by Donna Hill
“Any place you prefer? It’s been a while for me. In DC,” he added with a half smile, “but I remember a place called The Hub.”
Avery laughed. “You’re kidding. My friend Kerry and I go there all the time.”
“We might have been...what’s that sayin’, two ships passin’ in the night?”
“Maybe.”
“If I recall right it should be about two blocks down on M Street.”
“Good memory.”
“I remember the things that are important. If I had seen you...I would’ve never forgotten.”
Avery’s face heated. “I don’t think I would have either,” she said on a breath, surprising herself.
Rafe lightly squeezed her hand.
* * *
The Hub was a stark departure from Le Galleria. From the moment Rafe pulled open the smoked glass and chrome door they were greeted by the buzz of energetic conversation and the ebb and flow of raucous laughter, mixed with the soulful vibe from the live band. The artifice of practiced sophistication that was the hallmark of Le Galleria was nowhere to be seen among the pulsing crowd that stood or gathered at tables, leaned against walls and lounged at the bar.
A harried hostess snatched two menus from the holder. “Welcome to The Hub. It’ll be about twenty minutes to a half hour for a table.”
Rafe gave Avery a questioning look. “The bar is fine.” Avery nodded in agreement. He slid his arm around her waist and guided her across the crowded room to the bar. He stood behind her with his hands on either side of her waist as she slid onto the bar stool. She could feel the warmth of his breath against the back of her neck. The air tumbled in her lungs.
“Your scent,” he whispered right behind her ear then dropped a featherlight kiss there, “is doing things to me.” He sat down and angled his body toward her. The right corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “What’re you having, darlin’?” He reached out and stroked the curve of her jaw. He loved the way it felt beneath his fingertip, hard and soft and smooth. He watched her lips part and the pulse beat at the base of her throat. He leaned forward, pulled by the invitation of her mouth. He barely brushed his lips against hers, enough to be teased by the hint of sweetness from her apple martini. The rules of chivalry that had been drilled into him since he was old enough to talk held him in check. Yet as much as he may desire to take Avery to his bed, this was the part that he craved most—the dance—the warm-up and rehearsal for the main event. It was all about stoking desire so that there was no other alternative than to accept what was inevitable. Sex was only the outcome, the release. But the way to make it memorable and worth every hot breath, every stroke was to work for the moment.
“What can I get you?” the waiter asked while he wiped down the space in front of them with a damp cloth. Like an illusionist a bowl of pretzels appeared in his other hand.
“Apple martini for the lady. Bourbon on the rocks for me.”
“When was the last time you were here?” Avery asked once the bartender moved away.
“Aw, wow, maybe a year or two. I don’t get down here much unless I’m playing. My sister Lee Ann and her husband reside here, of course, but we all generally get together either because of family crisis or a holiday.”
Avery leaned in to better hear him. Rather than the multitude of bodies and sounds being a distraction, it forced a kind of intimacy, compelled you to be close, and minimize the space in between. She placed her small purse on the bar top and Rafe began to play a slow, sensuous melody across her hand with the tip of his thumb. “I always wondered how the secret agents unwound. What else do you do?” He watched her eyes widen for a moment and caught the slight flutter of a nerve in her right cheek.
“Target practice on the gun range,” she said, looking straight at him.
“Hmmm.” A wicked smile tilted his full mouth and drew lines at the corners of his eyes. “Always hit your target?”
She slowly crossed her legs. “Always.”
“Here ya go.” The bartender placed their drinks in front of them. “Want anything from the kitchen? I can get you a menu.”
“Nothing for me,” Avery said.
“We’re good, thanks.” He lifted his glass. “To...more of the same.”
Avery tilted her head in question.
“Been perfect so far.”
She smiled and touched her glass to his.
“I played here once...hmm, maybe four years ago,” he said, taking a look around.
“Really?”
He nodded. “I was working on some new music and tried it out here.”
“And how did it go?”
“Great crowd. They seemed to like it.”
“Did you always know that music was what you wanted to do?”
He glanced down for a moment then at Avery. “Yeah, I think so.” His smooth dark brown brow tightened in thought. “I can’t really say when...or how. I just knew.” He smiled as a memory formed. “My mama had this piano. Ancient as all hell. I think she got it from her granddaddy, but she could play that thing like it was a brand-new baby grand. Used to listen to her. Learned to play by ear until I learned to read music. I still learn by ear.” He chuckled. “One Christmas, I was about ten and the family had its usual fest... There were all kinds of celebrities, politicians roaming through the house.” He sipped his drink. “Grover Washington, Jr. was one of the entertainers for the evening.” He slowly shook his head and smiled. “When I heard him play ‘Mr. Magic,’ damn, I was hooked. Told my mama I wanted a sax and I wanted to play just like him.”
“And of course you charmed your mother into getting you a saxophone.” Her knee brushed against his.
