by B. B. Miller
“I don’t give a fuck if they are.”
Pressing the button for the roof, I feel her sway as it grinds to life, sending us to the roof.
“This is crazy. Where are we?” she asks again as the doors open, and I brush my hand against her back, urging her forward to the landscaped rooftop.
Slowly, I trace my hand along her cheek, lifting the blindfold off. “We’re at lunch.”
Cassidy
Breathing in the soft spring air, I blink as the fabric trails across my face. We’re on a roof, high enough to see over the adjacent buildings, but low enough that a few skyscrapers tower in the distance. “Wow. This is lovely. Where are we?”
“New York.” His rich voice in my ear is teasing. “We weren’t in the car long enough to get out of the city.”
“Be serious.” He’s created an oasis; there are a few soft lounge cushions placed on rugs, along with about a dozen throw pillows scattered around. A few strings of lights dangle above, winking softly in the late afternoon light. It’s impressive. It’s also touching; it’s been a long time since someone has done something like this for me.
“SoHo. On top of my music academy, to be exact.” He steps around me and walks over to a low table between two of the loungers. “Oh, good. The food is here. I hope you like Thai.”
“Love it, as long as it’s not too spicy. This is amazing, Sean. Thank you.” I walk over to the edge and peer down. We’re about six stories up, I’m guessing. “Wait—what do you mean by ‘your music academy’?”
“Hmm, no plates. Sorry,” he murmurs. He’s pulling napkins and plastic forks out of a wicker basket and glances up at me before setting them on a low table. “It’s a pet project of mine. The building isn’t ready yet, but it will be a specialized school for young musicians who have passion and talent but can’t afford to continue their lessons. It’s no secret how school budgets are being stretched thin these days, and arts programs are often the first things cut, leaving hundreds of students twisting in the wind. My plan is to fill the gap.”
“That’s a fantastic plan.” I sink down onto one of the lounges, slip my heels off, and help him pull paper cartons out of the basket. The tempting aroma of pad thai floats on the air. “So, like prodigies?”
He stretches over to a small cooler sitting beside the table and plucks a bottle of white wine out. “Not initially.” Producing a couple glasses and a corkscrew from the basket, he starts opening the wine. “Mostly kids who have been squeezed out of their programs and don’t have any other way to continue. But, yeah, I think we’ll eventually establish another level for kids who are too advanced for the lessons available to them. Kids who could make a go of it if they had the resources.”
“Raising the next generation of rock stars?” I accept a glass of wine from him and salute him with it. He laughs, and selects a carton of pad thai.
“Sure, why not? But we won’t discriminate—jazz, classical, folk, whatever. They’ll all be welcome. Music shouldn’t have limits.”
I take a spring roll from a carton and nibble on the end, watching his violet hair ruffle in the breeze. “That’s important to you, isn’t it? Pushing the limits.”
He winks at me over the rim of his glass. “Always. Life’s not worth living if you’re not living on the edge.”
Living on the edge. Even considering our short acquaintance, I can see that those words are the perfect descriptor for him. Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he leans back and raises his face to the sky, closing his eyes and letting the gentle breeze wash over his face. If it weren’t for the hair, he’d look so normal. Well, if normal were a hot British musician wearing worn jeans, a white tee, and an old leather jacket… It’s his energy that’s different, that raises him to the next level. Even as relaxed as he seems now, it’s there, pulsing under the surface. A constant live wire just waiting to be tripped.
It’s captivating.
A high-pitched, little girl’s laugh breaks the silence, and he grins as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. Laughing as he looks at the screen, he shows it to me. It’s a video clip of a gleeful little girl with gorgeous strawberry blond curls doing a cartwheel in what looks like a home gym. “Who’s that?”
“My poppet, Hannah,” he says proudly, tapping out a message on the screen. “It’s her first cartwheel.”
My glass freezes midway to my lips. “Your poppet?”
“No! Not mine, mine,” he corrects quickly, eyes wide in horror. “God, no. No poppets for me, at least not yet. She belongs to one of my bandmates—Cameron. I’m just her extremely-awesome-in-every-way uncle.”
