Gateway to Heaven

by BETH KERY

  But Christian began to have his doubts about even that when he took in Megan’s expression when he went up the stairs. Memories of Hilary’s anger flashed across his brain. Damn it, Megan’s self-righteous, bitchy big sister could malign Christian as much as the sleazy tabloids did but Megan didn’t have to believe it, did she?

  Megan must have realized that her new wariness showed when she saw Christian’s face darken. “Hi,” she said softly. “Just give me a second, okay?”

  Christian nodded as he watched her say a few last words to her student and then send him on his way. He noticed the little boy’s look of dark suspicion when he saw Christian standing there but he didn’t find it half as humorous as he would have a minute ago.

  Megan raised her eyes to shield them from an intense early summer sun. The brightness had the effect of bleaching the color out of the city pavements and the buildings, making things look a little surreal. Christian, on the other hand, looked entirely real and vibrant as he stood on St. Cat’s steps with his arms crossed over his chest, a question waiting in his blue eyes.

  “Do you want to come into the classroom? It’s much cooler,” she asked him once Tommy Delvano walked down the steps. Christian was perfectly dressed for the weather in low-riding cargo shorts and a white T-shirt with a logo that merely read Heaven’s Gate. She really did need to ask him about his proclivity for enigmatic logos on his T-shirts.

  Megan admired his legs as he went in front of her to open the door for her. They were covered with just enough dark brown hair to look appealingly masculine without hiding tanned skin and well developed, lean muscle. She wore an unintentional grin as they entered her classroom and she idly picked up a chalkboard eraser.

  “What’s so funny?” Christian asked distractedly as he reached for the two-foot-high artist’s model that sat on her desk.

  “I was thinking how lucky you are. You get to dress like that for work. My work clothes are so much more constraining on a day like today.”

  Christian twisted the model’s wooden leg into a humanly impossible position before he switched his attention to her. His gaze drifted over her short-sleeved linen blouse, matching pale blue skirt, and low-heeled pumps. He smiled. “I like your teacher-look. Turns me on as much as your sculpting outfit did. Speaking of sculpting, I think I owe you an apology.”

  “What for?” she asked. She hoped he wasn’t going to apologize for Hilary’s bad behavior last night—

  “I was so rapped up in my own issues yesterday that I didn’t congratulate you enough on your news about getting a showing at the gallery.”

  “That’s nothing to apologize for,” Megan muttered, embarrassed.

  “Yes, it is. It’s great news, Megan. I want to make up for it. Tonight. I’m personally going to prepare you a celebratory dinner.”

  A shadow fell across his countenance when he noticed her hesitation.

  “I really shouldn’t, Christian. You wouldn’t believe how much work I have to do to prepare for the showing. I was about to head over to Earth right now, after I straightened up the classroom.”

  “It’s only three o’clock. You have to eat sometime.”

  “But it might be late before I—”

  “Megan, is there something you want to ask me? Something you need to tell me? Because it’s probably best just to get it out in the open.”

  They stared at each other. Megan heard the muffled sound of the front door of St. Cat’s school slamming shut and her heart beating loudly in her own ears.

  “No.”

  “Fine,” Christian said quietly. “Then how about eight o’clock? Won’t that give you enough time?”

  When she nodded, he told her that he would let Jeff know to let her go straight up on his elevator whenever she arrived.

  Megan didn’t know that her expressive face easily revealed the depth of her longing and confusion. She only knew that she’d never wanted Christian to hold her so much, to feel protected and safe within the circle of his arms. Her disappointment was palpable when he just muttered a brief goodbye and left the classroom.

  “Why don’t you just tell him, Megan?”

  It was a few hours later and Tina was sprawled in the only chair Megan’s studio possessed. The Chinese-American woman’s short hair was heavily gelled into black spikes that surrounded her angelic face like a demon’s halo.

  Megan flipped irritably through her photos for potential sculptures. She’d been dissatisfied with almost every idea that came into her head since she’d started working.

  “I don’t want him to think I’m a freak.”

  “You’re not the freak, that pervert…what’s his name, Nightingale? He’s the freak,” Tina said hotly.

  “You didn’t hear the stuff Hilary said last night about Christian. I had no idea he was so well known. It would ever work out between us.”

  Tina snorted. “I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘work out.’ If it means having great, hot, healthy sex with a gorgeous man who obviously is crazy about you, then I don’t think you have anything to worry about. If ‘work out’ means that you and Christian getting happily married at St. Catherine’s while your adoring family looks on, moving into a cozy bungalow just down the way from Terry and Hilary and living happily ever after—well, I sort of doubt it. Christian’s too cool for any of that lame crap. But then, so are you. You just haven’t figured that out yet.”

  Megan glanced up in surprise. “How do you know so much about Christian?”

  “I’ve read some interviews. One from Rolling Stone and one that he did for The Reader a couple years ago. He’s actually a pretty reclusive guy, so I tend to notice when he does an interview. You have to trust them a little more than all that crap they print in the tabloids. You can tell he’s smart by the things he says, his sense of humor. He seems well-educated, well-traveled, fun, confident without being arrogant—your basic female dream-come-true. Besides, haven’t you heard his lyrics? I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten you into bed already by just talking to you.”

