“I want you so much,” I whisper.
She turns, searching for my mouth, and I kiss her. She fists my shirt in her hands, pulling it up and placing her palm against my bare stomach. I groan deeply, and my hands slide under her ass. I lift her against my chest, and her legs go around my waist. Our kisses are wildfire, fast-moving, lips pulling, hungry for something more. Something just within reach.
She moves subtly against my waist, and the blood rushes downward. I’m hard and she’s riding me, stroking my erection with her crotch.
“Lara,” I groan.
Her lips still, and she holds my cheeks, looking into my eyes. “That night on the catwalk… The way you looked at me…”
My brow collapses at the memory. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I only want you to see me.”
Her lips are pink and swollen from my kisses. I lean forward and kiss her again, tasting her like she’s water in the desert. She exhales a little noise, and it’s a charge straight to my cock.
I love her lips. I love her mouth. I want more. I want all of her.
“Does your waist hurt?”
She leans forward, running her nose along my jaw. “Nothing hurts. Everything is amazing.”
My mind races through the possibilities. Terrence is at my place. All the people are here. Fuck, I don’t have anywhere to take her, but I’ll be damned if our first time is standing in this lobby.
“Here.” I ease her to her feet. We’re both breathing hard, and she’s still in my arms. “I have to sort some shit out.”
Her lip goes between her teeth. “You have to work tonight. Up there… with Vanessa.”
She seems to be retreating, misunderstanding my meaning. I catch her waist and pull her to me again. “What?”
She shakes her head and holds my arms, stepping out of them. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t assume.”
Desperation tightens my chest. “Stop.” My voice is sharper than I intend, but it works. She stops moving away. “I couldn’t be less interested in anyone—”
“Don’t. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Lara.” I catch both her cheeks in my hands. Ocean eyes meet mine, and I kiss her with all the heat smoldering in my skin.
A little noise comes from her throat, and she covers my hands with hers, clinging to them a moment before pulling her lips away. Still, I hold her gaze. “Just give me time. I’ll work it out.” I slide my palm along her velvety, pink cheek. “This is going to happen.”
She takes her hands from mine and jogs to the door leading into the theater. I don’t chase her. I can’t with the raging hard-on in my pants. Leaning my head against the wall, I close my eyes and relive what just happened.
Even if she pulled back, that was real. No way am I letting her get away, and no fucking way am I letting her think anybody else is on my mind.
Pushing my hand down the front of my jeans to adjust myself, I head for the door. I’ve got to work out these details so when the next opportunity arises, I can take it.
8
“We can’t escape ourselves.”
Lara
I have lost my mind.
Jogging to my dressing room my body vibrates with the heat of being in Mark’s arms. My brain is drunk on his delicious kisses, and my heart is flying in my chest. It’s amazing. I don’t have to hide my true self from him, and I don’t have to act.
He held my hand and told me to breathe. He kissed me and made me laugh. I’ve never felt so light and free and happy…
Stopping at the back door, I close my eyes and relinquish the fight. I think of his lips at my ear and the crack in his voice when he said he wanted me. My insides clench, and I remember how we touched.
Riding him, sliding my body against the steel rod in his jeans, I was on fire. Now I ache to finish what we started. I’ve never felt this way before… not even about Roland. I was a little girl then, dreaming of him writing songs for me and being my boyfriend.
Now I’m a woman, and I’m dreaming of Mark as my lover. I imagine his hands on my breasts, his mouth everywhere.
A loud crash makes me jump. Speak of the devil, Roland bangs through the metal side door and stops when he sees me. He walks to where I’m standing, facing the door to the backstage rooms.
“Hey… I didn’t expect to see you here.” Dark eyes search my face. “Feel like going over some of the new songs?”
“Not really.” My voice cracks, and his gaze fixes on my mouth.
My lips are warm and throbbing from Mark’s kisses, and I know he sees it.
“Ahh…” He steps back, turning to face the empty house. “I passed Mark out on the street just now. He seemed different somehow. Happy.”
“Really? I wonder why.” I’m trying to keep my voice light and failing.
“He’s a good-looking guy. Brave… Heroic even.” He starts across the stage, headed to the opposite door. “It’s too bad he doesn’t have any money. Or connections.”
Roland continues up the aisle and out the door, leaving me alone. I read his message loud and clear. I need to get my head straight.
Even if all I can think about are Mark’s full lips, his broad shoulders, the promise in his jeans… Roland is right. I shouldn’t be thinking about men in this place, or if I do, my thoughts should be on Freddie.
Before Molly even opens her eyes the next morning, I’m up and pulling on my jeans and a black sweater. I spent yesterday running around the city with Mark, but I can’t afford to be so careless today.
I’m out the side door and jogging up the alley in the direction of the library before the clock even hits ten. Stopping at a coffee truck, I use a few of our dollars to get a café au lait and a scone, then I hurry to catch the streetcar heading uptown to Loyola University, using another dollar for the short trip.
When I reach Tulane Avenue, I hop off and toss my trash in a green metal bin before jogging up the steps of the public library. The building smells like pine cleaner and old books. The crowd is light for a Saturday—teens wearing braces and glasses, a young guy carrying a backpack—and I consider how there’s a whole different world outside the twelve-block radius beside the Mississippi River that defines my life.
People here go to school. They have jobs and families. They worry about gas bills and tuition payments and who’s running for President. The math of tickets sold or nights in review or the density of glitter on a thong… the details of my strange existence are light-years from this place. I’m a foreigner trying to belong here.
I find an open computer and sit down, holding my library card under the red scanner until it beeps, giving me access. Minutes pass as the cursor blinks in the white rectangle waiting for me to search for something. Anything…
I consider Mark’s question. What do you want to do?