Breathless Page 6

  “You’ve been here for a while,” I accused, gesturing to her drink.

  “I’ve been lurking in the shadows.” Her gaze was warm on my skin, like a caress. “Watching you work. Watching other women desire you.”

  “Have you, now.” The possessive note in her voice thrilled me, but I kept my tone light. “Did you notice me turning them down, too?”

  “Yes. Why did you?”

  I decided to lay it all out on the line. “Because I don’t want them. I want you.”

  She set her glass down, but not before I saw it tremble. My words had affected her. Good.

  “What makes you so persistent?”

  I leaned on the bar, putting mere inches between my lips and hers. “I’m just keeping my eye on the prize.”

  Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and I gripped the marble to keep myself from leaning in and stealing a kiss. “When you’re done with your wine,” I said, “let me make you a cocktail. On the house.”

  But she shook her head. “I need to go home. Lots of studying to do tomorrow, and I should get started early.”

  “You don’t slow down, do you?” Her intensity struck a chord in me. Could she feel it, too—the beginnings of a connection that went far beyond mere attraction? Or was it all in my head?

  “I imagine I take it easy just as often as you do,” she challenged.

  We shared a conspiratorial smile then. And I knew I was right about this. About us.

  8 Alexa

  Valentine’s entire demeanor brightened when she saw me. Her enthusiasm was addictive, and I felt myself smile. It seemed impossible that I had written her off just one week ago for some kind of cad.

  “Good morning.” She presented the paper cup to me with a flourish. “How did your studying go yesterday?”

  “Not so fast. My question first, remember?”

  “New week, new rules?” She sounded so hopeful.

  “Not a chance.” I sipped from my chai as I decided how to phrase the question that had been killing my concentration all weekend. “Nicole recognized your name when I told her on Friday. Why haven’t you ever mentioned your father? Or the rest of your family?”

  The light went out of her, then, as if I’d flicked a switch. “I don’t get along with them,” she said stiffly. “We have extreme differences of opinion when it comes to politics, as you can imagine.”

  “Okay.” I kept my voice soft, regretting my impulse to prod. “I’m sorry if I reopened an old wound.”

  She waved away my apology. “It’s nothing.” Her gaze turned speculative. “Do you mind if I ask about your family?”

  “Oh, there’s not much to tell.” I struggled not to feel self-conscious as I revealed my humble upbringing. “I’m the middle child of five, we grew up on a farm in western Wisconsin, and they have no idea why I escaped to New York at the first opportunity. But they love me, and they don’t have any bias against my sexuality.”

  Valentine nodded, and I was happy to see the hint of a smile return to her face. “I’d like to know more about them.”

  “Tomorrow.” On impulse, I took her hand and squeezed it briefly. Her fingers were so warm. “See you then.”

  9 Valentine

  The next morning, Alexa caught me daydreaming. One minute, I was visualizing a cheery Christmas scene chez Newland—featuring a large fireplace, comfortable couches, and a brightly decorated tree—and the next, she was plucking the cup from my grasp.

  “What were you just thinking of?” she said as she pulled off her gloves and blew on the tips of her fingers.

  I couldn’t resist; I gently gripped her wrist and let my own warm breath cascade over her skin. A shiver ran through her, but I pretended not to notice. “I was just picturing what your childhood Christmases must have been like. Will you go back for winter break?”

  “No.” She stuttered on the monosyllable. “I’ll stay here to work on summer internship applications.”

  I began to massage her palm, very lightly, and was rewarded with a tiny gasp. “I bet you’re applying to all kinds of prestigious opportunities, aren’t you?”

  A single nod. “You’re breaking the rules,” she said when she found her voice.

  I leaned in close and brushed my lips against her cheek. “That,” I murmured, “is because I’m officially beginning my seduction of you today.”

  She trembled. I could have kissed her properly; she would have let me. But it would have been too soon. And I had to get this right.

