by Gina Kincade
Emerging from the dream on unforgiving wings,
I realize you are gone.
It is my tears that join me on my cheeks that I mistake for your kisses.
It is the heat of my own forlorn desire for you that awakens the passion in my breast.
Again, you leave me until another embrace.
Will I wake for you?
Will I be waiting for your return to me, my love?
Will you return to my arms?
It was a sad dream, which foretold unrequited love. Why had she thought of Keenan? It invaded her sleep and held her hostage in the hours before. Those were her constant reminders. But, she could not deny her love for the man.
She had to see him.
She had to know if this was real.
Or imagined on her part.
She had fallen in love with him the moment he opened his arms onstage and began to sing to her. She gave not a moment’s thought about meeting him at the Hotel Whitcomb. She wanted his arms around her, his heart beating against hers, their legs and tongues entwined. She wanted to taste him, fly with him, feel him inside her, to her center, to her soul, soaring, flying into the face of love, passion and surrender.
KEENAN SAT IN HIS SMALL San Francisco office, his mind unleashed to every thought of Riley.
His thoughts drifted to the Hotel Whitcomb, Room 457, one bright, star-lit crisp San Franciscan night. Last night. He had never been so impulsive, so arrogant to think his mere presence would seduce a woman into his bed as he did last night, his one and only with Riley. But, when he came out on stage, she was sitting center stage, a vision of purity, almost aglow with beauty. She was like a beacon that stood out among all others.
Her exquisiteness was apparent, but her magnetic attraction was immediate.
He felt the impact of her appeal in the deeply moving tether of his groin as the heat mounted during his performance.
He had to know who she was.
He had to have her.
He had a need to seek her out and seek her out he did. He knew before he left the theatre she would be at the Morrison’s reception; he knew all he needed to know about her.
Before he even knew her name or touched her hand, from his heart and the hungry growl in his belly. There was no doubt he wanted her, alas, never for a moment had he a thought she would reciprocate his passions.
He abandoned all caution after he touched her hand in a greeting; she sent a shock wave of need and desire like a molten flash through the tips of his fingers down a fire though his spine to the tip of his cock. He took the leap of faith that brought them both to this point in their lives.
But, ah, what a leap it was...
His heart pounded eagerly searching for escape. He felt sure it was visible to all who looked in his direction. His impatience to leave seemed almost abrupt, bordering on rude, and surely curt.
His need to hold this woman compelled his actions and irregular behavior.
He could not deny himself...or her.
Because dream of dreams, she wanted him too!
She offered no resistance or bashful excuse.
She was open, welcoming, uninhibited.
She wanted him, too, perhaps as much as he wanted her. He was not wrong about her.
They were sympathique, as the romantic French say.
He must have her.
He had to have her before she had a chance to abandon the idea of meeting him lost in her solitude as she sat questioning her own behavior.
He must get there before she entertained a change of heart.
He could not have been more relieved than to see her seated with the moonlight streaming through the crystalline window bathed in it and the glow of the burning candle. He felt impetuous and impulsive.
And any composure he had donned for her benefit lay at her feet as he swept her boldly into his arms.
He felt her go weak in his embrace, her knees weakened and buckled so he lifted her by her waist to his kiss. He stared deeply into her eyes, his gaze coursing through her body on a direct path to her heart, where he wanted to devour her soul, feel her racing pulse, beat as one with her heart, wear her very skin so close they would be joined in a magical harmony of swirling, shifting, streamers of volcanic passion.
He wanted to feel what she felt, breathe her air, taste her kiss, and ride her desire wrapped in heated fervor as a Valkyrie soaring on her steed into the Heavens.
He didn’t care if he overwhelmed her.
He wanted her to be moved.
He wanted her to be overcome.
He wanted her impatience.
He wanted her to abandon herself into this night, into this dream, into this heaven, into his arms.
For this night would surely be a ride on ribbons of exploding galaxies as their desires collided into a single purpose.
A single love. A single explosion.
Yes, that was how he felt about this woman who consumed his full attention from the moment he laid eyes on her, during his performance, through the night, and into this moment.
He slipped the thin white straps of her gown over her arms, one at a time, while he kissed and anointed each lovely curve of her alabaster shoulders with his lips. He praised God in the perfection of His creation — this beautiful redheaded vixen in his arms who was his to devour.
There was no formality, no hesitance, no resistance from Riley in any way.
She did not feign shyness or bashfulness. She pretended no airs.
Her hunger was as raw as his.
The river of her desire ran as deep as his.
For as her gown floated from her body and settled into a white silken puddle around her feet, she rose to her toes, slipped her arms around Keenan’s thick black neck, and buried herself in tighter to his hardening body. She made her wanton needs evident with a deep, drowning kiss that joined their tongues in a fervent feral tango, tight and demanding.
He felt strong.
Yet he tingled all over.
He had never known such hunger for a woman as he did this woman. Her tresses fell in ringlets of red and gold about her face, caressing her shoulders and brushing his chest as he pulled her closer, closer, closer...in tight.