“I bet you are.” I laugh. “You’d probably let her stay up too late, eat too much sugar, and play inappropriate video games that would give her nightmares before sending her home to her parents.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He stuffs a ridiculous amount of noodles into his mouth and chews with gusto, making me shake my head. How does he fit all that in there and not look disgusting?
I pick up a carton of peanut chicken and a fork. “You can’t blame me for asking, though,” I say between bites. “You don’t have any children or ex-wives somewhere in the world?”
He picks up his glass and takes a long sip before answering. “Definitely not.” He eyes me over his glass. “You look surprised.”
I shrug. “I am, I guess. You’re a member of Redfall; you’ve had women all over the world, I’m sure. It wouldn’t be surprising if you had formed some attachments along the way.”
He barks out a laugh and sets his glass down. “Believe me, most of those women aren’t up for that type of attachment, unless it means they can get an eighteen-year paycheck out of it. Who needs that kind of headache?” He sits up abruptly, almost spilling his carton of noodles.
I set my carton down and take a sip of wine. “I’m sorry. Sensitive subject?”
“No, I just…” He cocks his head at me. “I’ll ask you the same question. No ex-husbands or little Cassidys running around?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m too busy for all that.” That’s as good an answer as any, I guess. And far better than the real reason.
A satisfied smile flickers on his lips as he picks up his glass to take another sip. “So, I’m playing a gig tonight—doing a favor for a friend. I’d like you to come.”
“Really?” I lean back against one of the pillows. “I’d like a winning lottery ticket and no rain for the rest of the week. We’d all like something.”
He smiles into his glass before looking at me, his green eyes sparkling. “Sorry.” He clears his throat, making a spectacle out of himself. “Would you please, Miss Skinner, do me the incredible honor of joining me this evening at a soiree?”
God, that accent. It’s irresistible. He’s irresistible. And intense. He’s got me off kilter. I never know when he’s being serious. Like now. Unable to stand the intensity in his gaze, knowing I have to disappoint him, I look out over the city. “Thank you, but I can’t. I have previous plans.”
“Break them. Whatever you were going to do couldn’t be as fun as spending the evening with me.” He leans forward, drawing my attention again. He draws his finger across his lips, and for a wild second I imagine myself kissing those lips until we’re both senseless. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re going out with the sad Italian guy again.”
“He’s not Italian, and he’s not sad,” I snap. “He’s a friend of the family and has a business opportunity he wants to discuss, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Isn’t it?” Something flickers in his eyes that I can’t quite name. Frustration? Hurt? Whatever it was, it disappears and he takes a deep breath. “You’re right. It isn’t. But maybe I’d like it to be.”
I sit forward to hide my unease. “Sean, you barely know me.”
“I know you well enough.” He sets his food down and mirrors me. “And I’d like to know you better.”
“Carnal knowledge isn’t enough.” I run my hand through my hair, tr
ying not to remember the feel of him inside of me. It’s impossible. “My life is complicated, and I’m sure yours is even more so with your touring, and recording, and academies, and…and whatever else rock stars do.”
“I cornered the market on complicated. We share that, you know? Even if I wasn’t in the band, my life would be scrutinized.” I lean back studying him, unsure where he’s going with this. “My father is the director of the International Development Agency.” He pinches the top of one of the containers, shaking his head, and for the first time since I’ve met him, he’s lost that easy-going attitude. “If there’s one thing I regret, it’s the embarrassment I’ve foisted on my parents over the years. Almost cost my father his position once, and dragged the family name through the mud back in the day. So, if you want to talk about complicated political nightmares, I’m your man.”
I cringe inwardly. I’ve escaped one political nightmare in my life; I shouldn’t court another. That’s what my practical side is saying, at least. But there’s that other voice in my head, the wild and reckless one that flares up occasionally, and is currently telling my practical side to fuck off and live a little. “But, there’s so much more to know,” I stammer, trying to hide my internal struggle.