  10 Alexa

  How had a simple kiss on the cheek succeeding in distracting me for twenty-four consecutive hours? Resolved not to let Valentine get the upper hand so easily today, I turned the corner briskly…only to find an unfamiliar, dark-suited man in her place. He held a small envelope in one hand and a cup in the other.

  “Alexa Newland?”

  “Yes?”

  “Ms. Darrow regrets that she is unable to meet you this morning,” the man said. “She asked that I pass these along.” After handing over the chai and the missive, he bade me a “good day” and left.

  I opened the envelope slowly, both excited and apprehensive about its contents. What obligation had called Valentine away so suddenly that she hadn’t been able to let me know about it beforehand? Or was she deliberately keeping her distance for some reason?

  The card inside had my first name printed on the front. I opened it to find Come to dinner with me written on the inner left page. The other side read Friday night. Out of habit, I flipped the card all the way over. Say yes was printed on the back.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  But since she wasn’t there to hear me, I was going to make her wait.

  11 Valentine

  “I’m so sorry about yesterday.” I hurried forward as soon as Alexa rounded the corner. Anxiety about her state of mind had kept me up half the night. At first glance, she seemed more curious and concerned than angry, but I couldn’t yet read her expressions with confidence. “My father ambushed me into making an appearance for him. I don’t care what he’s the secretary of, he shouldn’t be able to rope me into service at the spur of the moment whenever he fucking feels like it!”

  Realizing that I was ranting, I took a deep breath and handed over the chai. “Sorry. Did you get the card?”

  “Yes.” She closed the distance between us and reached up to adjust the collar of my shirt. Even that brief touch made my heart pound.

  “And?”

  “And yes.”

  I blinked down at her. There was a tenderness to her smile, as though she recognized my emotional fragility. “Yes? To tomorrow?”

  “Yes. That’s my answer.” She turned toward the door to her class. “I want to hear all about how your father dragged you away from me, but over dinner. Pick me up at eight o’clock?”

  I took her free hand in mine and twirled her like a ballroom dancer, right there in the hallway. She blushed, of course, but her laugh was genuine.

  12 Alexa

  The phone rang just as I finished zipping up my dress, and I looked down to see Nicole’s photograph. “I’m putting you on speaker,” I said by way of greeting, “while I do my makeup.” I had only ten minutes until Valentine arrived.

  “Lexie! You must tell me what you’re wearing.”

  I picked up my eyeliner. “The strapless one.”

  “Oh my God, I knew you would. She’s not going to be able to keep her hands off you!”

  Leaning in toward the mirror, I inspected my work. I always received compliments on my green eyes, but the liner made them stand out even more. Good. “I’m not going to sleep with her on the first date, Nic.” No matter how much I wanted to.

  “So you say. But this is Valentine Darrow we’re talking about. She’s used to getting what she wants. And I know you’ve thought about it.”

  The memory of Valentine as I’d seen her that morning popped into my head—slouching in jeans and a gray hoodie against the wall, cupping my drink in both hands as if to absorb its caffe
ine through the paper. Her hair was still tousled and her eyelids were at half-mast, and I had been nearly overwhelmed by the desire to drag her right back into the bed she had clearly just rolled out of.

  I felt my cheeks grow warm and raised the mascara brush, gripping it like a weapon. I had to keep my wits about me tonight. “I’m not interested in becoming a notch on someone’s bedpost.”

  “The woman has pursued you for weeks,” Nicole protested.

  “She’s just fascinated because I’m not swooning all over her like the usual suspects.” I didn’t really believe that, but I needed to say the words out loud. I was at serious risk of falling for Valentine after only two weeks, and I couldn’t afford to drop my guard before our first date.

  Nicole ignored my rationalization. “I’m dying to know where you’ll be eating. Text me when you get to the restaurant. My God, she could be taking you anywhere: Per Se, maybe, or even Jean Georges!”

