Loved by You (16 page)

Exhaling happily, she tried not to wiggle as she wondered which article of clothing he was going to take off first.

“Want to go first?” he asked.

“Okay.” Grinning, she turned her cards over, showing her hand. “Top that.”

“Okay.” He flipped his.

A straight flush.

She frowned. “How the hell did you do that?”

He shrugged. “Just luck, I guess.”

Disgruntled, she sat up on her knees and defiantly took her top off, revealing the green and black bra. She smiled with satisfaction as his eyes popped. Good—let him be distracted.

“You wore the lingerie I bought you,” he said, his voice deeper with desire.

“Yep.” She dealt the cards.

“The panties, too?”

“Yep.” She flashed him an evil grin.

“Have mercy,” he murmured as he picked up his cards.

Half an hour later, they were
in it
. He only had on his jeans and she was down to the panties in question.

As she was about to put down the last card on the river, she looked at Chance. He hadn’t looked at his cards yet. “Aren’t you going to peek at them?”

“No, I’m taking this one on faith.” He grinned. “The way I see it, I’ve been a really good boy this year. I’ve got a reward coming to me.”

Eyes narrowed, she dropped the last card.

He flipped his cards over. “A flush,” he said, sounding surprised.

“Damn it.” She threw her cards in the middle and glared at him.

Leaning against the couch, Chance spread his arms. “You know the unexpected benefit of this?”

“What?”

“I get to hear you play naked.” He grinned wolfishly. “It’s like Christmas and my birthday all wrapped in one.”

Grumbling she stood up and shimmied out of the underwear, tossing it at him. “Happy?”

He caught it in one hand and twirled it around his finger. “Almost.”

She glanced at her piano. Normally, she saw it like her best friend—always there and a constant support. Right now she was having a love/hate relationship with it.

Chance wasn’t going to let her off the hook for this, so she may as well rip the Band-Aid off. Taking a deep breath, she stood on nerve-wobbly legs and made her way to the bench.

The wood was cold on her butt. She’d never played naked before. When she put her hands on the keys, they were shaking. “Was stripping me down to nothing your goal, or was it just a perk?”

“It’s metaphorically brilliant, isn’t it?”

She wondered if he was going to stay where he was or come lord it over her, but he leaned his chin on his fist, angling toward her, across the room. She exhaled, relieved to have a little space.

Her fingers touched the keys, but they were so jittery she couldn’t start. She felt the usual panic welling inside her chest, making it impossible to breathe. She closed her eyes, shaking her head, knowing she couldn’t do this.

A hand rested on her head, strong and steady. She opened her eyes and met Chance’s.

“KT, you could play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ and I’d love it,” he said softly. “Look me in the eyes and play just for the two of us. I’m going to love whatever you pick.”

“How do you know?” she managed to ask.

He cupped her face. “Because it’s from you.”

Staring into his eyes, she wondered if he’d really feel that way even if she played a crappy version of a children’s song.

Yes, he would. Her gut knew that with unwavering faith. Holding his gaze, her fingers trembling, she began her concert in the middle, the part that she’d written with the taste of him still on her tongue.

She faltered a note, and sweat broke out on her forehead, but his expression didn’t waver. He looked every bit as encouraging, as pleased, as enthralled as he did when they made love.

A hint of warmth spread through her. It was a familiar feeling—she always felt it when she played by herself. It wasn’t as soothing or strong as usual, and she still felt shaky, but she also felt stronger.

Grateful.

Swallowing her fear, she suddenly wanted him to
hear
it—to know how she felt about him. Holding his gaze, she played for someone other than herself for the first time ever.

Then she got to the last note and stopped abruptly. She had to try a few times before she could say, “I haven’t finished the rest of the song.”

He gaped at her. “You wrote that?”

She shrugged, dropping her gaze. It’d sucked—she knew it.

“Karma Taylor.” He leaned down until his eyes were the only thing that filled her field of vision. “You can change the world with your music.
That
is your purpose.”

“You’re being dramatic,” she murmured, trying to avert her gaze.

