Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (5 page)

Is he doing it on purpose?

He hands me the wine, turns to face me and offers a
toast. "To new beginnings ..." Strangely, as if on cue, we present
matching smiles.

"To new beginnings ..." But I so want to
say, ‘Look I know I was rude the other day ... but before I can get the words
out ...

"… You’ve managed to get here in one piece
without your glasses, I see." He seems to be finding something rather
amusing.

“Yes, who knew... just don’t ask me to read you
anything off the wine list."

What a stupid thing to say, why would he ask me to do
that …

"I’ll try to remember." He winks at me, so I
sip my wine and try to avoid those probing orbs of iridescent light.

I remember the flowers. "By the way, thank you
for the lovely bouquet and the Samuel Taylor Coleridge poem; that was a
surprising addition. It gave me something to think about." I’m feeling a
little braver and turn to engage him. "But I suppose that’s why you
included it?"

He refuses to be baited. "I’m glad you liked the
flowers and enjoyed the poem, it’s a favourite of mine and, before you ask, no
it’s not one I save for occasions like that. It was a one off, just for
you."

I try to stifle a smile. "I see. Then I’m very
flattered." Blown away would be nearer the mark. Nervously, I play with my
rings and prepare to make small talk. "So, how’s your day been, Mr.
Stone?"

I can’t believe I just said that.

"Pretty good, although I have to say it’s getting
better by the minute, and please call me Ayden."

I love the way those two syllables come together,
Ay-den …

When the bell sounds for the start of the play, I sigh
with relief. I’m fighting to hold onto my composure, and that’s virtually
impossible with my insides insisting on doing somersaults. “That’s a nice thing
to say, Ayden."

He leans into me and, startled, I tip back a little.
"What can I say, I’m a
nice
guy." He throws that out there,
just waiting for me to catch it.

"I don’t doubt it." I pull my lips together,
forcing myself to say no more, but Mr. Stone there’s so much more I could say
in response to that. You’re toying with me - again, "Do you come to the
West End often?"

Now I’m really scraping the barrel.

"Not as often as I’d like. What about you?"
He has me in his sights again.

"Not as often as I’d like, parking can be a
problem."

"Yes it can. But that can be said of so many
cities around the world. Thankfully, I don’t have
that
problem."

"Why, don’t you drive?"

His mouth twitches slightly. "I have a chauffeur
Beth, parking is his problem, not mine."

"Lucky you," I reply, much too tersely.

He broadens his smile in such a dangerous way it
almost causes me to fall of my chair. "Indeed, lucky me. I feel
very
blessed."

Now he’s teasing, making me laugh or is it a giggle?
He’s laughing softly too and his eyes are alight with amusement. I’m no expert,
but I think we just connected. Then again, what do I know? Either way, I’m
becoming more physically aware of him by the second. He’s doing something very
indecent to my libido.

I think I’m being seduced.

With a playful glint he massages his chin with his
forefinger, letting it roll in and out of that delicious dimple. "Maybe we
should carry out a kind of survey and check out the parking arrangement in
other cities?"

Is that a serious question?

With girlish enthusiasm I play along. "I hear
Rome can be quite congested."

"Well there we are, let’s go to Rome and
check." He stands and takes my arm.

Remaining seated, I offer a down turned smile.
"No, I can’t. I’m sorry."

"Why ever not?" He mimics my expression.

"It’s a school night."

"Of course,” he says, as if he should have known.
“Nevertheless, I hear Rome is nice this time of year."

I’m finding it impossible to conceal just how much I’m
enjoying his company and partaking in our silly conversation. In fact, I can’t
remember when I ever had this much fun with a man, with or without clothes on.

"Rome’s nice at any time of year,” I say
confidently. “Or so I’ve been told."

He ushers me towards the door, stopping to whisper in
my ear. "Then we’ll have to go."

Effortlessly, he takes my hand. With a spring in my
step I accompany him through one door and then another and up a flight of stairs,
until we enter a private box overlooking the stage. It’s red and plush and
beautiful.

"A box to ourselves? This is lovely Ayden."

He directs me towards the seat on the left overlooking
the stage while he moves towards the seat on the right, next to an ice bucket
with the neck of a rather expensive looking bottle of something sticking out of
it.

"Can I pour you a glass of champagne Beth?"
He asks with so much self-assurance it makes me think,
you’ve done this
before.

"Why not, you seem to be going to such a lot of
trouble on my behalf and, I have to say I’m a little taken aback." It’s
true, who does this?

"Believe me it’s nothing, I didn’t want to ...
overwhelm you." He considers his words carefully.

"Then you’ve succeeded. I’m flattered but not
overwhelmed." I flutter my eyelashes and dismiss the idea with a hand
gesture which makes us both smile.

"Good. Let’s watch the play and then we can get
to know each other."

With that, the curtain rises and I’m left with a full
glass of champagne and a brain working overtime, analysing the word ‘know?’

Does he mean in the Biblical sense?

Every so often I turn out of politeness to share a
moment and catch him studying me, but I’m so consumed by the events in the play
I let it go. I start to worry when the interval approaches at the end of Act 3
Scene 1. Both Mercutio and Tybalt are dead and my heart starts its relentless,
palpating reminder that I’m here with the most charming and seductive man on
the planet.

"What do you think of the production?" he
asks, moving closer to top up my glass of champagne.

