I
I can do this. Get in and get out fast.
Holding her keys so they wouldn’t jingle, Rory slowly turned her wrist until the deadbolt clicked. Nice and easy. She nudged the door open with her shoulder, cringing as it creaked, and poked her head inside.
“See anything?”
The voice behind her made her jump. She spun around, her black-tipped blonde hair whipping across her sun-kissed cheek. “Shh.”
“I thought you said no one was home?” Fender stood in the hallway, shifting his weight and nervously chewing on his knuckles. His unbleached cotton hoodie was pulled over a mop of scraggly brown hair, half-covering his face.
Tana peered over the guitar player’s shoulder. Out of habit, she drummed on his back with her index fingers, her short bob of black hair swaying to the beat. “So what’s the hold up?” Her gum smacked, punctuating the question.
“I don’t know.” Fender lightly swatted her hands away. “And stop playing me. I’m not one of your drums.”
Ignoring them both, Rory stepped inside. She quickly punched in the security code, breathing a sigh of relief when the light blinked green. It hadn’t been changed – yet.
“Relax Fen. He’s in London. I checked.” Grabbing Fender by the hoodie, Rory pulled him inside.
Tana squeezed in after him, shutting the door behind her. “Then why are we whispering?”
“In case he’s not.”
“Oh, oh God.” Fender backed up into Tana.
“Watch it, klutz,” she said, shoving him further in.
He doubled over, starting to hyperventilate. “I’m… going to… die.”
“He won’t kill you, dumbass,” said Tana, patting his back. “Not right away. First, he’ll suck you dry.”
“Cut it out, you two,” Rory snapped. “There will be no dying or sucking of any kind.”
Rory crept down the wide hall past a guest powder room to a double archway leading to the gourmet kitchen. Finding the kitchen empty, her shoulders relaxed. With renewed confidence, she headed further inside.
“We’re gonna just grab my stuff and go.”
The other side of the hall opened up to a vast, three-story living room. A massive fireplace set with antique Victorian tiles dominated the main wall; a chess board, tea table and two high back leather chairs were arranged in front of it. Luxurious seating areas designed to facilitate conversation dotted the rest of the grand room, and a wall of windows led to a balcony on the far end overlooking Central Park.
“We’ll be gone before Wanda gets back.”
Fender stopped in his tracks. “Wait. Who’s Wanda?”
“Cook… housekeeper… gatekeeper. She’ll be back by sundown.”
When Rory reached the fireplace, she paused, gazing up at the portrait hanging above it. It was a remarkable likeness of her on the Seine, leaning serenely against a lamppost, the elaborate arches of the Pont Neuf in the background. The commissioned work was done from a photo taken in Paris last spring.
“You gotta hand it to the guy, he’s got taste,” said Tana, perusing the display shelves filled with Chinese porcelain figurines and rare Fabergé eggs.
“Too rich for my blood,” Rory muttered. On impulse, she snatched a small soapstone carving of a polar bear from the mantle and pocketed it. It was a memento from a romantic winter holiday in Montreal. Leaving Tana to ogle the collectibles, Rory headed for the far end of the room with Fender trailing behind her.
Fender’s jaw hung open as he took in the Persian carpets, richly upholstered sofas, and hand-embroidered tapestries. He pointed to an oil painting framed by velvet curtains on the wall near the balcony. “Is that a…what’s his name?” He snapped his fingers.
“Van Gogh. The ones with the fields and sunflowers are on loan to the Metropolitan, but he kept the night scene because I liked it.”
“Cool.” Fender studied the painting hanging next to it. “So, what’s with the old shoes?”
Rory shrugged. “Not sure, but it’s his favorite piece in the collection.”
“Weird taste – no offence.”
Approaching a larger set of closed velvet curtains, Fender announced, “I’ll take curtain number three!” He drew them open and gasped, his breath catching in his throat.
“Lovely, isn’t she?”
Awestruck, he could only nod.
It was a stunning portrait of a blue-eyed, raven-haired beauty adorned in eighteenth century French fashion. Her curls were swept into a feather arrangement that framed her heart-shaped face. The deep neckline of the pale blue gown matched her eyes, exposing curves of flawless alabaster skin. Intricate floral embellishments, elbow-length sleeves trimmed in lace, and rows of ribbons down her corseted waist completed the illusion.
Fender reached out, almost touching the portrait, a finger subconsciously tracing the elegant line of the woman’s neck.
“Why is she hidden away?” The question came out as a breathy whisper, making him blush. He cleared his throat. “I mean, why isn’t she in a museum?”
“Don’t know.” Rory turned and walked away. “Ethan’s funny about that one.” She started to climb the spiral staircase nearby. “He says he can’t seem to get rid of her.”