He wouldn’t let her. “People need to hear that beautiful music from your heart. Put it out yourself. Your music, your terms. You’ll be happy, and you’ll make a difference. It’s what you’re meant to do.”

Right. She shrugged. He didn’t know what it took to produce music. It wasn’t what she did.

Hauling her up, he set her on the keys, her ass making the piano protest in a jarring cacophony. He gripped her thighs, standing between them, and leaned into her. “Thank you.”

She felt him hard between her legs, and the residual fear began to melt away. “For?”

“That was a gift.” He ran his hands up the side of her legs to hold her waist. “I know you were paying a bet, but you played from your heart.”

Because she’d given him her heart, she realized with jarring clarity. But before she could process that any further, he kissed her with unrestrained passion.

“On the piano?” she asked when he leaned back to undo his jeans.

“Can you think of a more fitting place?”

She really couldn’t. She watched as he slipped a condom on and returned to her. Taking him in her arms, she held him close, pouring into her actions the same things she’d poured into her concerto.

He pulled her head back by her hair and kissed his way up her neck. “While you played, I felt like I was inside you,” he whispered in between kisses. “It was the same feeling I get every time we make love. Hot. Exciting. Soaring.”

Wanting him badly, she worked her hand between them, guiding him in.

They both moaned.

He pulled her forward, burying his head in the crook of her neck. He said nothing, but she felt like she knew everything he was thinking.

She wanted to sing the reciprocal thoughts to him.

She’d never had the urge before, but she wanted to sing her love to him. She wrapped her legs around him and clenched him in her arms, holding him close to her heart.

He plunged into her, holding her just as closely.

She wanted him to be there forever. She gasped with the feel of him moving in her, all the while wishing he was really hers. That their engagement was real. That she was his.

Only she couldn’t voice any of it.

But the piano sang her passion. It cried out with each thrust, reaching for its crescendo, sometimes happy, sometimes mournful.

“KT,” Chance groaned, gripping her hips tight.

It was a plea, and she unraveled the moment she heard it. She clasped him as he came, too, holding him close, where she wanted him to be forever.

Chapter Nineteen

Bijou checked her watch as she walked down Geary Street toward Britex Fabrics. Two minutes late. Rosalind would probably already be waiting for her.

Sure enough, Rosalind stood outside the store, her head bent over a notepad that she was scribbling on. Doodling, knowing her. She’d sketched fashion in her every spare moment from the time she’d been fourteen. The same way Bijou had scribbled down music.

She touched her purse where her small notebook was hidden away. After sitting on the pier with Will, she’d written down the snippet of words she’d heard in her head, which had magically become a refrain. She was late meeting Rosalind because on the way over, she’d had to pull over to jot down the melody that chased the lyrics—an echo of KT’s concerto.

She clutched her bag, afraid to hope that it was anything more than a fluke. After all, it’d been over a year since she’d written anything. She was hesitant to put much hope that it was the end of her drought, but it was a start.

A good start.

Rosalind looked up with a smile as she approached. “You’re almost on time.”

Bijou opened her mouth, intending to apologize, but she heard herself say, “I had an idea.”

Her best friend froze, her mouth gaping. “For a song?”

Swallowing thickly, she nodded.

“Oh, darling”—Rosalind caught her in a hug—”that’s wonderful. And about time.”

Bijou laughed shakily. “I love that you get it.”

“Of course I do, love. I’m an artist, too. I’m almost tempted to abandon this mission and go to Eno for a celebratory glass.”

“I noticed that you said
almost
.” Nothing deterred Rosalind when she was on a quest for the right material. Bijou opened the door to Britex Fabrics. “Speaking of celebrating, KT’s getting married.”

“To a man?” her best friend asked as they entered the store.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Bijou shrugged. “If you’d have asked me that a couple weeks ago, I’d have said no, but then seeing them together I’m pretty sure they are.”

Rosalind shook her head. “It boggles, quite frankly.”

“Tell me about it.” She brushed her hand along a bolt of fabric. “I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Rosalind headed to the back of the store, waving to the ladies manning the counter. “Do you like him? He’s not a user, is he?”

