L.A. Fire (10 page)

  He leaned closer, gently stroking
my cheek. “I’ve already seen it,” he said quietly.

  I instantly pulled away and
sprang to my feet. He grabbed my arm, and yanked me back down on the couch. I
started squirming in his grip. “Let go of me,” I said, angry and desperate.

  “No,” he said, stilling me,
wrapping me safely in his arms. “I’m not letting you go like this,” he
said,  holding me tightly and stroking my hair.

  I started sobbing, and still
struggled. Just then, the waitress came by with the champagne and gave us a
peculiar look. “Is everything okay?” she asked, eyeing me carefully.

  “We’re fine,” Julian said
sternly. She looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded, quickly getting a
hold of myself. The last thing I needed was to make another public spectacle.
She popped open the cork, and poured a tiny bit into one of the flutes. “No
need for the taste test,” Julian said. “I’m sure it’s fine.” She shrugged her
shoulders, filled up both flutes, and left quickly.

  Julian offered me a glass,
rubbing circles on my back with his free hand. “Here, baby,” he said, “have a
sip of this.”

  Baby. He just called me baby. I
slowly turned around in his lap and looked at him. His expression was soft,
concerned. I took a sip of my champagne, and was soothed by the feeling the
bubbles fizzing away in my throat. “So you’re not only stalking me, you’ve been
Googling me as well?” I asked, trying to sound light, but there was an
accusatory note to my tone.

  He grabbed his flute, and took a
long sip while studying me. “I’m curious about you Sarah. I want to know
everything about you. What you like. How you smell. How you taste. What it feels
like to fuck you until you scream my name.”

  A delicious tremor ran through my
body, and my heart started drumming frantically in my throat. I saw lust spark
in his eyes, and he started rubbing my bare thigh. I looked down. My dress had
hiked up, so that much of my upper leg was exposed. He looked down at the same
time, his eyes riveted to that strip of bare flesh, and he let out a small
groan. His fingers travelled to the inside of my naked thigh, and gently
stroked my flesh until it tightened into goose bumps.  “Your skin is so
rich, so soft,” he said. “I’d love to taste it with my mouth,” he added, but he
pulled his hand away, lifted me up, and placed me back down on the empty seat
beside him. “Not tonight, though,” he said firmly, though his eyes were still
full of a ferocious hunger. 

  I took a deep breath, then peered
up at him from beneath my lashes. “I can’t believe you’ve seen the video,” I
said, a slight tremble to my voice. I adjusted my dress, so that it fell to my
knees again, and leaned back again the couch. I flashed him a rueful smile and
asked “So what was your favorite part?”

  He started laughing softly. Then
his expression became teasing. “I think the climax, where you picked up his
guitar, smashed it to splinters, and then used what is left of it to shatter
the dressing room mirror.”

  I felt heat creep up my neck and
into my face. I looked at him tentatively, and bit my lip. “And you don’t think
that was completely psycho?” I asked, bracing myself for a judgmental response.

  He shrugged his shoulders, then
took a big gulp of his champagne. “You caught him cheating red-handed. You
walked in on him, and he wasn’t even remorseful. He shrugged it off like it was
no big deal. He hurt you deeply and you wanted to hurt him back. I get it,” he
said. “But you didn’t hit him. Or her. You didn’t harm anyone. You just tore
apart his dressing room.” His eyes became soft again. “They were just things,
Sarah. And things can be replaced. And I’m so sorry that you were pushed to the
brink, and that you lost control in front of people who exploited your fury and
used it as a source of entertainment.”

  For a moment I felt so grateful,
so understood, so relieved.  Yes, I’d lost it that night. And that was my
fault. I should have been able to rein in my temper. But filming me in such a
vulnerable moment, and using it as a source of entertainment was so nasty, so
brutal.  If I’d known someone was filming, I probably would have stopped.
But I was in such a state of rage, screaming at Rob and the bimbo and smashing
his guitar as he tried to contain me, that I didn’t notice the drummer of the
band come into the dressing room and start shooting the video. I didn’t even
notice his presence until he started laughing so hard I couldn’t help but turn around.
By then it was already too late. The damage was done.

  Rob was so furious about his
guitar; he looked like he was going to punch me. That’s when it hit me that his
damn guitar meant more to him than I did. I was expendable. His guitar was his
whole world. After everything we’d been through, I thought I’d at least mean
more. We had both been struggling to make our mark in the world. But we were
good at dreaming together. I had such amazing memories of him playing acoustic
guitar in his attic apartment, making up songs for me. He’d always buy me
carnations, even when he couldn’t really afford them, because he knew they were
my favorite flower. One of my best memories was of getting up after a black tie
event that involved too much wine. Dressed in my underwear, I grabbed his suit
jacket, put a red carnation in the lapel, threw on a pair of black suede
strappy heels, and then turned on some tango music. We started dancing around
the apartment, Rob spinning me, and dipping me, and dancing cheek-to-cheek
until the downstairs neighbor started banging with a broom on the ceiling and
we collapsed on the couch in laughter.

  I knew Rob was needy from the
beginning. He needed attention, encouragement, and support, and I gave it all
to him. Whenever he was insecure about his future, I would prop him up, tell
him how good he was. But then his band became popular, and he started pulling
away, getting condescending. He’d tell me his dream was coming true, but my
future was still a potential train wreck. Catching him cheating was the last
straw. I just snapped.

  “Hey,” Julian said, “What’s going
on in that beautiful head of yours?”

  I looked at him seriously for a
long moment. “Rob and I started off as equals,” I began, “but then he soared to
fame and left me in the dust.” I bit my lip, and mulled over for a moment what
I was about to say. “I can’t do that again.”

  “Do what again?” Julian asked,
staring at me intently.

