I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) (9 page)

Thursday

A Week Later

Fashion
Week Madness; It’s day one and Bryant Park has been transformed into a circus
of style. It’s a beautiful thing. Huge tents have been erected and centered in
the park. The entrance, complete with red carpet, is on 6th Ave. Paparazzi are
everywhere because celebrities are everywhere, wearing clothes that cost enough
to feed a nation. Don’t hate them though. Those clothes are often given to
them. Er…okay…you can hate them. But truly, the clothes are given to them by
the designers, so when they show up in a magazine, the designer is attached to
the article, and voila – money falls from the sky as people buy up their
clothing.

I’m
standing behind stage at DVF, watching the models get made up by some of the
most talented makeup artists in the world. Diane Von Furstenberg is fabulous.
She’s sophisticated. Confident. Beautiful. A total powerhouse. I can’t help but
stare at her as she directs her staff, telling them how she wants the hair on
this one, pin up this dress on that one, forget about those slacks – use
these, etc…

“Jessica!”
The Bitch hisses at me.

I jump in
the air. She always scares the shit out of me, but now that I slept with her
ex, I am fucking terrified. I’m walking around barefoot on broken designer
glass, waiting to get fired, skinned, or both.

“YeswhatI’mherewhatWHAT?”
I sputter, incoherently (that’s not a typo).

Her eyes
bulge like Cruella Deville’s and her manicured nails point at a spot right in
front of her. “Come HERE!”

My
walkie-talkie headphones almost fall off my head as I sprint over in my heels.
I want so badly to end the suspense. Just fire me already!!! I slept with your
ex in the handicapped bathroom and then he bathed me until I came. I know. I’m
a horrible person! Make it go away. Make it please please please, go away!

Out loud
I vomit, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry! So sorry. Yes? What do you need? I can do
anything. What. What.”

 
“There’s a chair out there that does not
have goody bag on it!”

I blink.
“Um. A chair? One chair?”

“Yes! How
did the minions miss it? I need you on top of this!”

 
“Maybe someone, I don’t know…took it?” I
suggest, slowly.

She
whisper-yells at me, because she doesn’t want DVF to see her lose her cool.
“THEN REPLACE IT!”

“Yes. You
got it. I’m on it. You can count on me. Yep. I’m on it.” I hear that I’m
shamelessly kissing her ass… and I want to shoot myself.

She
doesn’t wait for an answer. She flips on her heel, perpetual ponytail
threatening to knock over Delaware, and leaves through the curtain.

I take a
deep breath. Okay, so… still not fired.

The
minions are our magazine interns, college students just out of high school who
want to be in the fashion business, who want to be yelled at, like I am yelled
at every day. We call them minions. We probably shouldn’t, but we do. They need
to earn it, she says. I should warn them that working in this industry isn’t as
glamorous as they think, but I’m certain they wouldn’t listen anyway. And it
does beat a lot of other jobs. I get free stuff sometimes. I get to go to cool
parties. I’m backstage at Fashion Week. That’s pretty fabulous.

Is it
enough? Right now… I’m not so sure.

I call
out on my walkie-talkie that I need a goody bag brought to DVF, “STAT.” I exit
through the same curtain she did and arrive where the show is due to take
place. As I walk by the runway, dark and waiting for show time, I see the
hordes of photographers practically getting into fistfights over positions. But
that’s not my problem. My problem is that one little goody bag went missing.
This is my life.

Our
magazine wants to cover this season’s best shows with these bags, so that we
can market ourselves to fashion’s elite – and they will all be at DVF’s
show. Every chair has a goody bag, as far as I can tell. Maybe on the other
side? I walk around, scanning until I finally see it near the pitch black
curtain at the very end of the riser. One empty chair waits, lonely and longing
for it’s little taupe-colored bag full of Bumble and Bumble Hair Products,
Dermalogica Skin Smoothing Cream, and – the jackpot - Stella McCartney
perfume.

“Where’d
your bag go, little chair? Huh? Where’d it go?” I ask it, like I’m talking to a
child.

“Someone
stole it,” answers a deep man-voice behind me.