  I took a step back from the mirror and smoothed the dress over my hips, feeling butterflies stir in my stomach. Nic was right. Valentine probably had the keys to this entire city. I paused, lipstick poised half an inch from my mouth, suddenly wondering whether she thought my change of heart might have to do with her father’s money.

  And then the doorbell rang.

  “Good-bye, Nicole.” Heart pounding, I forced myself to focus. Lipstick. Shoes. The bell rang again. I grabbed my purse from the dresser and locked the door behind me with unsteady hands, then descended the stairs as quickly as I could manage.

  I opened the door. She stood before me in a pinstripe suit, her golden hair a spiked halo. I caught the faint scent of cologne as she offered me a single, dusky pink orchid. Behind her, the holiday lights of a nearby storefront twinkled merrily.

  And deep inside I knew that for this Christmas and all the ones after, she would be mine, and I hers.

  Rebecca S. Buck is from Nottingham, England. Her first novel, Truths, in which Jen and Aly appeared, was published by Bold Strokes Books in April 2010. Her second novel, Ghosts of Winter, will be an April 2011 release. Right now she’s trying to work out which of her many and varied ideas would make the best next novel, and is deciding on her options for postgraduate study. To find out more visit her website: www.rebeccasbuck.com.

  Miss December

  Rebecca S. Buck

  I heard Aly’s feet on the steps leading from the studio and darkroom downstairs to our cosy flat above. She’d been in the studio for several hours. I’d missed her, forcing myself to stay upstairs and let her get on with her work.

  I was slouched on our comfortable sofa with the laptop, entering details from a pile of invoices into our computerised accounts. Driven by Aly’s outstanding talents as a photographer, our business was thriving. Any doubt we’d had about being able to keep up payments on the photographic studio and flat had disappeared. Taking care of the running of the business had become a full-time responsibility for me and, to my surprise, it was the most rewarding work I’d ever done. The best part was I got to spend hours at a time in Aly’s company. Months into our relationship we still weren’t bored with each other. That was something I’d never experienced in a relationship before.

  So much had changed. This time last year, the weeks before Christmas, I’d been lonely and confused, frightened of the world, living a lie. But summer had brought me Aly, my precious truth, and now I met the approach of this Christmas with difficult-to-contain excitement. I had Aly’s gift all taken care of, and from her recent suspicious behaviour, I sensed she already had mine. Hidden in the bottom of her closet where she thought I wouldn’t look. I hadn’t looked. Yet.

  I heard her footsteps approach. I smiled to myself and tried to look as though I was still working hard on the accounts. The pressure of her hands on my shoulders was warm through my T-shirt as she bent to kiss the back of my neck, just below my left ear. I couldn’t help the shiver of pleasure that swept through me. She knew exactly how to get the reactions she desired from my body.

  “Jen, babe?” she said. I knew there was something she wanted.

  “Yes, Aly?” I replied, without turning to look at her. Her fingers massaged my shoulders slightly.

  “Are you busy?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what you want.” I turned and grinned at her.

  “How do you know I want anything?” She pouted playfully.

  “I know you too well.”

  “Sometimes I miss the Jen who had no idea what she wanted, you know?” she said. “It was far easier to have my wicked way with you then.”

  “You want your wicked way with me? Well, you only have to ask…” I closed the laptop and placed it on the coffee table. I turned completely so I could look into her eyes as she leaned over the back of the sofa. I melted into her dark gaze, as I always did. Aly had a habit of running her hand through her short, jet black hair as she worked, and as a result, she was decidedly dishevelled. In a loose white shirt over black jeans tight to her slender figure, she was devastatingly attractive. I felt a familiar heavy heat developing low in my belly. Fuck, could I ever get enough of this woman?

  She reached out her hand, with a rattle of the silver bangles she always wore, to stroke my face. She was looking at me contemplatively. “I always want my wicked way with you. But I have work on my mind right now.”

  “Work?” The anticipation that had been building in my body subsided abruptly.

  “Yes. You know the calendar?”

