by L.H. Cosway
Rose shifted in her seat, elegantly stretching her arms up over her head. I watched the movement with barely concealed fascination. Her body and the way she moved it was something of an obsession of mine.
“My shoulder’s still a bit stiff,” she explained, and my eyes traced the delicate arch of her spine, the way her hips flared out in an exquisite curve.
“It’s a shame you fear the stage,” I said without thinking, my voice low.
She looked at me, the comment taking her off guard. “Why?”
I moved closer so that my lips almost touched her ear. “Because a beauty like yours deserves an audience.”
I could see her skin bead as a tremble moved through her. “Damon,” she whispered, her hand going to my knee, the touch soft.
“What is it, petal?”
She exhaled a shaky breath. “You’re the only audience I want.”
Her response sent white heat shooting through my system, my adrenaline spiking as images filled my head. I saw Rose, naked and writhing beneath my sheets, my face between her legs as I tasted her wet sex, eyes never leaving her face as I soaked in her every reaction.
I took her hand that had settled on my thigh and held it in mine, my thumb brushing back and forth over the inside of her palm. Her breathing grew laboured, and I felt like my senses had been heightened. I could practically see the air leaving her, how the barest touch of red tinted her cheeks, the blood rising as she envisioned similar things in her own mind.
We gazed at each other then, the chatter of those around us filling the heavy silence that seemed to punctuate just how much I desired her. I could still feel her breast, full and lush in my palm, remember how her nipple pebbled instantly at my touch. I’d been dreaming of her tits for weeks, but I had no idea how touching them would totally eclipse that memory.
Rose shifted in place, her thighs pressing together, and I wondered if she was wet. It was all I could do to keep my cock in check, because she had a way of sending my blood south just by being close to me. The entire situation verged on the edge of torture. We had a long journey ahead of us with no privacy or route of escape.
In the end, Rose turned and rested her head on my shoulder. The affectionate gesture surprised me, made my heart thump harder, and I wondered if she could feel my pulse racing against her cheek. I lifted my arm and draped it around her, happy to just be there, quietly holding her. Her eyes closed, and after a little while I could see she’d drifted off to sleep. I was almost tempted to join her, but I didn’t want to give up this time I had. I wanted to enjoy being so close to her after what felt like an eternity keeping my distance.
She only stirred when the bus finally arrived back in the city. I watched as she blinked a few times, moved her body, and then smiled when she remembered where she was and whose shoulder she’d fallen asleep on.
“Hey,” she whispered, sitting up and pulling away to fix her hair. I already missed her, my arms feeling empty without her there.
“Hi,” I murmured in response.
The bus pulled to a stop outside Iggy’s studio, and Rose and I disembarked with the others. Out on the street, it seemed like we couldn’t stop staring at each other. When we spoke, it was all at once.
“Want to share a taxi?”
“I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”
I’d been the one to offer sharing a taxi, but we both knew that wasn’t a good idea. With how I was feeling, having spent the last two hours with her in my arms, all I wanted to do was carry her to my bed and keep her there for what was left of the weekend.
“I told Iggy I’d help him build this new chest of drawers he bought for his flat,” said Rose, her cheeks colouring. I imagined she knew exactly why I’d been so eager to share a taxi.
“Okay, I’ll see you Monday, then,” I said, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her cheek. When I stood back to my full height, I felt the weight of somebody’s stare. Blake was standing just a few yards behind Rose, chatting with several other cast members. He wasn’t speaking, though. His jaw was tight and his expression dark as he glared daggers at me. I continued staring him down, because fuck if I was going to be the one to look away first. Finally, he turned his head, and I felt a small victory that I’d held my ground the longest.
A moment later, Rose said one last goodbye before going with Iggy. It wasn’t often that I felt possessive of people or things, but Rose had sparked something inside me, something that made me want her like I’d never wanted anyone else before in my life. She was beautiful and kind, funny and caring, and now I could only move forward with the prospect of us being together as my goal.
I watched her walk down the street with her eccentric boss, knowing that if I had my way she’d be mine, and Blake would never put his hands on her ever again.
Eighteen.
*Rose*
It was Sunday afternoon when my phone rang. I put down the clean laundry I was folding as I watched the repeat of Eastenders on BBC1. Damon’s name showed on the screen. My heart did one quick, hard somersault before proceeding to hammer away like a crazy monkey playing the drums.
The ride home from paintballing yesterday had been something else. I’d been so aroused, so near to him, yet with no choice but to keep my hands to myself.
I picked up after several rings, my voice expectedly shaky. “H-hey.”
“Rose, are you busy?” he asked, sounding stressed.
“Oh, um, not really. What’s going on?”
His next words flew out in one long stream of word vomit. Truth be told, it was probably the most I’d ever heard him speak all at once, so I knew something was wrong. “There are paparazzi outside the house, at least a dozen of them. One of them even climbed over the gate and tried snapping shots through the window. And Jacob called this morning to say Alicia and I have an appearance on a television talk show tonight to promote Moulin Rouge. He said he held off telling me because he knew I’d only stress out about it. Well, now I’m stressing even more since he’s sprung it on me with barely any notice. I don’t want to do it, but he said all promotional work is included in the contract I signed and — ”
He would’ve kept talking if I hadn’t cut him off mid-sentence. “Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll be over there in a few minutes.”