“So, ask me something. Anything.” My startled laughter rings out when he suddenly leaps over the table, almost knocking over the food, and lands on the pile of pillows next to me. “Look, I’m not asking for…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’m asking for, really. I like you and, based on your heel marks on my ass from the other day, it seems you like me. Let’s have some fun. Let’s see where it goes, yeah?”
God, I want to. Sitting here in the sunshine, looking into those mesmerizing eyes, I really want to. But… “You want me to be one of the worldwide women?”
His eyes shoot open. “No! I mean, there won’t be other women. Not while I’m with you.” He cups my cheek and I lean into him, savoring the feel of his hand on my skin. “Come on, Fly-girl. Trust me. I’m trustworthy. Ask Hannah—she’s only five but she’s a good judge of character. Come on. It’ll be like an experiment.”
I sweep my hand through my hair. “I’m not sure how I feel about being an experiment.” Those hypnotic emerald eyes seem to see right through me. Any excuses I may have against getting involved with anyone seriously, much less someone like Sean, seem to evaporate under his penetrating gaze.
“Did you like this?” His arms spread wide to the lunch setup, and my irritation dims. I’d have to be an idiot not to like that he did this for me.
“Of course I did, but—”
“But nothing. We’d do more things like this, but with ground rules.”
My lips twitch. “Ground rules?”
“Every good experiment has ground rules, Cass. That’s just basic chemistry.”
“Chemistry, hmm?”
“I was very good at chemistry.” I don’t stop him from wrapping his arms around me. He feels too good, too tempting.
“I just bet you were,” I murmur. You still are. “Ground rule one: no other women.”
He lets out a huff, rolling his eyes. “Did I not just say that?”
I try to stifle my smile and fail. His eyes lock to mine, his fingers drifting along the back of my neck send my pulse soaring. “You see, Fly-girl, you talk about other women, but what you don’t realize is that the only one I can’t stop thinking about is you. I wonder why that is.”
That smug smile of his should annoy me, but it only causes my skin to prickle with heat. “Sex will do that to you.” It’s the only response I can come up with.
“It’s not just the sex. It’s you.” His voice washes over me, raw and deep, and part of me yearns to believe him. I’m so tired of playing it safe and living with this constant fear of exposure, of always denying myself.
Fuck it. It’s time I did something for me and not for my family. Excitement bubbles up inside me, like when I jump out of a plane. “Fine. We’ll see where it goes. We’ll do some experiments.”
His startled grin is infectious. “Brilliant! So, I’ll see you tonight.” He leans in to kiss me, but I quickly slip two fingers over his lips.
“Wait. I’m not breaking my plans.” He opens his mouth to protest, and I continue, “But I’ll tell him I can’t see him again. As a date, that is.” Considering how tied up our fathers are, it would be next to impossible not to see Jack again.
“Fine,” he mutters. God, he’s cute when he pouts. “Then I’ll just have to give you these now.” He reaches in his pocket, pulls out a small, silky gift bag, and places it in my hand.
“What is this?” I poke at the lumpy bag like it has a live snake in it.
“Open it and see.”
I pick it up and spill the contents into my hand; a bunch of pretty barrettes, some adorned with tiny crystals, wink up at me in the sunlight. A warmth fills my chest at his sweet gesture. “Sean! They’re lovely.” I look up to see a satisfied smile spread across his face. “Thank you!”
He plucks one out and leans forward to carefully slip it my hair next to the one I clipped there this morning. “There,” he whispers, my heart pounding in my chest. “I saw these and thought of you. Only you. Does that tell you something?”
My stomach does a weird flip-flop at his words. I hum, feeling his kiss graze my cheek. But, when he tries to move his lips to mine, I move them just out of reach. “And what is it with you and not wanting to kiss me, Pretty Woman?” He sits back and folds his arms across his firm chest as my eyes widen. “What? Surprised I know about that film?”
