Girl on a Diamond Pedestal

by Maisey Yates

  He laughed. Cold. Humorless. “Now isn’t that ironic? You, apologizing. I thought I told you not to do that.”

  “Fine. Then I won’t. But I am sorry your mother was hurt. But will this … I mean … will it fix anything?”

  He knocked back the rest of the champagne and backed away from the railing. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Instead of talking to me?”

  “I didn’t ask you to marry me for psychotherapy or companionship, Noelle. I won’t start pretending now.”

  He turned and left the balcony, left her standing there with her heart pounding in her chest, a sick feeling rolling in her stomach. This was pretend, he was right. And it wasn’t about getting to know each other, or caring, or anything real.

  So why had it started to feel like it was?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT was sort of nice to have a reprieve from Ethan’s presence. Noelle spent the day in and around the hotel, trawling the little shops and indulging in a Vienna coffee at a café near the beach. It was decadent in so many ways. No one telling her what to do, and no pressing, horrible worries.

  The bubble bath afterwards had been a major highlight too. Relaxing, which was nothing like being with Ethan. Warm and sensual too, which was a bit like being with Ethan.

  She swore out loud in the empty hotel suite and embraced the rush of satisfaction it gave her. Her mother had used whatever language she wanted, whenever she felt like it, but Noelle had always been bound to protect her image of being a sweet, eternal child. Nothing even remotely adult or scandalous could be associated with her.

  In the end, it hadn’t helped. She’d grown up. She’d gotten uninteresting.

  She flopped onto the couch and put her feet on the coffee table. This was familiar. Nights spent alone in a hotel room. She’d always cherished the time. Time simply to be herself. To eat a chocolate bar and watch a movie showing her what she was missing, locked up in her ivory tower while the rest of the world lived.

  She took a bite of her chocolate bar. She was reliving old times in a way. But there would be no sexy movies. Being around Ethan was messing with her head and she didn’t need to encourage her suddenly perky hormones.

  The door to the suite opened and Noelle scrambled to get her robe into place so that everything was covered.

  “Hi.” He walked in and stripped his black tie off in one fluid motion, casting the strip of silk to the floor. It was like something from a cologne commercial—or one of her late-night movie indulgences. The gorgeous man returning home after a long hard day to sweep his woman off her feet and into bed …

  “Hi,” she replied, hopping up from the couch, holding the lapels of her robe tighter now.

  “Good day?”

  “I did more data entry. And had coffee.”

  “All good then?”

  “I suppose.”

  “We’ve rated the papers over here. Pictures of us getting off my private plane are everywhere.”

  She took a step toward him. “Do you have them with you?”

  “You like being in the news, don’t you?”

  She shrugged, slightly embarrassed by her enthusiastic reaction. “I got used to it. To watching it. Seeing what people said, what they thought. Good and bad, it all sort of … validated me.”

  He reached into his laptop bag and pulled out a folded paper. “Enjoy.”

  She took the newspaper from his hand and opened it slowly, her heart pounding as she looked at the pictures, at the headlines.

  Ethan Grey returns home with new squeeze, pianist Noelle Birch, in tow. Meeting the grandparents?

  “That’s … cool,” she said.

  “Cool?”

  “To get in the pubic eye again like this … like we talked about. But it’s more than just showing my mother up. You don’t know what this might mean for me.”

  He didn’t smile. His face didn’t seem to change at all. But something in his eyes looked different. Darker. “I have an idea.”

  “You don’t approve of my enjoyment of fame?” His silence was its own kind of answer. “My life … the life I had before, it was … It’s hard to explain. Parts of it were brutally hard. And yet, there were things that I loved. I loved to play in front of a crowd. I loved it when I would hear the beginning notes of a new song in my head. And I loved when people recognized me. When they were excited to see me. Like they cared or something.”

  He shook his head, his expression suddenly fierce. “That’s not real. None of it is.”

  “It feels real,” she said softly, looking down at the picture.

  “Trust me, it’s not. Ask my mum how real it is. She was an A-lister for a while. Invited to every party, cast in all the big movies. The public built her up and then forgot about her overnight while she poured everything she had into a husband who acted like she wasn’t alive half the time. There’s no happiness in seeking the approval of the people. Because maybe they’ll give it, but only for a while. And when they take it away, it’s a cruel reality.”

  “Yeah, I’m sort of living that reality, Ethan. I’m aware of how much it sucks.”

  “All right, Noelle, today your picture’s in the paper. What about tomorrow?”

  She didn’t really want to think about tomorrow. She was safe now. Safe and warm, and feeling pretty happy to be back in the public eye in a positive way. But that attitude was what had gotten her into trouble in the first place. She might be enjoying these snatches of happiness right now—enjoying them too much to see something bad around the corner, something like her mother running off with all her money.

  “I don’t know.”

  “No one should have the power to decide how you feel about yourself, Noelle, good or bad. Give yourself that power.”

  “I suppose it’s easy for you.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never cared what other people thought. As long as I’m getting where I want to go, I don’t care what other people think of my methods. When you’re successful there will always be people waiting to watch you fail. They don’t matter.”