Bijou knew all about users. “Chance is nothing like Brice. He looks at her with his heart in his eyes.”

Rosalind stopped suddenly and whirled around. “Chance? And Karma?”

They burst out laughing, and Bijou felt the euphoria she’d felt since hanging out at the Ferry Building with Will bubble up again. Wiping her eyes, Bijou said, “I told KT if her first child was a girl, she should name her Destiny.”

“I wouldn’t have expected Karma to get married before you. Just goes to show that life is unexpected.” Rosalind went directly to a bolt of fabric and pulled it out to inspect it. She ducked her head, but there was something tight in her expression that was about more than finding the right fabric.

“What’s wrong?” Bijou asked.

“I heard from my father today.” She shoved the roll back in the wall and extracted another. “You know that never goes well.”

Rosalind and her father had a falling out years before, which was why Rosalind came to the states to pursue her design career. Rosalind’s relationship with him had never been good. Her stories of her father always made Bijou appreciate her own dad that much more. She often felt guilty for her relationship with Anson in her friend’s presence. “What did he want?”

A humorless smile twisted her lips. “What do you think? To control me.”

She touched Rosalind’s hand and made the offer she’d made countless times over the years. “Want to share my dad?”

“You’re sweet under your rock star exterior.” She decided against the fabric in her hands and moved on. “Do you think KT will let me design her wedding dress? It’d look fantastic in my portfolio to have done Anson and Lara’s daughter’s dress.”

“You know KT. As long as she doesn’t have to be involved.”

“How about you?” Rosalind looked at her with a clear gaze. “Are you ready to make your splash?”

“Yes,” she said with less confidence than she’d have liked.

“Liar.” She smiled and hugged Bijou with one arm. “You’re going to be great. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You were born to do this.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”

“That’s what vodka is for, love.” With an excited gasp, she yanked a shimmery bolt out of the wall. “
This one.
”

The material was red and glittery, catching the light and winking flirtatiously back. Bijou touched it, surprised by its supple softness. “Someone wants a red wedding dress?”

“Don’t be daft. This is for you.”

“For me?” She blinked at the material.

“For your performance next week.” She pulled it out the rest of the way and tucked it under her arm. “I know I’m cutting it close, but it took me longer than usual to come up with a design. I wanted it to be perfect.”

Tears clouded her eyes, and she blinked to clear them. “You don’t have time to make me a dress.”

Rosalind looked at her like she said she liked to eat babies. “I always have time for you, Bijou. Especially when you need me.”

“And that’s now?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yes, of course. You look like you’re holding it together, but you’re a mess on the inside. But you have nothing to worry about. You wrote music today.”

“Just the refrain,” she pointed out.

“That’s how it starts, love. First one line, then another. And this dress I’m making for you”—she pointed at the fabric—”is your armor. You can’t fail. The world will see you as you’re meant to be seen, and you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted.”

That was why she loved Rosalind. She grabbed her friend and squeezed her tight. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, but don’t strangle me.”

Laughing and wiping under her eyes, she let go. Rosalind went to the counter and asked for a length of fabric, chatting amicably with the shop lady as the woman cut the swath of fabric.

Rosalind wouldn’t even let Bijou pay for the fabric, saying it was her part in helping her succeed the same way Bijou had helped her when she first started her business. Outside, Rosalind turned to her. “Is it time for that glass of wine? Or a cappuccino? The Nespresso café is just down the way. “

Bijou looked at her watch. “I have to go. I need to work out and then I have to get ready. For a date, before you begin interrogating me.”

Rosalind frowned. “With whom?”

“A guy. Just a guy,” she clarified.

“You’re holding out on me.” Her friend frowned. “This isn’t normal. What’s wrong with him?”

He was a musician but no way in hell was she telling Rosalind that. “Nothing. I told you, he’s just a guy.”

“I don’t believe you.” Rosalind leaned in. “You like him, don’t you? Is he the reason you were inspired?”

“Would I glom on to another man like that again, after what happened with Brice?” She kissed her friend’s cheeks. “Thank you! I’ll call you.”