I spin
and see James standing there, looking handsome as hell.

“James!”

He
balances, like a basketball, one of our taupe-colored goody bags on his index
finger. “Hi. Lose something? I heard you on the walkie and hijacked this from
an intern.”

“She
calls them minions,” I say and then add, “So I call them minions, to keep the
waves nice and lowwww.”

“But
she’s not a very nice person… remember?” He is referring to our last
conversation where he told me why they broke up. How could I forget? “Is she
why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Have I
been avoiding you?” I ask, looking stupidly innocent. There is no way he’s
buying this look on my face. I have a pretty innocent Midwestern face, though.
So, maybe?

“Yes. You
have.” He puts the bag on the empty chair. Problem solved. No screeching
required. “Hey Jess, guess what I found,” he asks with a mischievous smile.
Those blue eyes of his are ridiculously hard to not to drown in. I think he may
even be better looking than Matt Bomer. Is that possible? I’d have to stand
them next to each other. Naked. With me in the middle. Also naked. Mmmm.

I forget
entirely my fear of being fired, and tilt my head down so I can look at him
from underneath my long eyelashes. They’re one of my greatest flirting assets.
Thank you, Grandma. “I’m really bad at guessing.” I say with a tiny suggestive
smile.

His eyes
darken and he takes me by the hand and drags me behind a curtain, as I scan the
room to make sure no one sees. We end up in a small space that seems to be
designated for storage; extra chairs, lights and a big stack of extension
cords, a couple trash cans, abound. I gasp as he yanks me to him and wraps his
arms around me. Looking down at me he says, “Now you can’t get away, like you
have at the office all week.”

“James. I
can’t. She…”

“Shh…”
His finger silences me. He searches my eyes. I can feel the heat of his breath.
The audience will be taking their seats any minute now, on the other side of
the curtain. We’re both aware of this. I should go. I start to pull away but he
tightens his hold and says in a deep rough whisper, “I know you could get
fired. I know I could get fired, too. She could talk to everyone in town and
make our lives a living hell. But this thing we’re doing is driving me insane.
And the fact that you’ve been avoiding me is making it worse. Didn’t you have
fun with me? Did I do something wrong?”

“I did!
No, I had a great time. You’re amazing. It’s just…” What is it again? I can’t
think with the scent of him turning me on like it is.

“Jessica.
Seriously. I can’t stop thinking of ways to get you away from everyone, so I
can attack you. I’m thinking about the way you kiss, the feel of your skin, if
you have anything on underneath this. I’m barely hanging on here and when I
heard you on the walkie asking for a stupid goody bag… I
wanted
to let the intern get it. But my legs wouldn’t listen. Just
like the rest of my body isn’t listening to me right now. I want you. Please
don’t say no.”

His mouth
is on mine and I’m unable and unwilling to stop him. My body isn’t listening to
my mind either, truth be told. It doesn’t care that he could be bad for my
career. It doesn’t care that I could be throwing everything away that I have
worked for, in this moment. I am answering his impatient kisses, the pressure
of them on my lips. I can feel his raging, throbbing cock and all I want to do
is climb on it, use it. Hide on it. He forcibly pulls me tighter to him, almost
bruises me as he breathes into my mouth, kissing me hungrily. I love this, it
makes me know that he’s stronger than me, that I can be soft. Gasping, I kiss
him back passionately.

He grins
and flips me around and bends me over an abandoned chair, where he pulls my
dress up over my ass, exposing my pink panties. Yeehah! He rips my panties
right off. I gulp and feel myself get wetter in an instant. A tiny, tiny voice
inside me whispers I shouldn’t be doing this. Someone could walk in! Fuck ‘em.
I spread my legs a little wider and hear him swiftly unbuckling his belt and
unzipping his pants. God help me. I want him.