“Something like that. My daddy didn’t take it too well. Never was interested in my playing. All he wanted was to remind me day after day that I was next in line; that he’d built a legacy and it was my responsibility as his son to fulfill it. I swear I used to think that he dragged me from one stuff-shirt event to the next hoping that it would wash music out of my head.”
“Clearly it didn’t.” She lifted her chin. “Made you more determined.”
“Guilty as charged.” He finished his drink.
“So...are you working on new material?”
“Supposed to be.” He glanced off for a moment. “It’s not coming together as I’d hoped. Been a few setbacks with studio time and really finding the piece that speaks to the whole album.”
“What do you want it to say?”
“Possibility. I want every composition to speak to possibility.”
“How much is completed?”
“About six pieces. I want to round it out to ten.”
“Artists fascinate me with their ability to take what they think and feel and turn it into something tangible. Like magic.”
“If only.” He chuckled. “What about you? I see you have a piano at your place. Do you play or is it for show? What hidden magic do you have?”
“Hmmm, I wish I could say I did have exquisite talent. I play a bit but I’m rather ordinary, actually.”
Rafe leaned in. “There’s nothing ordinary about you.” His gaze moved slowly over her face. “Don’t let trying to meet daddy’s expectations make you ever feel less than outstanding.”
A lump formed in her throat. No one had ever said that to her, least of all her father. She’d spent her life always striving, having to be better than the best simply to get her father to give a nod of acknowledgment.
Rafe moved closer until all she could see was the dark veil of his lashes that shielded his eyes. The room disappeared. The noise became a distant hum as his mouth touched hers with purpose this time. There was no one in the world, in that crowded space, except the two of them.
When he threaded his fingers through the back of her hair, pulled her closer to seal their lips she may ha
ve whimpered, she wasn’t certain.
Rafe eased away, heated her face with the shadow of a smile. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Ready?”
The question was a loaded one. Avery swallowed, and uncertain of her voice she simply nodded, yes.
Rafe took her hand and helped her to her feet.
* * *
They strolled back toward Le Galleria to retrieve his car as the essence of possibility sparkled between them with every step and every casual touch. Rafe knew this part of the dance. He’d tangoed more times than he’d ever admit for a variety of reasons; pure lust, because it was expected of him, and at times because he thought, although rarely, that he might want something more.
He glanced at Avery’s profile. He was genuinely attracted to her. Reflexively his jaw tightened. Attraction. That was all. So what if he had Justin find out who she was, and so what if he flew across the country to have dinner with her. It was all part of the dance. Nothing more.
They stopped in front of the restaurant and Rafe handed over his parking stub to the valet.
“Thank you for tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve had to get dressed up for dinner,” Avery said with a smile.
“The Hub is really more my style. Guess I wanted to impress you.” Once he said the words, though off the cuff, he realized with a jolt that it was true. For reasons that escaped him, he did want to impress her.
Avery smiled up at him and he wanted to kiss her again, but didn’t.
“I don’t need to be impressed,” she said softly.
When the questions in her eyes moved slowly over his face, Rafe retreated from her probing, her peeking behind his façade. He shifted his stance and winked. “I’ll keep that in mind, darlin’.”
The valet pulled up in front of them, hopped out and Rafe helped Avery into the car after a sizeable tip.
Rafe eased out into traffic and listened to “Heather,” his British GPS, direct him to Avery’s house. Generally, he let his inner compass guide him. He was pretty good with directions and remembering turns and shortcuts. But right now he didn’t want to think about anything, least of all driving routes. He stole a look at Avery and immediately that feeling was back in his gut again. Anticipation. That was all it could be. He reached over with his right hand and covered hers that were nestled in her lap. Her head angled toward his and when she smiled it took pure willpower not to pull over.
“Music?” he asked.
“Sure.”
She leaned her head back against the leather headrest and closed her eyes. Rafe drew in a long breath and refocused his attention to the road. Tonight they would have incredible sex, the itch that they both had would be scratched, he’d go back to NOLA and she’d go back to Secret Servicing and if by chance they ran into each other again they would talk, laugh, remember these moments, and maybe have lunch or a drink for old times’ sake and then return to their lives. Because that was the only way it could be for him.
“You’re looking very serious over there,” Avery said, cutting into his thoughts. “Everything okay?”
He realized that he was actually frowning in concentration. “Everything’s fine, just running some numbers through my head.”
“About your album?”
“Hmm,” he lied.
“You’ll work it out. Sometimes all it takes is a change in atmosphere to get a different perspective. And you’ll be back on track.”
“You sound pretty sure.”
“I am. I heard you play. I watched you perform, I listened to the passion in your voice when you spoke about music. I know all too well that feeling of wanting to get it ‘just right.’ Been there. Let it come. It will.”
“I thought I was the one giving out the advice,” he teased.
“Got to be able to take as well as give.”
He paused a beat as a myriad of thoughts and images of her writhing beneath him ran through his head. “Yes, ma’am.” The tip of his finger brushed across her knee and he would have sworn he heard her quick intake of breath or maybe it was his. The thought of just touching her skin set him off.
