” I say. “I was a tad tired. I did not get much sleep last night, and we have at least ten hours of filming after the tattooing. So, it was good to rest a bit,” I mumble.

He simply nods.

“How long was I out?” I ask.

“Over two hours. I just want to finish this line on your sides. Do you need a break?”

“No. I’m OK. Do what you have to do. I’ll stretch when you’re done,” I say.

“You not tired from sleeping in this position?” He gathers a small brush and his fingers are fast at work again. He seems relaxed and, for a moment, I want to keep it that way.

“You are kidding me?” I laugh a little. “I haven’t slept this well in a decade.”

“Are you hungry, thirsty?”

“A little of both,” I smile. He is trying to make small talk. Damn. Something changed when I was sleeping. “The jogging must have made me hungry; I’m not much of a breakfast person.” I watch him closely.

The fast strums of a guitar and the beat of drums blare from the speakers, and I feel the room vibrating.

“Your cue to stay awake,” I say and, without my full permission, my flirting tone is back.

He looks down at me and our eyes lock. There is a connection there. I can feel it. He wrenches his eyes away, breaking the intensity of the contact. Oh, he doesn’t like when I flirt. His thumb nervously spins the silver band on his finger. A pang of sadness strikes me. He is the faithful type. His wife holds something rare in her hands.

“The back and the sides are done,” he announces.

I sit. The blanket slides off my ass. Ignoring the horrendous gown that looks like a hospital gown, I stand up and stretch my stiff muscles.

I gather the gown, “I am going to use your bathroom. I will be right back.” I glance over my shoulder, and yes, his eyes are on my ass. Whether he likes or not, he is not as immune to me as he might want.

I am lost in the sway of her hips. I swear I cannot take one more minute of this ordeal. I have to change gears.

I tread across the street to pick up the breakfast I ordered from a deli. I need to rid my mind of her.

I hope she is OK with the food. Her father is a multimillionaire and her mother is a famous actress. Breakfast from your friendly local deli probably is not her usual menu.

According to tabloids, she is a snob, narcissistic, and self-centered. Nevertheless, she has earned a name for herself as one of the most acclaimed actress of this generation.

“Hey, Bert! Got my order?”

“What’s up, Will? Order for two, huh?” He smirks and hands me a brown bag and a tray with two coffees.

“Early client man, that’s all.” I hand him a twenty.

“This early, male or female?” He hands me the change. I glare at him.

“Just asking.” He smirks again.

If he only knew who has been lying naked on my table, his raging hormones would catapult to an unhealthy level. Bert is a nice guy, but he’s always thinking about sex. He will screw anything labeled female.

“Thanks, man.” I wave good-bye.

I stroll back to the shop, lock the door behind me, and keep the closed sign up.

Heading straight to my loft, I spot Portia standing by one of my paintings. It is a portrait of Mel.

I put the food and my cell on the table. She joins me, and I hand her a coffee. “I hope bacon, egg and cheese is OK.” I get the sandwiches out of the bag, and hand her one.

“Oh, it’s fine. Thank you.” She sits across from me.

We eat in silence for a moment. She nibbles at the sandwich, chewing slowly. Damn. She is sexy, even when she is eating.

“Mmm, this is delicious. I guess I was hungrier than I thought,” she says between bites.

“Good.” I try focusing on eating my own food, but she is so damn distracting.

The silent buzz of my cell grabs our attention. We both glance at the lightened screen.

“Excuse me.” I stand up, relieved for a reason to leave the room. Her heady presence is a potent aphrodisiac and I feel completed aroused.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

I overhear him as he strides into the shop for privacy. The door remains open so I can hear the conversation he is having with his wife. Before he answered the cell, I saw a photograph of them on their wedding day, flashing on the screen. He is taunting in a black tuxedo, and she is beyond beautiful in her white gown. She rests her head on his shoulder, and her eyes glimmer at the camera.

When I see their picture, a bothersome feeling sweeps through me and I try to understand. Jealousy? You have to be kidding me. I don’t do that kind of crap.

Suddenly I am dead tired. That’s messed up. I want this day to be done. I want to delete from my mind the intimacy I saw humming in between Will and his wife. I want to evict the sound of his voice, sweet and lovely, when he answered her call.

What the hell is with me today?

I need to taste him, that’s the only way to exorcise the aching burning inside my chest.

“Yeah, I am coming home today,” he says. “Really?” he goes on. “I’m sorry, baby; I guess your morning sickness is one of the bad ones. I promise a foot massage when I get home, ’K.” He pauses. “Listen, I’ve got to go, see you soon.” Another pause, “Love you too.”

He comes back, “Ready?” He tosses his unfinished sandwich in the trash can and glances at his watch.

“Sure.” I rise from my seat.

“I will have you out of here in no time.” He marches back toward the shop.

“Ouch, that eager to rid of me, huh?” I half joke, following him, and doffing the hideous gown as I go.

He comes to a halt, turns abruptly, and we are inches apart. Oh, yes, I grin inwardly. This is my only chance. I’ve learned one lesson in my vain existence: carpe diem.

With trembling fingers, I stroke the chiseled muscles of his chest. I stand on my tiptoes, my hands reach up, and I clasp his face, drawing him to me.

Our lips collide. His tongue hungrily skims over my lips, and then enters my open mouth, caressing my tongue, and intensifying the contact. Flames, his lips are set on fire.

He bends his knees, and his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. My body molds to his. He groans. The flames spread, consuming us.

We are all hands, touching. His taut lips slide across my cheeks as he kisses, bites, and sucks his way down my neck to my naked shoulder, and then he returns to my lips.

He pulls me closer. I feel his arousal against my abdomen. My heart pounds, my core muscles clench. His arms fasten around me so tight that I think he is going to break my ribcage.

I’ve never felt such a yearning for anybody before. Is it from the earlier tension or anticipation? Maybe both. This is beyond a physical urge; I want to obliterate the abyss of my soul.

Desperate for more of him, I reach for his belt. He perceives my intention, pulls away, and his long fingers grab my wrists and stop me. Breathing labored, he steps back, placing some distance between us.

I am flushed, I am needy, and, for a moment, the rejection stamped on his face makes me vulnerable.

His eyes burn into mine, revealing raw desire, but he takes a ragged breath, and wrenches his eyes away.

“This is a mistake.” He drops my wrists. “It is not worth it.” Shaking his head, he whispers to himself. Without another word, he marches to the bathroom, banging shut the door.

I grimace. My heart warps under the sting of his words. I know I am worthless, but it hurts like hell to hear it. Growing up, rejection from both my parents was so much more than an acquaintance. It was a constant. However, I have never been sexually rejected before.