His right
hand grips my hip, holding me there, making sure I don’t move. It orders me to
obey, which is so fucking hot. I love a commanding man and my breath catches in
my throat as I wait. I don’t look back, because I like the suspense. It excites
me. When he surprises me by sliding his thick index and middle fingers into me,
I have to work very, very hard to silence the purring moan coursing through my
veins. We can hear the chatter of people just outside. They’re taking their
seats now to watch a highly respected show, they don’t hear us, ten feet away
and hidden, his fingers turning me on and making me deliriously wet. Those
people outside have no idea what they’re missing! I shamelessly move my hips,
help him bury those beefy, manly fingers deeper into me. Yes…

In one
slick gliding motion, he slaps a condom on (I’ve never seen a guy who can do it
faster than James), grabs onto my hips with both hands and drives his
steel-hard cock into me. The pulsing sensations of his full, throbbing cock are
sweet luxury. I can feel him growing harder with each animal thrust as he grips
onto my hips. I want to scream out. Tell him to fuck me harder; the fact that I
can’t, makes me want to do it more. I bite my tongue and force myself into
silence. The desire travels inward and unleashes on my senses. I can’t see
anything but the swaying walls in front of me. With one last plunging thrust he
takes me to heaven where I am exploding my release all over the shaft of him.

He
collapses onto my back, lungs vibrating, heaving as he hurries to separate us,
and pulls me up to a standing position. He turns me around, dazed. With my eyes
hooded and unfocused, I watch him as he pulls my panties out of his pocket,
where he must have put them. Interesting. He reaches under my dress and uses
them to clean me, spreading my legs a bit with his knee, because I’m not
capable of doing anything right now. I smile at him and he smiles back, two
people held together by a secret. There’s a trashcan in the corner so I think
he’s going to toss my crumpled little underwear there, but he tosses the
condom, and puts my panties back in his pocket with a wider smile, before he
zips back up his pants and buckles his belt. What a dirty boy. I kind of love
that he wants them.

“At least
this time your mouth isn’t going to give you away,” he whispers, looking so
handsome.

“Well
they can’t see one of them,” I whisper back.

“You
didn’t just say that,” he chuckles.

I smile.
“Oh, I did.”

His
gorgeous blue eyes get serious, “Don’t ignore me again.”

Then he
turns and leaves. Just as I hear the show beginning! We can’t leave together… I
get it. But what do I do now? Do I have to wait in here until it’s over? There
is no way I can wait here until the show is over. I have to get out here. I’m
supposed to be sitting next to The Bitch. There is no way around this. Somehow
I have to get out there without being seen. I should have left before he did,
but I was too gone to be sensible!

Think,
Jess. Think.

I can
maybe sneak out? This is the best idea I’ve got. I peak through the side of the
curtain and see the models to my left, beginning their strut down the runway.
The Theater is very dark except for the lit stage, but my trained eyes can see
The Bitch on the other side of it, in the first row, where she always sits.
There is an empty space next to her. An empty space that is waiting for my ass
to be in it.

I’m off
to her right, so I wait until she looks to her left to watch a model stroll
down the end of the stage. Now I make my move. I dash out and see an empty
chair in the first row. It’s opposite her, but I can act like I’ve been there
all along. Just as her head starts to turn back to see the next girl, I slam
into the chair, and look nonchalantly at the show as if I’ve always been there.
I’m looking ridiculously casual now, with one leg slung over the other. My hands
are on my knees like I’m a good girl and not someone who just got fucked by her
ex in some weird little room behind a curtain.

Dare I
look at her? With my head still cocked casually, I look across the stage with
just my eyes, and BAM. She’s staring right at me! Her demon-eyes scowl and with
one scissor-sharp index finger, she points at the empty chair next to her, just
before a model’s leg blocks my view of her face for a blessed moment. That face
she just gave me? It’s the face my mother used to use. That one that says very
clearly that I had better get over there. NOW.

I get up,
say excuse me as I block people’s views of another fabulous gown, while I
walk-run. As I round the end of the stage, about fifty thousand photographers,
cameras poised and clicking in my direction, get pissed off because I am now
between them and the stage. I sprint out of their way as they maul me with
whisper-hissed swear words. I want to flip them off, but really, I’m the one at
fault. A few steps more and I finally collapse into the chair by her side,
panting. Again.