I realise something … he knows this is my thing, he
wants me to feel comfortable around him, not squirming and simmering like
before; he wants to see the real me. I like that. "Well, I’ve seen this
company before and what they lack in experience they make up for in enthusiasm.
A lot of attention’s been paid to the fight scenes, with some improvisation,
but there just hasn’t been the right degree of sensitivity. The young
protagonists are teenagers, it’s their naivety and disregard for mature
decision making that brings about their tragic death, but I wish they were more
credible as star crossed lovers ... “

"… And breath." He has a glint in his eye
and my suspicions were right. He holds onto my fingers to steady my glass and
tops up my champagne. His hand feels hot to the touch, but not as hot as mine.

"I’m sorry, but you did ask," I respond,
innocently, forgetting myself and allowing my thumb nail to edge into my mouth.

"No, please continue." He removes my hand
from my mouth, places it on my knee and gestures for me to go ahead But I’ve
lost my nerve now.

"I like watching you when you’re not
self-conscious." He strokes my arm with the knuckles of his left hand and
I turn away, giving my body time to recover from the double dose of his touch.

Finding some semblance of self-control, I ask,
"Why do you like watching me?" I’m not sure I’m ready for his answer,
but I have to ask. He pins me in my seat with a look I cannot recollect ever
having to decipher before. I can’t look away.

"Why? Because I’m drawn to beautiful things Beth
and you are beautiful." He takes a dramatic pause. "What makes you
all the more desirable, is the realisation that you have no idea just how
lovely you are." Words leave his mouth smoothly like icing from a piping
bag, creating swirls in the air. He moves to stroke my arm again but he
rethinks his gesture when he sees my reaction.

"I think you’re toying with me Mr. Stone. I’ve
done my homework, and I’m not deluded enough to think you’re being entirely genuine
when you say things like that to someone like me. They’re fine words, but
please don’t ruin a wonderful evening. No games." He wants me to find my
voice and here it is.

There’s a serious look! "You think this is a
game? What would be my motivation?"

"Motivation?" Here goes nothing. "To
seduce me, I suppose." The words leave my lips like droplets of water on
blistering metal and he seems to visibly sizzle before me.

"I see." He contemplates his next question,
leans into me and studies my face for clues. "Do you want to be
seduced?"

Of course I do, yes please.

His stare burns through me like hot lava, and I’m
beginning to ignite: he’s started a fire in me. "I don’t know." I
return my attention to the stage.

      "Don’t look away, look at me!" He’s
stern and his tone is austere. He tips up my chin with his forefinger so I have
nowhere to hide. "I’ll only ask this once. What do you feel when you’re
with me, I need to know?"

How can I begin to explain? I inhale deeply and breath
him in. "I ... I’m nervous around you because you’re so handsome and I’m
not used to being around men like you." I pause nervously, unsure of
myself. “You’re very charismatic and the things you say to me and the way you
look at me is intense." I’m losing my nerve. "Y ... you make me sweat,
and I imagine doing things with you, but I know I can’t have you, and that
makes me think you’re being cruel by playing a game I have no hope of winning.
That’s how I feel." There I said it.

His mouth falls open and his eyes soften in response
to my confession. My honesty seems to have floored him. I feel his left hand
taking hold of mine, causing my breath to hitch slightly.

"I could see that in you Beth, that’s why I felt
compelled to send you the note and to invite you here tonight."

I shake my head from side to side. "That’s all
very well Ayden but it’s a pointless exercise." I wriggle my hand free,
put down my champagne flute and prepare to take my leave. "I’ve carved out
a life for myself here and it suits me. There was a time when I thought I
wanted more but ..."

He’s nodding, no. "But you and me Beth. We’re the
same."

I stand to leave. "I think you’re confusing me
with someone else."

"I don’t want anyone else, Beth." He takes
me by the wrist and eases me back. "Sit down … please. Let me
explain." There’s a gentleness to his voice, and it beckons me.

Obediently, I sit.

"You’re a strong willed person Beth, but like me
you’re cursed."

I attempt to speak but he places his fingertips over
my lips and I resist the temptation to open my mouth and taste them.

"We’re both attractive individuals, people are
drawn to us. I use my sexuality in so many ways, I always have and that’s my
weakness, you know that. I know no other way. But you, you’re much smarter. You
conceal your beauty behind unflattering clothes, untamed hair and glasses you
don’t need, just so people will look beyond the exterior and see the beauty
within."

My mouth must be making that O shape again. I feel his
thumb touching my cheek to wake me from my daydream.

"But I can see beyond all that Miss Parker and I
see you as you really are: smart and sexy as hell. I WANT YOU."

The words are tumbling from his mouth but I’m not
processing them, I’m descending with each syllable. I only hear the word
‘curse’; but he doesn’t know me, he can’t know the nature of my curse. He
thinks I’m concealing beauty? I’m hiding much more than that.

He reaches over and slides his left hand behind me,
taking hold of my neck while positioning his other around my waist, until it is
outstretched across the small of my back. What’s he doing?

"You see me for what I am, so I have a
proposition for you." Gently, he pulls me towards him and I can’t help but
arch my back and lean in his direction.

I try to speak.

"Don’t speak," he urges. "Let me show
you how I feel."

Tenderly, he tips my head over to the left; he’s
kissing my throat, his kisses are soft and land like snowflakes on my skin.
He’s moving to my ear and wrapping his tongue around my ear lobe, making the
muscles in my groin tighten. I open my mouth to take in air and his lips find
my neck, my chin and hover over my face, only brushing my parted lips on their
voyage of discovery. I’m swept away.

My God!

Both of his hands are gripping my chair and dragging
me forcefully towards him, finding the shadows at the back of the private box.
He’s slipping his knee between my knees and taking my face in his strong, hot
palms.

"Open your eyes," he orders. "Tell me
what you see ..."