Damon exhaled. “Thank you, Rose.”
Hanging up, I went to grab my shoes and handbag before realising I was still in my PJs. Damon had sounded so stressed, and I didn’t want to leave him on his own any longer than necessary. With this in mind, I put on my winter coat, knowing it covered everything up, slipped into my shoes, and left the apartment.
When I reached Damon’s street, I saw all the press waiting outside. They must have caught wind that he was going to be on this TV show tonight, and that was why they’d decided to pay a visit. I didn’t want them to take any pictures of me going in, so instead I walked to the end of the street, then turned into the laneway that ran along the back of the houses. I found the gate at the rear of Damon’s house blessedly unlocked and made my way to the back door, knocking a few times gently. A minute later Damon appeared, eyes darting in all directions.
“Rose, come in. How did you get back here?” he asked as I stepped inside the warmth of the house.
“Your back gate was open. Don’t worry, it’s locked now. I thought it best not to come in through the front door just in case those paps start splashing pictures of me all over OK magazine this week,” I said with a hint of humour.
Damon grimaced and ran his hands through his hair. He wore loose-fitting jeans and a black T-shirt, his face sporting a light stubble. I tried not to stare when he lifted his arms over his head in agitation and a slim line of skin was revealed at his torso. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
I shook my head and told him gently, “Don’t apologise. It’s understandable that you’re freaking out. How about a cup of tea? I always find it good for settling my nerves.”
He exhaled, his panic fading a little. His mouth formed a smirk when I took o
ff my coat to reveal my pale blue and yellow striped pyjamas. “Were you sleeping when I called?”
I went to turn the kettle on. “No, just having a lazy Sunday. If I don’t have to work, then no way am I getting dressed when I could be wearing these.”
Damon chuckled low, rubbing his jaw as he went to sit down at the table. “You’re cute. And I think I feel better already.”
I did a little curtsy and grinned. “Glad to be of service.”
A few minutes later, I placed two cups of tea down on the table and took the seat opposite him. His eyebrows rose slightly as he looked at me, all expectant like he was waiting for me to unleash some sage advice.
“I’m not sure I’m the best person for you to be speaking with right now. You’re nervous about being on TV, and I’ve suffered from stage fright almost my entire life.”
Damon leaned forward on the table, clasping his teacup. I was momentarily struck by how out of place his big hands looked on the feminine china but shook off the thought. “Why is that, by the way?”
I let out a small laugh. “I thought we were supposed to be discussing your interview.”
He shook his head. “Better to talk about you. It’ll take my mind off things.”
“You shouldn’t be so worried, you know. This could be a good thing for you. You’re going to be on stage six nights a week once the show starts up. Maybe facing your fears today will help ease you in.”
“Stop diverting. Tell me why audiences scare you.”
I took a sip and relented. “Fine. When I was little, I used to dance all the time. I’d camp out in front of the television and copy the dancers on screen for hours, never caring if anyone else was around. Sometimes Julian would sit in and watch, cheer me on, and I loved his encouragement, even dreamed of a day when huge masses of people would cheer for me just like Julian did.”
Damon smiled, and yeah, big, massive whoosh through the heart. “I bet you were a great kid.”
“Not really. I was hyper and annoying. Too much energy, Mum always said. So anyway, you remember I lived in a house with all those other kids, Julian and Joanna’s two daughters? Their names were Yvonne and Claudia, and they were a couple of years older than me. One day they noticed me dancing and for some reason thought it was the most hilarious thing ever. They rounded up all the kids who lived on our street and had them hide outside our living room window. Then, after I’d been dancing alone for a few minutes, Yvonne threw open the curtains, and they all began pointing and laughing at me. For months afterwards those kids would call me names and say my dancing was terrible whenever they saw me on the street. I wasn’t terrible at all, but Yvonne and Claudia had put them up to it. Nothing but a pair of bullies. After that I stopped dancing in the living room, only in secret in my bedroom. I lost my desire for an audience completely. By the time I became a teenager and started taking lessons from Iggy, I still had this weird aversion to dancing in front of lots of people. I just wanted to be behind the scenes. That’s where I’m happiest.”
Damon was frowning as he listened to me speak. “Those sisters were probably jealous of your talent, but I understand how weird little things like that can give you a complex.”
I nodded. “It’s like when people have a fear of toothbrushes or toilet paper. Everyone thinks it’s silly, but it usually stems back to some random traumatic experience from childhood. Now you know mine.”
“I still feel robbed I’ll never get to see you on stage. You were made to perform, Rose. Perhaps one day your desire for a cheering audience will return,” Damon said kindly.
“You see me dance every day,” I replied before motioning with my hands. “All you need to do is imagine a stage beneath my feet.”
He didn’t say anything, only stared at me over his cup as he took another sip of tea. A small moment of quiet elapsed before he let out an exhausted sigh. “Those photographers outside are pissing me off. I can put up with it for a day or two, but if they plan on being out there every day, I might have to move.”