He made the turn onto her street. Avery shifted in her seat. Rafe pulled into the driveway of her town house. The locks disengaged. He turned off the engine, palmed the keys and got out. He came around to Avery’s door and helped her exit. A look that bordered on anticipation and uncertainty flickered for an instant when the light from the streetlight caught her eyes. It would be up to her. It had to be. If this was what she wanted, she would have to let him know.
“Coming in...for a while?”
Rafe gave a slight, nonchalant shrug. “Getting late. You sure?”
She swallowed. “Yes. If you are.” She held his gaze.
He nodded. “Whatever the lady wants.”
He followed her up the short walkway to the front door.
Chapter 9
It had been a while since she’d brought a man home with the intention of going to bed with him. She was no prude by any stretch of the imagination, but when she did make this leap—she’d generally invested more time. She’d evaluate all the rights and wrongs, and weigh the pros and cons; yet even so in the back of her mind there always hung the question: Would her father approve? Crazy. She knew it was insane. She was a grown-ass woman. Yet the yearning for his approval forever nipped at her heels, whispered in her ear, nudged and pushed her. Except this time.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to put my things down. Want a snack or anything, something to drink?”
“I think I can find my way around, if it’s cool with you.”
“Sure.” She tugged in a breath and headed to her bedroom.
Avery quietly shut the door behind her. Her heart banged. Her eyes swept the room looking for anything out of place. She crossed the room while taking off her caftan and hung it in the closet, her shoes followed. These mindless activities didn’t distract her from what was on the other side of the door.
She’d never considered herself a tease, but is this what she really wanted to do? Maybe she should go out there, have a quick nightcap and tell him what a great time she had and hope they can do it again sometime. After all, she barely knew him. Rafe had proven himself to be the consummate gentleman. He would understand. She gripped the edge of the dresser and faced herself in the mirror. Despite the lack of real time between them, she felt as if she’d known him forever. She’d wanted him from the moment she’d set eyes on him at his grandfather’s party.
They were consenting adults. No one was talking about forever, just tonight. She pushed down the last vestiges of doubt, opened the door and walked out.
When she returned to the living room she stopped short in surprise.
“Hope you don’t mind.”
Rafe had prepared a platter of cheeses, fruit and crackers, located her long-stemmed wineglasses—that Kerry bought her for her last birthday—and set them out on the coffee table along with a bottle of wine. The music was on, low enough not to be a distraction, but just enough to provide a soothing backdrop. If she didn’t know better she would have sworn that he’d also dimmed the lights, but her lights didn’t dim.
He’d done all this as if he’d been to her home dozens of times, knew her likes and dislikes and could move among her things with a sense of ownership, yet at the same time seem totally unobtrusive. It was that thing about him, that self-assurance, the way he did what he wanted in such a way that you believed it was what you desired all along. And even if it wasn’t what you envisioned it to be.
Avery walked fully into the room. Rafe picked up a glass of wine and handed it to her.
“Thank you for tonight.” He tapped his glass to hers. “It was worth my staying in town.” He took a sip from his glass.
She moved toward the couch and sat down. “Nice spread,” she teased.
/> “Glad you like it.” He lifted a cracker, added a piece of brie and brought it to her lips.
Slowly she opened her mouth and let the tiny delicacy slip across her tongue. “Hmm,” she hummed.
He popped a grape into his mouth then spread a slice of cheddar onto a cracker and took a bite. He leaned back against the cushions of the couch. “You have a nice place, very you.”
“Meaning?”
He draped his arm along the back and let his fingertips lightly tease the back of her neck. “Simple, straightforward and elegant. The piano speaks to the unawakened artist in you, while your furnishings reflect order and simplicity with the smooth lines, and the colors, soft and muted—” he angled his head, “—give the illusion of something just beneath the surface that can’t quite be grasped.”
His touch, his voice scrambled her thoughts. She heard him and didn’t hear him. It was as if he were waving a metronome in front of her to drag her deep under his spell.
She blinked rapidly to clear her head and reached for her glass of wine, nearly finishing it in one swallow. “I don’t know if I ever thought about it that way.”
“You just know what you like, what you want.” It was more of a statement than a question.
Avery swallowed. “I’d like to think so.”
Rafe brushed the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “And what is it that you want, Avery, right now, tonight?”
She looked into his eyes, felt the warmth of his closeness, inhaled the hypnotic scent that swirled around him, shut off her mind and listened to her body instead.
“I’d like you to stay with me tonight.”
A slow smile curved his mouth ever so slightly. “Is it what you’d like or is it what you want?” His fingers continued their symphony on the back of her neck.
Her lids fluttered. “It’s what I want,” she said on a breath.
His jaw flexed and a raw rumble vibrated in his throat. He took her glass from her hand and placed it on the table. “Show me where you’d like me to stay.”