Not even a breath separated the two.
She smelled of lavender and bread, champagne and sex.
Vanilla. She smelled of vanilla.
It was an aroma he found, to his excitement, delicious.
He would consume this woman, every satin inch of her tonight. And he would start at her neck.
And he was all too sure that she would revel in the lavish indulgence of his touch, his kiss, the mystery and magic talent of his tongue.
The penetrating fullness of his cock twitched, as if unimpressed by any other need, and on fire to burn within Riley...
...igniting her core,
...burning her need for any other man,
...extinguishing her every brilliant blaze with a heat so white hot it flamed into an inferno.
They spoke few words after those first few hypnotic moments.
Their language was on the wings of love, for love it must be, he thought that even then.
So early on, so compelling, so instantaneous and so now.
Instantaneous. Unrelenting. Impatient.
He had never felt this immediate about a woman in his life. Even he was caught just slightly off guard, but he never resisted, never fought the impulse, never hesitated; he never questioned the night as he plunged into this woman, his heart laid bare at her alter.
And, so, the night went with a touch, a sigh; a kiss, an embrace glistening with the perspiration of passion, flickering in the starlight glitter. It was a night he never wanted to forget which he would never share with anyone, but her and his memories.
He was, after all, a man with nothing if not his honor. And he would never let the truth be an architect of deceit, not his deceit, anyway. Still, he thought, throughout the coming years, he would indulge himself in an occasional remembrance. There would always
be something, to every day in the future perhaps not just one something, which he kept for himself about her that was his and his alone.
Her aroma.
The way she held her hand, the tip of her chin or the lilt of her head.
The way her hair fell in ringlets of flaming, tangled curls, soft and sweet around her face and shoulders and curled around her nipples so pale, so creamy and yet insistent in their reach for attention.
His attention.
He would never be able to get Riley out of his mind even if she drifted out of his life.
SHE WOKE AND THE ROOM was no longer awash in sunlight, just the soft shades of afternoon left their trace. Riley felt a rush and wondered if she had indulged her dreamy self too long to meet Keenan. She moved to the bedside table and checked the clock, raised the phone to call Keenan.
“Was it too late for lunch?” She asked when he came on the line.
His voice was like molten sex, pouring over her from the phone. It was disconcerting and highly erotic. She entertained, for a brief moment, having phone sex with him, but dismissed that thought as too time consuming.
Riley would rather see him.
And have real sex with him...
She would save that for a time when there were miles between them and no chance of seeing one another anytime soon.
“No, darling,” he answered. “It’s only one o’clock. There’s plenty of time for lunch and even dessert, if you’re hungry enough.”
“Oh, I’m hungry enough. Ravenous, if you care to know the truth!”
She agreed to meet him at Fleur d’Italia in Washington Square not that far from his office. They’d dine and then go back to his office.
“You look good enough to eat. Where did you get the change of clothes?”
She blushed at the thought that she came last night prepared to bed him.
“I stopped at home and changed. I really don’t live far from here. I had already showered at the hotel so a change of clothes was quick.”
“You look delightfully scrumptious.”
“Oh, Keenan, how you go on. Do go on.” She threw her head back and released a hearty laugh.
Lunch had been delicious. But Riley was really looking forward to dessert. When they finished lunch, and walked out into the brisk San Francisco air, Keenan put his arm around her and held her close.
She warmed to his touch almost immediately.
They caught the trolley to his stop, jumped off laughing and entered the building where his office was located.
Riley followed Keenan into his office and they sat in the conversation corner in deep leather furniture, lush and opulently soft like butter. His office smelled like him with a manly aroma of Petouillie oil, spice and saddle soap. It was a rich aroma reflective of his masculine build, his stature and his girth.
She had followed his career and his life peripherally. Marginally, really. She had never imagined they would find one another. They hardly ran in the same circles. She was a student and he a struggling artist, at one time anyway.
He was older than Riley by at least ten years. Of course, Keenan had aged well. He was a striking man. The secrets of his youth had done him great justice.
It had not been that long since she saw him last, just a few hours. She felt silly.
That wasn’t long.
His eyes were so deeply brown and warm. I melt every time he looks at me.
She chastised herself in a silent scolding.
I thought we went all through that, Riley, she told herself. We did. I won’t go there again.
But, she did.
I want to love him. I want him to love me. I don’t care! I don’t want a future without him.
It was hard for Riley not to want Keenan, sitting here in his office. He was standing at his bookcase, his back to her. She remembered that back, that beautiful, strong back. He was looking for something, perhaps that CD of love songs to which he’d referred. Was he trying to tell her something when he spoke of the love songs and them being ‘not other’s to hear’?
Could she be reading more into his comment than he intended?
She knew she shouldn’t go down that road, but he pointed the way. Maybe there was a chance they could work something out, but — it didn’t make sense.
It didn’t make sense last night and it still didn’t make any sense at all today.
San Francisco — LA? That could never work.
Well, maybe that could work...