  “Date someone who isn’t my
equal,” I said. His expression immediately darkened and he shifted closer to
me. I put up my hand. “Just hear me out,” I said. “You’ve made your mark.
You’re a hugely successful talent agent. You have money. You have respect. You
have power. And next to that, I’m nothing,” I said, inching back further on the
couch. His eyes flashed with anger.

  “I will
never
make you
feel like ‘nothing,’” he said, his eyes stormy, and his tone harsh. I looked
away, and he immediately reached for my chin again, tilting my face up to meet
his. “You are beautiful, brilliant, passionate. The perfect catch.”

  I shook my head again. “You’re
loaded, Julian, and have so much power. And you’ll get bored. Just like Rob did
as soon as he became famous.”

  Julian took a long, impatient
swig of his champagne, then grabbed my glass and filled it. “There was a time
when my family had little money,” he said. “My dad’s career was floundering,
and money was tight. I vowed to myself that when I grew up, I would make enough
money to look after the people I care about.”

  He took another sip of his
champagne, and draped his arm over the back of the couch. “I want to indulge
you, Sarah. I want to pamper you, and cherish you, and make wild passionate
love to you. Money for me
is
indeed power. It gives me the power to
treat those I adore lavishly. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I believe a man
should take care of his woman.”

  His stare was so ardent, so
intense, and I could tell he meant every word he said. I felt light headed, and
literally swept off my feet. But then suddenly I remembered my mother, and a
cold rush of fear ran through me. “I don’t want to jeopardize my career,
Julian,” I said. “Paul will be livid about this. He might even fire me.”

  “Let me handle Paul,” he said.

  I shook my head, and felt another
wave of tears coming on. What was with me tonight? It was like the floodgates
had opened, and I couldn’t close them. “You don’t understand, Julian. My mom.
She was a fabulous, budding artist, with this great career ahead of her. Then
she met my dad, and fell hard. He pulled her into his world of wealth and
power, had her organize luncheons, charity dinners, entertain his clients at
their home. She became the perfect socialite. And then one day, he just got
bored of her. Found a younger woman. Wanted a divorce. And my mom had nothing.
I mean she had me, and my two sisters. But she’d given up her art. The thing
that was so important to her.” A shiver ran through me. I wiped the corners of
my eyes, and gave Julian a deadly serious look. “I can’t do that, Julian. I can’t
end up like her. I just can’t.”

  Julian brushed my cheek with his
finger. “Hey,” he said gently. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. I’m not
proposing marriage. I’m just asking for one date.”

  I gave him an embarrassed smile.
He was right. I was getting way ahead of the situation. “Just one date?” I
asked, “or one roll in the hay? ‘Cause if it’s just sex you’re after, you had
me the minute I laid eyes on you. I’m putty in your hands, Julian.”

  His eyes darkened with desire,
and I bit my lip in response. “But if that’s all it is, please stop the
pretence of caring, because I don’t want to get emotionally attached. I don’t
want to get to hurt.” I threw back the rest of my glass of Cristal, and
realized that the booze had gone to my head. Which is probably why I’d let my
guard down and been so honest with him. I reached over for the bottle to fill
my glass, and realized it was empty. “Looks like we polished this one off,” I
said, my speech a bit slurred.

  “You, Sarah Stevens, are drunk,”
he said. “It’s time I take you home.”

  I glanced up at him quickly, and
searched his face. “So this is just about a fuck?” I said, feeling my stomach
tighten into uncomfortable knots. At that moment, I realized that my speech
about not wanting to get hurt had come too late. I was already emotionally
attached to this man. I couldn’t just go home with him one night. Every inch of
me felt so alive around him, and the sexual chemistry between us was off the
charts. I was already addicted to him, already yearning for him. There’s no way
this could work as something casual. Julian McGregor was not the kind of man
you could have as a casual fuck buddy. I needed more. I craved more.

  Julian eyed me curiously, then
shook his head. “When I said it’s time to take you home, I meant get you safely
to your front door. I’m not sleeping with you tonight, Sarah. You’ve had too
much to drink.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, crossing my
legs and leaning back into the couch. The movement made my dress ride up a bit,
once again exposing my bare thigh. Julian’s eyes seared into my flesh, and I
heard him growl slightly in the back of his throat.

  “I want to ravish you, Sarah.
Right here, right now. It’s taking everything in me not to pick you up, back
you against the wall, and slam into you until you cry out my name, again. And
again. And again. But you’re drunk, and I’m not going to take advantage of
you.”

  I pulled my dress up a little
higher and gave him a sultry, teasing grin. “I’m a big girl,” I said. “I can
decide for myself whether I want to sleep with you tonight or not.”

  He took a deep breath, hissing
air in through his teeth. “You’re making it excruciatingly hard for me to be a
gentleman,” he said.

  “Maybe I don’t want you to be a
gentleman,” I said. His eyes flashed, and he looked like he was about to lunge
at me.

  “Sarah,” he said sternly. “We’re
going home.”

  I shrugged my shoulders, and
said, “Fine, I’ll just go find someone else to fuck me.” Just as I started to
get up, he lunged at me and pinned me to the couch. His muscular chest crushed
up against me, and his eyes were blazing. “If someone else so much as breathes
in your direction, I’ll beat them to a pulp.”

  He looked absolutely ferocious, pressed
up against me, his hot breath warming my neck. “I will fuck you, Sarah. Hard.
Soft. Over and over. I’ll tease you. I’ll take you to the brink, and make you
explode under me. I’ll give you the most mind shattering orgasms you’ve ever
had. But I’m sure as hell not going to do it when you’re drunk. I want you
sober. Because I want you to remember every moment of pleasure, every plunge of
my thick, hard cock, as you surrender to me, again, and again, and again.”