  Megan’s idle flipping of pages stilled. Tina’s words were just a little too disconcerting—and accurate—for her comfort.

  “His lyrics are really sexy?”

  Tina gave a silvery laugh. “You are so out of it. Yeah, his lyrics are sexy all right, but not sexy like, ‘You shook me all night long’ or shit like that. He’s really cerebral—more so than some of those teenage head-bangers who show up to his concerts and buy his stuff could ever comprehend. He’s poetic sometimes, irreverent others…always passionate. Sometimes, I think he chooses his lyrics not so much because of what they say, but because of how the words strike the ear, how they feel in his mouth. Yeah, I’d say his lyrics are damn sexy. Just go to iTunes and sample some of his music.”

  “I can’t, my computer is still broken and I haven’t got the money to repair it,” she replied as she flipped a page.

  Tina laughed softly. “You’re not in any hurry to fix it, either. I swear, you’re the only person I know who could live comfortably without modern technology. Never mind, I’ll bring you one of his CD’s.”

  Megan was hardly listening. She continued her browsing, her mind going a mile a minute. Everything Tina said coincided exactly with her experience of Christian’s song last night—all except the part about the teenage head-bangers. Megan knew she was out of it when it came to mainstream culture, but was the sensual, bluesy sound of Christian’s music really what kids liked these days?

  “Hilary said that Christian doesn’t even live here. He shouldn’t be trying to start something with me when it’s so temporary,” Megan blurted out.

  “That’s Hilary talking now. Haven’t you ever heard of airplanes, telephones…Internet sex?” Tina sat up in the chair determinedly. “Just between you and me, sweetie, this thing your mom and Hilary do to you—this protective thing?—it’s weird. It’s not healthy. You know that, don’t you?”

  “It’s just because they care about me.”

  Tina scowled. “Yeah, sure. But
they’re letting their worry get in the way of you leading a normal life.”

  Tina startled in surprise when Megan abruptly threw her portfolio down on the floor, hard.

  “It’s not their fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who’s let it happen. I’m the one that leads an abnormal life.”

  Tina stood up, looking shocked. “Jeez, Megan. You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know it. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at this stupid situation.” Frustration welled up in her. Her eyes shimmered with tears when she looked at Tina. “It’s not Hilary’s or my mother’s fault. Even when I was away at college and grad school—away from this neighborhood—I kept myself wrapped up in some kind of…cocoon, too scared to take a chance, always submersing myself in my art, shying away from men—not because I was scared of them like everyone else seems to think, but because I never knew the right things to say.”

  “That’s not a shocker,” Tina defended. “You just didn’t have much practice, the way everyone treats you with kid gloves in this neighborhood. You’re just a late bloomer, Megan.”

  She stared at her friend, her mouth gaping open. “A late bloomer?”

  “Yeah,” Tina said, as if it were all obvious. “You get along with Christian okay. You just needed to find the right guy to bring you out of your shell.”

  Megan made a scoffing sound. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” she said acerbically. “What am I supposed to tell Christian, exactly? ‘I’d like to sleep with you, but I’ve never been to bed with a man before, even though the doctors have proclaimed that without a doubt, I lost my virginity in more ways than you’d care to hear about well over twenty years ago.’”

  “Sounds like a good start to me,” Tina said without missing a beat.

  A few seconds passed before ragged laughter erupted from her throat. That’s why she loved Tina so much. If she’d said the same thing to Hilary or her mother, they would have broken into tears and tried to give her a sedative. If her father were still alive, he would have turned pale and gone into the den with a full bottle.

  “He’d freak out and run, Tina,” she said wearily as she picked up the portfolio. “I can’t say I’d blame him.”

  “You’re never going to know for sure unless you try,” Tina replied softly.

  Chapter 5

  Megan wasn’t sure what to expect when she stepped off the private elevator into Christian’s loft, but it wasn’t that she would be walking directly into the vast space of his living room. Or music studio, she amended when she took in the piano, several guitars on stands, and a complex network of stereo and electronic equipment. The room she’d entered was well over two thousand square feet on its own, and could easily encompass an entire home. The floors were a beautiful maple that matched the stain on the massive, original timber beams of the ceiling. The bookcases that lined the far wall were custom made, and filled with a multitude of vertically and horizontally stacked books, old record albums and periodicals. The furniture, rugs, and the few art pieces in the room suggested a minimalist, oriental influence.

  “Megan?”

  “It’s me,” she answered Christian’s distant voice.

  A second later he entered the room from a hallway to the right. “Come on in. You can watch me while I slave away at your dinner.”

  Megan followed him down a corridor that opened up to another large, well-lit space with a kitchen on the left and a dining area to the right. Her eyes widened longingly when she saw the gigantic terrace outside the sliding glass doors in the dining room, complete with lush landscaping and an outdoor hot tub.

  “Nice little place you’ve got here, Christian,” she said wryly.