“Then they’ll just find out where you’re living the same way they discovered you were staying here. You know what I think? I think you should embrace it. Go out there, smile for the cameras, let them take a few shots, and then they’ll leave you alone. It’s the mystery that has them so eager to find out more, you know.”
“Smile for the cameras?” he asked. “I can’t see that going over well. I’ll end up looking like a sociopath when it doesn’t meet my eyes.”
His dry tone made me laugh. “Then you just need to practice. Work it into your daily routine. Every morning after you’ve brushed your teeth, spend a couple minutes practicing your smiles in the mirror.”
“I’m not doing that,” he scoffed.
“All celebrities do it! How do you think they perfect those sassy poses they do in their designer dresses when they’re walking the red carpet?”
“If I ever walk the red carpet again, I can guarantee you I won’t be wearing a designer dress,” he said, and I chuckled.
“Damon, be serious for a second. Practice takes away a good portion of your nerves. It’s the powerlessness, the feeling that you don’t know what you’re doing that makes you anxious. Very few people have natural confidence. In most cases it comes from experience. Why do you think we rehearse and rehearse and rehearse for the show? It’s so that once you go out there on opening night you’ll be confident and prepared to dazzle the audience, rather than a nervous wreck hiding in the corner.”
Damon wasn’t looking at my face now; instead, his gaze was trained on my mouth as I spoke. I cleared my throat to garner his attention, feeling oddly aroused by how he lost concentration like that. His dark eyes met mine.
“Anyway, the most urgent issue facing us right now is getting you through this interview,” I said as his focus returned.
He rubbed at his stubble. “Playing a part in front of a camera I can do. It’s being myself that’s the problem.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve told me. This is why you need to forget about the audience and pretend you’re playing a part. Pretend you’re acting as an actor being filmed for TV.”
“That could work,” he said, his attention drifting to the clock on the wall. “It’s not like I have another choice.”
“What time are they picking you up?”
He grimaced. “In forty minutes.”
“Crap. That doesn’t leave us much time.”
“I should just call Jacob and cancel. I can count about a million other things I’d rather be doing.”
“Such as hiding away in this house and trying to ignore the press outside?” I said, lightly teasing.
A hot, sexy look passed over his features as he levelled me with an intense stare. It was a stare that said challenge accepted. “That… and maybe giving you head.”
My mouth fell open as my pulse thrummed. I had no idea how to respond and wasn’t entirely certain where that had come from. Sure, he’d been staring at my mouth all sexy-like just a minute ago, but never in a million years did I imagine that was what he’d been thinking about.
My voice came out all breathy and stuttering. “Damon….”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Rose, I won’t apologise for wanting you.”
“I don’t expect you to, I just….” I closed my eyes for a second and tried to steady my breathing. “We haven’t even gone on our first date yet.” Why on earth I thought that was the most pertinent point to make in that moment, I had no idea.
Damon reached across the table, taking both my hands in his. “I’m not trying to rush you. But some days being around you is…difficult. You’re so fucking sexy I can hardly breathe with it sometimes.”
My eyes snapped open, and I just stared at him. We were locked in a moment for who knew how long when suddenly a loud, persistent knock sounded at his front door. He dropped my hands and stood, raking a hand through his hair as tension filled his body.
“That better not be those paparazzi again,” he said, his jaw tight. The knock came a
second time, and he walked out into the hallway. I followed and watched as he peeked through the peephole. His tension fell away somewhat as he opened the door and Jacob strode inside.
“Somebody’s garnering quite the fan club out there,” he commented before looking Damon up and down, his mouth forming an unhappy slant. “What’s this? You’re not even ready.”
“I’m ready. You’re early.”
“You’ve got your shit in bucketfuls if you think that’s what you’re wearing,” said Jacob, making a gesture of frustration with his hands before his eyes fell on me. “Rose! Thank God you’re here. Take this man upstairs and find something in his closet that resembles a suit before I have a conniption.”
I stifled a laugh and stepped forward, taking Damon’s hand and leading him up the stairs. When we reached his room, I closed the door and finally let my laughter flow. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone use the word conniption in about a decade.”
“He’s being melodramatic. My clothes are fine.”
“You’re selling Moulin Rouge, Damon. You need to look the part. And Jacob’s being melodramatic because this is his baby. I can’t even imagine the amount of work it must’ve taken just licensing the score. If the show turns out to be a flop, then he’ll be the one who has to live under the shadow of its failure.”
“I suppose,” he grumped, flopping down onto the bed.
“Did you notice he didn’t even question my being here, nor the fact that I’m wearing pyjamas?”
“I doubt he notices much aside from his own reflection half the time,” Damon commented wryly, and I smirked.
For a moment I stared at him lying there, one too many images flooding my mind. Damon cocked an eyebrow, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I shook off the moment of sexy stupor, turned to his wardrobe, and opened it before flicking through the hangers. In the end I managed to find a nice plain white shirt and a navy suit jacket. There weren’t any slacks, but his jeans could pass for designer. The look said laid-back Hollywood.