She had to stop thinking like this. It was a dead-end trip. She looked again at him and studied his back and physique more closely. No reason she should not take advantage of the situation and enjoy the view. Riley pulled her legs up under her seat after kicking off her shoes while she memorized every nuance of Keenan’s body, and each subtle dip, curve and rippled muscle brought back a memory.
He was relaxed and so comfortable in his own presence. He made everyone around him feel comfortable. She knew she felt quite at ease in his company. She felt very relaxed and just a little sleepy. Her feet were warm under her and Keenan’s simple movements made little noise.
God, but he was an Adonis, a black Adonis.
With hints of amethyst undertones, as though his skin was burning...
...on fire, smoldering beneath.
Her breasts fit perfectly into his palms, his mouth formed a perfect oval around her nipple. Oh, God, she could feel that tender warm tug of arousal. She had to think of something else, so instead of memorizing every inch of his majestic black body, she closed her eyes and removed temptation all together. It seemed, in a distance, she heard Someone to Watch Over Me sung by a deep, melodious voice.
It had been such a long satisfying night. She drifted...
I’ll just keep my eyes closed for a moment longer...
When Keenan turned around, he saw that Riley was sleeping soundly so he took an afghan and put it over her on the couch while she napped. He sat at his desk and looked in her direction for a long while. He looked down at his desk and pulled the file folder for the foundation proposal to work on until she woke. He looked up at Riley one more time and smiled when he heard a muffled little snore from her. It was several hours before he looked up again at Riley and she was looking at him.
“I am so sorry, Keenan. I guess I was tired. Either that or you laced the Cristal or strawberries with something. Did you play the CD? It seems I remember hearing something in the background as I drifted off to sleep. A good guest really wouldn’t fall asleep after so lovely a lunch with such a magnificent man. I apologize for being bad company.”
“Please don’t apologize, you must have been tired. Besides, don’t they say that the mark of a real compliment is when someone falls asleep in your company?”
“No! I never heard that one before, but it was a valiant effort at making me feel less like an inconsiderate companion.”
“You are far from inconsiderate, Riley. How about a drink? It will soothe your embarrassment.”
“Yes, please, that sounds like an excellent idea!”
Keenan fixed them both a cocktail and handed it to her on the couch. For now, it is a part of us we don’t have to show or share with anyone. He went to the bookshelf and started the CD again then returned to his desk. I want to play this for you again. You did fall asleep to it playing earlier.”
“Please...”
Riley stretched out more comfortably on the sofa, uncurling her legs out from under her. As she did, she stretched, arched her back and raised her arms above her head. She opened her body to the music. As the music began, the sweeping orchestration was romantic in and of itself. Riley closed her eyes and allowed the music to wash over her. She felt as if the music and the melodious sound of Keenan’s voice strummed and played her body.
The music was Someone to Watch Over Me.
It was so beautiful, she felt like crying.
The longing, the yearning, the romantic love that surrounded her in the perfect pitch of Keenan’s voice was so moving, so beautiful that Ri
ley felt the emotion well up inside of her to a soulful pitch.
“Oh, Keenan, my God but that is beautiful. You really must release this CD. It will be a huge hit with lovers and anyone who loves the romantic period music from the 40s.”
“Thank you, Riley. That means a lot to me coming from you.”
“It sounds like a love letter. Your voice is so rich with an aching resonance. Are all the songs like this?”
“Yes, I think so, Riley. But, I’ll leave that to you to decide.”
“And your accompaniment. Who is it?”
“The Boston Pops Philharmonic Orchestra.”
“Do you realize that you will introduce an entire generation of music lovers to melodies from another era? That is so wonderful! More people will hear your voice and become fans. That was very clever of you. When will you release this CD?”
“I don’t know, Riley. I really hadn’t given a release any thought. I wanted to make an album for lovers as a kind of love letter.”
“Well, surely you did! It is just wonderful.”
“I am so glad you like it, Riley. It is very special to me.”
Riley made no further comments about the music and just enjoyed the pleasantries of the melodies. She was unprepared to delve further into the genesis of the record. She wanted to know, she wanted it to be for her, but on the other hand, she wanted to steer as far away from the reason for the record as possible.
Riley was not ready to pursue anything with Keenan that would constitute a convenience.
There was too much at stake. She was not risking her sanity for something that began and probably ended last night — or today. The conversation ended, for the moment, on a romantic note from the CD, Love is a Many Splendored Thing, as Riley closed her eyes again and drifted with the song.
What they had wasn’t love and longing. It was a deeply passionate lust — it was a hunger.
I never felt that way before and I doubt I ever will again, but I have no expectation of privilege or duty from him.
“You look wonderful Keenan, even after all these hours apart.”
“Checking me out, huh? Still hungry for chocolate?” Keenan made a playful effort to relax the situation.
“It is hard not to look at you, Keenan. I have thought of you many times; I’ve seen you in concert over the years. But, nothing like last night. Comparing who we are now to who we were then is only natural, I think. Don’t you? I mean, you never saw me before last night.”