  He laughed while he resumed slicing a tomato. “One of the advantages of Chicago. Only place I could get this amount of space and the view. Manhattan is too expensive for me and L.A. doesn’t have a view worth paying for, as far as I’m concerned.” He set down the knife and wiped off his hands on a towel.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  Megan nodded and he removed a bottle of chardonnay from the stainless steel refrigerator.

  “This kitchen is pretty state of the art. Do you cook a lot?” Megan asked with interest as she watched him expertly uncork the bottle and remove some wine glasses from the cabinet.

  “No. But don’t worry. I know how to cook one or two reliable meals. Nothing fancy but you’re not going to choke on it or anything. At least I hope not.”

  “That’s reassuring,” she said with a laugh.

  He handed her the wine glass as his blue-eyed gaze ran over her face. “You seem happy. Your work went well?”

  She wrinkled her nose and took a delicate sip of wine, savoring the flavor before she spoke.

  “It was okay, I guess.”

  “Are you ever happy with your sculpting?”

  “Sure. For about three seconds both times,” Megan replied quickly.

  He gave a full-throated bark of laughter. “Yeah, I guess we’re always our own worst critic. Thank God other people aren’t as harsh as we are.” He lifted his wine glass to hers. Megan took another sip and smiled appreciatively.

  “You’re a natural sensualist.”

  “What?” Megan asked, taken off guard by his husky voice.

  He nodded toward her wineglass. “I’m just saying…you use your senses better than most people. I can tell from your art. Not to mention the way you appreciate your wine.” He gave her a reassuring smile when he noticed her disquietude. His unexpected words had…stirred her for some reason.

  “Here’s to you and your showing. When will it be?” Christian asked.

  “Not until December. I’ll never make it. I have so much to do.”

  “You’ll do fine,” he murmured huskily. He glanced down over her. His forehead crinkled in concern and he straightened. He abruptly set his wine glass down on the ebony granite countertop.

  “You look fantastic. I should go change clothes.”

  “Why?” Megan wondered in confusion. He was dressed in the shorts and T-shirt that he’d been in several hours ago. He was barefoot, and he looked like the picture of sexy summer-time relaxation.

  “You put on a dress to come over. I’m a heel. I should have dressed up for your special dinner.” He started to walk out of the kitchen, but Megan stopped him by putting her hand on his upper arm.

  “It’s just a sundress. I put it on because of the heat. Don’t change because of me. I like the way you’re dressed.”

  And the way you smell.

  “Really?” Christian asked as he bent down close to her. Megan’s lips parted in alarm. She hadn’t just said that last thought out loud, had she? The heavy sensuality of Christian’s gaze and his body language suggested that she had. He put his cheek next to her hair and inhaled.

  “I like the way you smell, too. Fresh. Clean. Sweet. Like a wild meadow after a spring rain.” He kissed her temple warmly. Megan’s wine glass trembled in her hand. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

  “What kind of a deal?”

  “I’ll stay in these clothes if you let your hair down. What?” He countered with wide-eyed innocence when she looked at him with pointed suspicion. “It’ll make me feel less conspicuous, like I’m not just the peasant who won the lottery and got the privilege of dining with the princess. You wouldn’t want to make me feel uncomfortable, would you?”

  Megan gave him a look that told him she wasn’t buying it. Christian would sit down to tea with the Queen of England herself wearing holey jeans and flip-flops and never break a sweat. Still, she didn’t protest when he removed the clip from the back of her head.

  He gave a lazy, smug grin as he ran his fingers through her loose hair.

  “That was excellent. I have to get the recipe from you for the marinade,” Megan said a half hour later.

  Christian shrugged as he leaned back in the armed dining room chair. They’d decided that it was too hot to sit outside on the terrace, although Megan had accompanied him on a few
barbecuing forays while he checked on the salmon he grilled outside. “I don’t have a recipe. I just make it up as I go along.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” she teased. But her eyes were sincere when they met his.

  “Thank you, Christian. Nobody’s ever made me a congratulatory meal.”

  He paused in lifting his water glass to his mouth. “Nobody?”

  Her laugh sounded embarrassed. “Not that I can recall.”

  Christian watched her for a few seconds, not particularly relishing the idea of no one ever doing anything special for this unique woman. He thought of something and bound up from his chair. “I almost forgot. Your special meal isn’t finished yet. Why don’t you go into the living room and I’ll bring it to you there.”

  He ignored her when she said that she wanted to help him clean up and pushed her toward the living room. Megan was examining his black baby grand when Christian entered a few minutes later with a tray. “You play all of these instruments, Christian?”

  “Yes, but highly inexpertly.”

  Megan smiled. “When you have a friend with Seth’s talent almost everything must seem inexpert by comparison.”

  “Exactly, but don’t tell Seth I said so. His head is already as big as the state of California. Do you play an instrument?”

  Megan glanced up in surprise when she realized that he’d set down the tray on the coffee table and was standing right behind her.

  “No. Art lessons were my parents’ limit. My mother still considers art to be a hobby, not a career,” she said wryly. She placed one finger on a key, the struck note striking him as wistful somehow. “I always wished I could play the piano, though.”

  “You can still learn. My mom taught me. She was a real taskmaster, too.” He reached down and played the opening notes to one of the Brandenburg concertos.