  Ethan’s heart was pounding heavily in his chest, a strange, protective sort of anger pumping through him, hot and fast. Reckless. There was no reason he should care, none at all, about the way Noelle saw herself. About the look on her face when she’d seen her picture in the paper.

  But it reminded him too much, far too much, of how his mother had reacted to reviews, good and bad, about how she’d been disappointed when the paparazzi had stopped following her. About how thoroughly demolished she’d been when the press had gleefully dissected Damien Grey’s appearance with Celine Birch at a major Hollywood industry event, leaving his wife, the movie star, at home.

  The constant bitter regret, the desperate wishing that she’d never moved away from California, never sacrificed her figure to give birth to a son who didn’t bring her happiness anyway.

  Terrible memories of trying to revive her after she’d swallowed a whole bottle of pills.

  Putting Noelle in that spot made his gut tighten so hard he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  He didn’t know why he was doing this, why he was putting her in that place. Why he was feeling things for her.

  All he knew was that he wanted to touch her, to comfort her in some way. But the minute he did that, the minute his hands touched her smooth, silken skin, it would be over for him. He would take her in his arms. Kiss her. Seduce her.

  No. He wouldn’t. He would be in control. Just as he always was. She wasn’t different. She wasn’t special. He tightened his jaw, clenched his teeth, tried to stop his body’s intense reaction to the thought of what it would be like to seduce her.

  So sweet. For a moment.

  It would almost be worth it.

  “What?” she asked, her voice breathless, her breasts rising and falling sharply. She knew. And she was just as affected as he was.

  “We’ll have more public appearances to make over the coming weeks,” he said, his eyes fixed on her full, pale lips. “We have to b
e sure we’re comfortable touching each other.”

  He took a step toward her, his body urging him on, his mind screaming at him to pull back. He would. He would pull away before it was too late. Just not yet.

  Not quite yet.

  He put his hand on her cheek, shocked to see how unsteady it was. She was soft, softer even than he’d imagined she would be. And the need to do more, touch more, was so strong it made his body shudder.

  “Comfortable?” she asked, her words hushed, her blue eyes wide.

  “Not even a little bit. You?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then we’ll have to change that,” he said.

  He dipped his head and closed the gap between them, pleasure bursting in his stomach, heating him to boiling point, his whole body instantly hard with desire. She tasted sweet, her kiss better than any wine he could remember. And far outstripping any other kiss he’d experienced. He couldn’t remember being affected this strongly by the simple touch of lips against his, not even when he’d been a teenage virgin.

  A soft sound escaped her mouth and he devoured it, taking the chance to dip his tongue inside, to taste her a bit more thoroughly. Just a taste.

  But a taste could never be enough. Not when it made him crave more. Everything.

  He raised his other hand and allowed himself to rest it on the indent of her waist, another step into temptation. Another concession. But he would pull away in time. Before it got out of control. There was no ‘out of control’ for him, he always had it. Always had the power.

  She touched the tip of her tongue to his and need shocked him, like a lightning bolt from the point where she made contact straight to his groin.

  He couldn’t breathe. But it was all right. He would gladly drown in her. In the passion that poured from her and filled him, pushing at the bonds of his control, cracking it, threatening to shatter it.

  Was this what his father felt when he was with his mistresses? A pull, a need that felt essential as air?

  The thought was a bucket of ice water to his overheated libido. He pulled away from her, his throat tight, his lungs burning with the need to draw a breath he couldn’t quite manage to pull in.

  “That’s enough, I think,” he said, his voice rough.

  She looked dazed, dizzy. A lot like he felt. “I …”

  “Don’t worry about the press,” he said. “I’ve got work to do, so I’m going to go to my room now.”

  He turned without looking at her again. Because if he did, if the look in her eyes reflected the longing he felt, if he caught her scent, he would be lost again.

  He couldn’t afford that. It was a matter of keeping his focus. And it was a matter of pride. He wouldn’t lose either.

  Notes moved through her. Music, a melody, vague and unstructured. Noelle turned over in bed, felt the cool sheets against her bare legs. The chill didn’t last long. As soon as her thoughts came into sharper focus, she remembered the kiss.

  Ethan’s lips moving over hers, so expertly. So sensually.

  Her first kiss. And it had been … it had been so much more than she’d imagined it could be. All fire and need. Exciting. Terrifying. It had brought something out in her that she hadn’t felt before, something she hadn’t realized lived in her.

  She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her toes digging into the plush carpet. She could feel it swelling in her, moving through her. It made her ache. Or rather, it added to the ache that was already centered in her chest. An ache that was physical as well as emotional.

  It was as if everything was changing, shifting beneath her feet. Not like the cold shock of change that had happened when her mother had disappeared with her money, but something else, something more subtle, but even more dangerous in some ways.

  She was starting to feel changed, rather than simply feeling that her life had changed around her. She felt more power. More control. And less, at the same time. She wasn’t sure how that worked exactly.