“I didn’t take you for a fan of nineties rom-coms,” I say, trying to avoid his question, and carefully put the barrettes back in the tiny bag. The truth is, I’m afraid of a kiss. I’m afraid that if I’m not careful, I’m going to want a whole lot more than kisses from him.
“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “Syd made me watch every single rom-com ever made. I’m a bit of an aficionado.” He shoves one of the pillows out of the way and inches his way closer, the smell of leather and spice invading me.
“And something tells me you enjoyed every minute of it.”
“I’ll never tell.” His eyes search mine, looking for answers.
“I just want to take it slow.” Heat prickles my face. “I know that must sound crazy after we’ve…” I wave a hand at him. “You know.”
His smile is contagious. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone who is as at ease with himself. He radiates warmth, happiness, a carefree attitude I remember having what seems like a lifetime ago now. “Oh, I do know. And think of all the ways we can, you know.” His eyes dart to my lips.
“I think we started this whole thing backward. You’re supposed to get to know someone before you, you know,” I counter, trying to hold back a laugh when he wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“I’ve found that what you’re supposed to do rarely works for me. I was supposed to follow my father’s path to politics. Can you imagine me hobnobbing with that stuffy old lot? I mean the wigs alone…” He shudders, scrunching up his nose.
It’s the second time he’s mentioned politics, and it dims the light that has started to burn in me. A constant reminder that regardless of what I may want, I always have to be careful. “Thank you, Sean. Truly. This was lovely. And thank you again for the gift,” I say, wanting to steer our conversation away from politics for now. I lean in, inhaling his warm, spicy scent, and press my lips to his cheek. His arms instantly wrap around me, holding me to his chest, while he nibbles on my neck. I may not know him well, but my body obviously does; it melts against him, and my hands move to his hair. This pull between us is insane. I’ve never felt anything like it. He moans when I tug on his hair, sending a shiver through me. I’m about to pull him down to the cushions when I remember my next appointment.
With monumental effort, I push away, panting softly. My heart twinges at the confusion and longing in his eyes. “I can’t. I have to get back to the shop.” I tap lightly over his heart, and he flops back
against the pillows, his hands clutching his chest dramatically. I can’t help my laugh as I stand and start to put our lunch back in the basket. “Lunchtime is over. I have another client coming in, and I’m also sorting swatches to send to your sister.”
His eyes crinkle at the edges. “Try saying that seven times fast. Sorting swatches sending sister, sorting swatches sending sister, sorting swa—” He ducks the pillow I chuck at him, howling with laughter.
“You’re crazy.”
“On the contrary, I’m one of the sanest people I know,” he says primly, but can’t hide his smile. Signing in resignation, he sits up and helps clean up our mess. “I’ll let you go—this time—but only because you’re working on Syd’s dress. Next time, Fly-girl, you may not be as lucky.”
“Another round?”
I thrust my empty glass out, not caring if it makes me look eager. Liquor is a necessity if I’m going to make it through tonight. Jack and I are tucked in a corner of the Jade Bar in the Gramercy Park Hotel. It’s comfortable despite the swanky décor, and the bartenders are terrific. It’s also a great place for conversation, no matter how full it is. Everyone is always so absorbed in their own dramas, a bomb could go off and no one would notice.
Jack laughs and signals our server, who makes a beeline to the bar. Gotta say, I appreciate her efficiency.
“Tough day?”
I tap my lips with a finger and consider his question. “Interesting day.” Closing my eyes, I can almost feel Sean’s lips on my neck. I wonder what he’s doing now. He said he was playing somewhere. I wish I’d gone with him; I’d love to see him in his natural element on stage.
From the minute he surprised me in my shop this morning, he’s all I’ve been able to think about. Oh, be honest, Cassidy—he’s all you’ve thought about since you first met him on that plane.
Now I need to let Jack know that friendship is all I can offer him, but the conversation hasn’t really given me an opening yet. So far, we’ve just talked about general things—a new project he’s started in Alberta, family, my father’s campaign. I wish we could get to this “opportunity” he wanted to discuss; that might make this easier.