“She’s so fine, I can’t say I blame ‘em.” Fender reluctantly drew the curtain closed and followed her up the stairs. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the ornate crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling. “Whoa! That thing’s as big as my first car!”
Rory turned around when she reached the top. “Wanda told me it used to hang in the Versailles, whatever that is.”
“Must be someplace fancy – a hotel, maybe?”
“I guess. Come on.” Her forehead wrinkled as she frowned. “Where’s Tana?”
“Huh?” Fender looked behind him. “Beats me. Want me to go find her?”
She let out an exasperated breath. “No. We don’t have time.”
Fender peeked through every open door as they headed down the long hallway. “Damn. I never knew apartments came in supersize. I want an upgrade.”
“It’s the penthouse suite… top three floors and the roof,” she explained, flushing with embarrassment at the blatant, needless excess of such a lifestyle. It was the main reason she’d avoided having her bandmates over.
She halted in front of a closed door on her right. “Wait. Aren’t you sleeping in your van?”
“Nah, I’ve been crashing at Tana’s place.”
Her eyebrow lifted as Fender leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
“On the couch,” he said, adding shyly, “for now.” He scratched one of his tattooed biceps. “I got tired of pissing in alleyways and showering at the Y. One of the regulars was too eager to share the soap, if you know what I mean.”
Rory chuckled. “Well, there are four guest bathrooms on this floor if you have a sudden urge to shower.”
Halting before a set of double doors, she turned the knob, and pushed one of the doors open to a luxurious bedroom suite. Draped in rich silk and velvet fabrics, in shades of purple with deep blue accents, the space had an immediate tranquil effect.
Rory spun around and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of cinnamon incense. “Ah, I love this room!”
“Then why not stay?” A smooth, deep voice spoke from an overstuffed chair in a shadowed corner of the room.
“Ethan,” she gasped, faltering in mid-spin. He’d been expecting her. Stay calm.
“Oh crap,” said Fender, backing out of the doorway. “Uh Ror, maybe we should go.”
“Get my duffle bag,” Rory told him. “It’s in the closet.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Ethan rose from the chair, cutting an imposing silhouette in his immaculate Italian suit. In front of the curtained window, his coffee-brown hair looked almost black. It was slicked-back as usual, not a hair out of place.
“Fen, you gotta see this room. It’s filled with guitars!” Tana called from down the hall.
“Please do.” Ethan made a graceful gesture towards the door.
Rory let out a frustrated breath. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
“You’re sure?” Fender’s eyes flicked from her to Ethan and back again. “I mean, I’ll stay if you want me to?” They were the right words, but his uneasy manner told her that he wanted out – the sooner the better.
“I’ll be fine.” Rory gave him a reassuring smile.
“Well, if you’re sure.” A look of relief washed over him as he backed away. “I’m coming!” he shouted, rushing down the hall on the pretext of appeasing Tana. “Keep your panties on! Or not. Your choice!”
Rory waited for his footsteps to fade. Then she took a deep breath and blurted out, “I’m leaving you.” Seeing Ethan flinch at her blunt words made her stomach tighten.
“So I see.”
“And you can’t stop me.”
Shit. That’s not what a meant to say.
The statement wasn’t even remotely true and they both knew it. Instantly regretting her challenging tone, Rory bit nervously at the inside of her lip. Ethan Worthington was powerful and dangerous, with unlimited resources at his fingertips. He could stop her in a heartbeat. He could snap her neck and make the body disappear, or fly her to a remote private island and never let her go.
“I thought you were in London?”
“Hmm. That was the rumor, wasn’t it?”
“You tricked me.”
“You left me no choice. You’ve been avoiding me.”
“We were working on new songs for the tour.” It was true, but it was also true that she’d been avoiding him.
“Please sit down, so we may have a civilized discussion.” His sultry voice washed over her like a seductive caress.
“There’s nothing left to say.”
“Please,” he repeated, gesturing for her to be seated.
She glanced around the room. The closest thing for her to sit on was the four-poster bed covered with an embroidered silk duvet and laden with sumptuous feather pillows. It was the bed they’d spent countless heated hours in, lost in each other’s arms. Not trusting herself, she took a step back.
“I think I’ll stand.”
Rory felt a soft breeze against the back of her neck and knew he was behind her, even though she hadn’t seen him move from the chair. The enticing scent of orange and jasmine filled her senses, making her mouth water. He was wearing her favorite cologne – Clive Christian No.1. He’s not playing fair.
“Why do I feel like I’ve walked into a trap?” she asked, noting the closed door.
In reply, his lips left a moist trail of kisses from the nape of her neck to her right ear. His hands ran lightly up her bare arms as he flicked her lobe with his tongue, sending small shivers through her.
“We can’t do this,” she said, but her resolve was already beginning to waver. Her body betrayed her words, unwilling to move away from his touch as a soft moan escaped her lips. One last time.