  She closed her eyes again, found the melody she’d heard in her sleep. Vague still, but present. Inspiration that felt familiar, like something she used to feel before. She stood, excitement flooding her, and walked through her room, out into the main area of the hotel suite. It was automatic, sitting at the piano, her fingers resting lightly on the keys.

  She could still feel Ethan’s lips on hers, the hot press of his hand on her waist.

  She pressed one key down. Low. Soft and tentative at first. Then she added another. Several joined together, the strains harmonizing, creating a haunting dissonance that filled the room, that reflected the feelings swirling inside of her. Minor. Confused. A little bit sad.

  “What are you doing?”

  She halted her movements and looked up. Ethan was there, wearing only a pair of jeans resting dangerously low on his hips, revealing lines that led to a part of his body she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about. She shifted her eyes up and it was really no better. His chest was art, his abs a sculpture. Every inch of his body was well-defined, dusted with just the right amount of dark hair. Sexy beyond all reason.

  “Playing.” She forced the word out around the lump in her throat.

  “Not a drill.”

  “No.”

  He walked closer to her, resting his forearm on the closed top of the shiny black grand. “Not a piece I recognize either.”

  “Original,” she said. And as she said it, she realized it was. It was a song. And it had come from her.

  Her stomach tightened.

  “I liked it. What was it?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. Because it was true. She wasn’t sure what she felt. What she wanted.

  He circled her, moved so that he was standing behind her. He stretched one arm forward, brushing her bare shoulder as he did, resting his fingers on the keys, pressing a few of the them.

  “Why not?” he asked, his breath fanning over her cheek.

  “Because I’m not sure what I want. Where I’m going. But I want to. I think that’s what the song really is. It’s longing.”

  “What is it you long for, Noelle? Fame?”

  “I thought so,” she whispered. “I’m not sure now.”

  “Something else?” He put his hand on her shoulder and brushed her hair to one side, exposing her neck, his skin hot against hers.

  “Maybe.” She sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Something with a little bit more … immediate gratification?”

  His lips were near her ear, brushing against her, his voice soft, husky, an invitation to sin. She wanted to accept. Regardless of the consequences, in that moment, she wanted to turn and press her mouth to his. To have another taste of the passion she’d been introduced to earlier.

  But she didn’t think she could take that step. What if he pulled away? What if he didn’t want her? She wasn’t sure she could handle more rejection, even if it was only physical rejection.

  He moved his hand over the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers gliding over her skin. She shivered, her nipples tightening, arousal trickling through her, thick and sweet like honey, making her ache for more.

  She knew exactly what it was her body wanted. And she also knew that Ethan could give it to her. It was the other stuff, the heart-pounding, stomach-tightening emotion that frightened her.

  The touch of his lips against the curve of her neck made the butterflies in her stomach disperse, letting desire take over. There was no place for fear, not when his touch made her feel so good. So warm.

  He kissed her again, a featherlight touch on her shoulder that echoed all through her body. She leaned into him, against his hard body, his bare chest hot against her back. He gripped her shoulders, his hold keeping her from melting into a puddle and sliding down the piano bench.

  He moved one hand to her shoulder and brushed the strap of her silky top aside.

  “I just want to see,” he said, his voice tight. He moved her other strap aside and she felt her top fall, revealing her breasts. The onl
y light in the room was the silver glow of the moon pouring through the window.

  Ethan’s unsteady breathing, the slight tremble in his hand as he slid his fingertips down her arm, made her feel powerful, made her feel confident in a way she never had before.

  “You’re more beautiful than I imagined. And I imagined you would be stunning.”

  She tried to ignore the tightening in her throat, tried to focus only on the desire that was coursing through her. The physical. She didn’t want anything else. Didn’t need it. She just wanted him to touch her. She didn’t know what she wanted after that, wasn’t sure if she was ready for more, but if he would just touch her …

  “I need to touch you.”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Permission seemed to be what he’d been waiting for, because the moment the word left her lips, he moved his hands to her breasts, cupping her sensitive flesh, skimming his thumbs over her hardened nipples.

  “Oh, Ethan …” She let her head fall back against his stomach and focused on nothing. Nothing beyond the sharp, overwhelming darts of pleasure that were piercing her body, making her ache for more.

  She could feel the evidence of his desire, hard and hot behind her. It made her wish she knew what to do, made her wish she had some experience with men so that she’d know how to please him, make him feel even half of what he made her feel with the slightest stroke of his hands on her skin.

  He kissed her neck again, more firmly this time. She angled her head and pressed her mouth to his. Passion and fire exploded between them, the heat tangible, enough to burn her inside and out. And she liked it. A lot.

  His tongue slid over hers, and she met him, thrust for thrust, tasting him, devouring him as he continue to tease her breasts with his talented hands.

  She turned around, still on the bench, rising up on her knees and winding her arms around his neck. He braced his hands on her hips, holding her to him, her bare breasts pressed tightly against his chest.

  He nipped her lip, and the shock of the pain, slight but intense, made her heart pound faster, made her internal muscles tighten. She pulled her lips away from his, trying to catch her breath. He kissed her throat, her collarbone.