Pearl on Cherry (5 page)

“And when the door is opened, and the breeze sweeps in, she stole his breath, and all torment ends.” She took a quick, fortifying breath, and this time, she showed her lower range. My Lord in Heaven, this was torture on his throbbing manhood. It was even worse than hearing her higher pitches. She kept going. “Lips are parted, words exchanged, but the heart . . . Oh, the heart, it will always remain. It will haunt and squeeze, the tears will be shed, but even as they kiss, his soul will detain.”

Her eyes burned into him as she dropped her head, staring at him through her lashes.

His body reacted by going through each of the bodily descriptions she mentioned in her lyrics.

It was like she grabbed his soul out of him and strung it up on the ceiling of the carriage. He was inexplicably raw, and he had never wanted to plunge into a woman more than this in his entire adult life.

As a gentleman of thirty-six years, he should know how to deal with these types of feelings, but he was at a loss for how to react.

Before he could think, he had his lips on hers, and she was opening her mouth to him.

He pinned her up against the cushions, then pushed her down to lying back.

His fingers quested after her tight cunt, but she pushed his hands away, making sure to keep him out of the man’s trousers she wore.

“No, no!” She turned to her side, and he kept her beneath him.

He sucked at her ear, then whispered, “By God, do I want you. And I don’t want for anything. I get what I desire, Cherry girl.”

“This cherry is not for sale, just as I did not give you my pearls for purchase. How well did that fare for you when you snatched at them? Instead of getting the whole strand intact, you took only one bead with you. I am much the same.” She turned her head to face his. “You can force yourself on me, but will you really have me?”

He blinked and shoved himself off her, feeling dirtier than he ever thought possible.

“Do you realize you are speaking to William Ber—”

“And do you realize you are speaking to no one of consequence—only a girl with a love for the stage, so she can hide away in plain sight? Why take that from me? Why get in my way?”

He grunted and dropped his head, taking a deep breath.

Did she have to smell so fragrant and luscious?

“I should care about what you want?” he asked, snorting. Why did his chest sting like she’d thrust a sword into his ribs? Why should he care about anything she thought or felt? He barely knew her.

“You do what you like, since I am sure that is what you are good at.” She began unbuttoning her shirt, looking resigned and completely miserable about it.

“You keep it on. When I take you, it will be because you beg for it, not because you lack choices.”

He pounded on the side of the carriage wall, then opened the window and shouted for him to stop.

She tensed, and her eyes filled with dread.

“Cherry girl”—his jaw tightened—“you get yourself home safely. Do
that
, and we shall talk again soon.”

He stepped out of the carriage and paid the driver even more to deposit her safely at her door.

Uncharacteristically, he tacked on at the end, “And if you so much as touch her—I shall dismantle you and this carriage, bit by aching bit.”

The man nodded, and William, for once in his life, walked home, rather than taking the luxurious option of being driven about at his whim.

Chapter 3

William was agitated and short-tempered. No matter what he did over the last two weeks since being in that carriage with the cherry girl, no matter which starlet he spoke to, he burned inside, aching for God knew what. He certainly did not know why he was so cantankerous, barking at everyone he was near. His knuckles kept popping as he made unrelenting fists at no one in particular.

She was ignoring him.

She hated him.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye while she toiled away off to the side of the stage.

She never looked at him, and she acted like he didn’t exist.

Fine. He had things to do. He was busy, dammit.

Only . . . His eyes flitted over to her once more.

She was bent over a prop, cleaning it with a rag.

That damn cherry girl thought he’d meant to take her against her will in that carriage ride.

Maybe if he explained.

Wait. He didn’t explain himself to anyone. He was William Berling Ferrismore III—a man of privilege and means.

He could have taken hold of her womanly flesh if he had wanted to without anything ill befalling him afterward.

But why would he do that? Forcing himself on a woman was not his way. And why did he still care all these days later what she thought about him?

He had plenty of women at his disposal. Surely he could find one somewhere that would be all too happy to bend over and suck it for him if he told them to. But she . . .

He swiped his hands down his face for the hundredth time today.

She did not want him. Why did that burn so badly?

His head ached as he cast one more fleeting glance at her.

Did she never smile?

She seemed so sullen back there and lonely.

His cherry girl should be singing and smiling.

His
? Cherry girl? When had she become
his
?

Probably since he started following her home from a distance after she left the theater over the last two weeks.

There were protesters. They might cause her trouble.

Only no one ever seemed to cause her trouble. She had a saucy mouth on her if they tried.

He knew this himself.

His cock twitched as if in agreement.

God, she was driving him mad.

“One more time!” he yelled at Lenora. “Do it properly this time. Make sure you enunciate.”

Lenora scowled at him, huffed, then did it once more.

It was better, but only slightly. Until the end note when she went off-key.

The damnable woman was not meant for those high, sustained notes.

He raked his hands through his hair. “No, no, no! Lenora—sing out! I can barely hear you, and I am seated in the front row!” He pounded his right fist into his left palm. “Pitch, pitch, pitch! You must concentrate.”

He could have sworn there was a small twist in Cherry girl’s lips as she kept cleaning in the background.

“Why are you even here? You never attend rehearsals,” Lenora said, her hands on her curvy hips.