  “Of course I do.” We’d decided Christmas was the perfect time to put together a calendar of new photographs and market it through our website. The pictures would be artistic and unusual shots of normal women made glamorous through Aly’s skill with the camera and the staging of her photographs.

  “My Miss December didn’t show up today.”

  “Oh bloody hell,” I said. “I’m sure I told her the right date. It was Emma, wasn’t it? I’ll phone her right—”

  Aly’s rapidly widening grin stopped me mid-sentence. It was hard to think about anything else with those pink lips so close, smiling with so much intent. “What?”

  “You’re so very efficient,” she said, eyes dancing. “I’m glad I employed you.”

  “Well, being as you don’t pay me, I think you’re very lucky.”

  “I am very lucky.” Her expression was serious for a moment and my heart swelled with pleasure. Even after all these months I found it hard to believe this remarkable woman felt lucky to be with me. I looked on Aly as the key to my freedom, the woman who had helped me find myself. That I meant as much to her was incredible and wonderful. “But I don’t want you to call Emma.”

  “Oh? Are you going to ask someone else?”

  “Yes.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. I couldn’t decipher her inscrutable smile. “Who?”

  “Well…” She paused and a mischievous look came into her eyes. “What I was planning for the December shot was a sort of Victorian Christmas gothic scene.”

  “Christmas gothic? Sounds great,” I replied, mildly sarcastic, dying to know why her eyes were sparkling in that way.

  “It will be. And you know it reminded me that there’s a woman I know who once made her living dressing as a very fetching Victorian.” She winked at me suggestively.

  “You are joking, aren’t you?” I couldn’t help a slight smile. “I was a museum tour guide in a rubbish fake costume. It certainly doesn’t qualify me for modelling.”

  “Actually I don’t care about your prior experience. And I’m not joking.” There was a slight challenge in her eyes. And rather a lot of arousal. Fuck, it was impossible to say no to Aly when she looked like this. “I want to photograph you.”

  “I’ve told you before I don’t like having my photo taken.”

  “Oh c’mon, Jen, I’m a photographer, and you’ve never let me take a picture of you. Besides, it will be artistic.”

  “Artistic?”

  “Don’t you trust me?”
<
br />   “Your calendar is risqué as well as artistic.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to expose yourself or anything.” She pressed her warm lips to mine, her hand caressing the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “That’s for my eyes only. But I really want to do this. Please give it a go, just for me. I’ll make it worth your while.” Her words were full of seductive promise.

  “And how will you do that?” I’d already given in to her and she knew it.

  “You’ll find out later.” She kissed me again, her tongue pushing between my lips, a suggestion of what would come later.

  “If I don’t like it, we don’t use it.”

  “Of course. Come downstairs to my lair.”

  She grabbed my hand and we made our way down to the studio. It was very bright in the high-ceilinged room with its white walls and screens. Aly led me to where she’d already established the scene for her December photograph. Her idea was to stage all of her photographs in front of a plain white backdrop, with the focus on the model and the few props around her to suggest the theme. I’d seen several of the earlier months of the year so far and my favourite was July, featuring a girl with an unexpectedly severe bleached blond haircut and several earrings in each ear. She was apparently enjoying a summer picnic but posed with her back to the camera, in a gingham dress evocative of the fifties, with the back fastening provocatively undone. The focus was intentionally slightly off. The photos were unusual, sexy, and artistic. I was so proud of Aly’s talent.

  I took in the scene in front of me now. Aly had positioned an ornate chaise longue, all mahogany carving and crimson upholstery, in the middle of her bright white backdrop. Next to it was a real Christmas tree, with glass baubles and authentic wax candles, their wicks black and already burned down, melted wax dripping onto the branches. She’d placed several ornately wrapped gifts, decorated with silk ribbons, around the tree. A pile of traditional paper-chain garlands and unused ribbons sat on the end of the chaise longue. Everything was in tones of green, crimson, and gold. The scene was stunning and I was sure my intrusion would not be an improvement.