His eyes jerked to the side. Cherry girl was sweeping something up, and dammit it all straight to the inferno of hell, she was singing to herself.

Why did he die inside to hear her sing again?

What was this monstrous pain pinching worse than ever in his ribs? Would it ever go away?

He’d been dealing with it for half a month now, and this was unacceptable.

“You, girl!” He snapped his fingers at Cherry. “Get over here on stage this instant.”

She ignored him and pretended like she was busy.

“I said, servant girl, you are needed,” he repeated at a deafening level so she would have to acknowledge him addressing her.

Still, no response.

Lenora rolled her eyes and laughed, evidently thinking Cherry girl beneath her own singing skills.

William jumped up onto the stage, stalked toward Cherry, startling her when he gripped her behind the elbow.

She yelped when he dragged her out to the center of the stage. Her hands batted at his, and she struggled to get away.

He leaned into her ear when he deposited her where he wanted her. “Impress me. Sing loud and clear. The song you sang me in the carriage.”

Cherry’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Now, ma petite, or I shall humiliate you beyond what you can handle.” He squeezed the back of her elbow, then let go.

She stood, wooden, and her eyes were big and blank.

“Sing so Lenora can hear what a voice should sound like on the stage.” He smirked, hopped off the stage and went to the back wall. “I want to hear you from here.”

Cherry pulled her shoulders back, and she began the first song she’d shared with him.

It was timid, but still louder than Lenora.

“Louder, and not that song—the other one. The tawdry love affair song,” he shouted.

Her eyes flew open really wide, but Lenora’s were wider as she gasped and feigned mortal offense.

“How have you heard her sing?” Lenora asked him, shouting so he could hear her.

“None of your concern,” he answered, then went right back to focusing on the woman that actually had talent and made his stones tighten in his trousers. “Cherry girl! Sing like you did before. Show them what you can do.” He waved in the air, encouraging her.

Cherry smoothed her hair back, clasped her hands at the level of her pubis, and then she began.

Her voice was smooth as silk on water and warmer than any bath he’d ever dunked his aching body into. She gave him delicious chills that raked up and down his arms. He had to cross them over his stomach that was knotting inside.

My God, she was breathtaking when she was singing.

Only . . . these words were different.

They were less tender and loving, and a little more erotic.

Was she trying to spite him and make a mockery of him?

“Laid bare and full of love, he took her as he grasped her hair. She wore his cravat across her feet, bound to him and could not speak. If she but were a maid again, would he love her? Would he love her? Or doth he take what is not his because he can? Does he love her? Does he love her? It is in vain to open arms, to a man that cannot see. He will bind her, yes, he’ll bind her, but she will never be truly right and free.” Cherry stared straight at him.

What the fuck was she saying? Was she supposed to be talking about him? Was this some hidden message?

He hadn’t taken her and
she
had bound
him
, not the other way around, much to his dismay.

Well, at the time he was too shocked and aroused to do much about it, mostly because he was curious what she would do.

Now, as his cock throbbed and pulsed with anger and sheer lust, he slapped his hand on the wall.

“Sing Lenora’s part now. Show her how loud she must be!” He waved again.

Cherry glared at him but did as he asked, only louder this time.

Dear Lord, she was clear as water in a glass. Her throat was open, her head lifted and he could hear her as well as he had in that carriage when she’d been only three feet in front of him.

How was she able to do this without proper training?

At the end of the song, she dropped her voice an octave, though that was not how the song was meant to be. Her range quickly climbed as the song swelled, and it was so impressive hearing her go from that low, throaty sound to that high-pitched, sweet, aching, tormented sound, that his toes were actually curling on him.

Damn. She was too alluring.

He closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of her tiny waist, her ample breasts and her flaring hips.

“This is absurd! Too showy. The song does not go like that,” Lenora said, then she broke into the song without accompaniment, and it sounded god-awful.

Birds sounded better than that when he shot a bullet through their side.

“Stop that infernal caterwauling!” William stomped toward the edge of the stage, but Cherry girl was gone once he arrived at that spot. “Where did she go?”

A few shrugs were tossed his way, then mostly blank stares.

Lenora was no help as she looked affronted at his insults.

“We are changing the parts.” He pointed at Lenora. “Only acting for you. No singing. We will put a wig on her, and she will double for you whenever you sing.”

“I will not leave the stage for that! People will know it’s not me!” Lenora pointed back, stabbing her finger in the air at him with each vehement word. “You are not the director. You do not have a say in this!”

He turned on her, teeth bared. “I am the producer. I pay for this shitty place to exist, so you will do as I command!”

She stomped off the stage, and he turned to the director. “Allen, you do as I say. She will not sing. People will demand their money back if we allow her to do that.”

“Perhaps if we had that other lady sing off stage, maybe behind the curtains and Lenora just mouthed the words?” Allen suggested.

“Perhaps. We shall see what they are both capable of.” William went after the cherry girl, searching everywhere.

Once more, she had vanished.

This girl was better at hiding than she was at singing, and that seemed damn near impossible.

* * *

Clarissa strode down the street, never pausing for anything.

She needed to be away from that hideous man. Well, not hideous on the outside.