Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Tara Wylde

  “She plays beautifully, you must be a talented teacher.”

  I resist the urge to ask if he sleeps with all his students.

  "She's coming along. I’ve arranged for her to play in front of crowds who will appreciate the delicate music she prefers. Classical music fans will fall in love with her, both as a musician and for the incredible woman she is."

  I don’t comment. I feel him staring down at me. “You know of our relationship?”

  I nod.

  His gaze probes my face. “And you don’t approve. Why?”

  Some men would take get upset or defensive, but not Duran. He seems genuinely curious.

  Now that I’m with him, I understand exactly what Shelly meant. Duran exudes romance, it’s impossible to ignore, but it feels … like a gloss that exists solely to mask something darker underneath.

  The fact that he’s conscious of the effect he has on women, and uses flamboyant gestures and wordy phrases to enhance the pull.

  “I don’t approve.”

  “Nor do I.”

  This surprises me. “Then why do you continue to have sex with her. Why not set her free?”

  His eyes turn sad. “If it was just about, as you put it, sex. I would. But it’s deeper than that. More complicated, as all good love affairs always are. I think you know that better than you want to admit.”

  I tear my gaze free of his and look over Duran’s shoulder for Lucas. He’s standing at the far end of the garden, surrounded by a group of men.

  Just looking at him causes a sense of self-satisfaction to come over me, and when I’m near him, even when he irritates and frustrates me, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

  I keep a piece of paper tucked in my purse that clearly states that our relationship is scheduled to be dissolved in a few months’ time, my connection to Lucas feels stronger than either of us, like it’s an integral part of the very fabric of the universe.

  The more I’m with him, the more I sense he’s the one.

  Duran bends my back in a low dip. When I straighten, I see that several of the men gathered around Lucas are laughing, but not him. He remains stone faced.

  Whatever I’m feeling it can’t be love. I’d never fall in love with someone so damaged they can’t laugh.

  I’m so preoccupied with my thoughts, I fail to notice that Duran has danced me right to the edge of the dance floor, that some of his turns actually rotates us into the milling crowed.

  One minute I’m dancing. The next minute my body slams into someone else’s, and cold liquid dribbles down my cleavage.

  270

  Alexis

  “Oh my gosh – Alexis! I’m so sorry!”

  Eileen stares at the front of my dress, wide-eyed. The red wine she’d been holding when I slammed into her, spreads across the pale blue fabric while little drops roll between my cleavage, leaving a wet, sticky trail in their wake.

  A waiter rushes up instantly, his hands full of white cloth napkins. Duran grabs one and starts swiping at the stain. I push his hand away. The damage is done. Smearing the mess around won’t do any good. Besides, that’s the last place I want his hands…

  “It’s my fault,” Duran practically wails. “I was so caught up in the moment, the conversation, the music, I failed to look where I was going.”

  Okay, on the dance floor, his wordiness was enchanting, but right now, I can definitely do without it.

  “It’s no one’s fault.” I pluck at the fabric, trying to remove it from my skin. “It was an accident.”

  “Oh dear.” The older woman Lucas pointed out to me, Martha Hembroke, hurries to my side and surveys the mess.

  She slips a hand around my elbow, carefully angling her body so nothing drips onto her.

  “Come with me. I keep an assortment of extra clothing on hand for just such an occasion. I’m sure we can find something that will fit you.”

  Martha leads me into her home and guides me to a spare bedroom. “In here.”

  “I’m a compulsive shopper,” she tells me as she moves across the room and opens a closet. “I just can’t resist a good deal. Since I really don’t need anything, I’ve gotten into the habit of buying items in an assortment of sizes for occasions just like this."

  As she shifts through the tightly packed closet, I wander over to a small vanity case stocked with tiny glass perfume bottles.

  I pick one up, a delicately made snowflake an examine it. “Mrs. Hembroke?”

  “Mmm.”

  “This is a very pretty bottle.”

  She pulls a pretty gray ensemble from the closet and looks at the bottle in my hand.

  “Yes. It is. That’s another habit of mine. Collecting knickknacks.” She purses her lips and studies me. “That’s right, you’re into antiques, aren’t you? Is that bottle worth anything whatsoever?”

  I shrug and return it to its place on the vanity.

  “Not a lot. A few hundred dollars, perhaps, but I happen to know someone who collects bottles produced by the same company. If you decide to sell, they’d give you a fair price.”

  “Here, dear.” She hands me the outfit.

  “This should fit – and the color will look lovely on you.” She smiles. “In answer to your question, I’m not ready to sell the bottle, but I do have a lovely and very old bedroom set I’d like to look at some time. I think you’ll like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  I watch as she slips from the room, leaving me alone so I can change. Something tells me that she’s a kindred spirit. As soon as I have time, I decide, I’ll check out her bedroom set.

  And at the same time, perhaps, talk to her about taking an active interest in the museum Tessa and I are creating…

  271

  Lucas

  I hold the door and let Alexis proceed me into our shared bedroom.

  Tonight, when she temporarily disappeared from the party, an emotion I’ve yet to put a name to, taunted me. Initially, I figured it was just residual worry about her being in danger while at the museum she’s putting together, but when she returned and the indecipherable tangle of emotions changed, shoved aside by the need to throw her over my shoulder, caveman style, and haul her home, I realized it was something more.

  Somehow, Alexis has become important. If I’m honest with myself – and I always try to be – she's become the single most important thing in my life. It’s a realization that shakes me to my very core. I don’t know what to do about it.

  Alexis hits a switch, flooding the room with light, and turns to face me.

  A half smile plays around her mouth. “Lucas, tonight was-”

  I kick the door closed, its heavy thud trapping her words in her throat. Her eyes lock with mine as I reach up and undo my tie, pulling the black silk free of my collar with deliberate slowness.

  Alexis swallows, her chest heaving. I know she wants me as badly as I want her.

  I shrug out of my coat and toss it in the general direction of a nearby chair, before reaching for the top button of my shirt.

  “Come here. Now.”

  Right now I need to feel her sweet little body even more than I need to draw my next breath.

  Alexis walks into my arms, her eyes wide with anticipation.

  Without preamble, I crush her mouth with mine, staking my claim on her, reminding her that I’m her husband. Her familiar tastes soothes me – even as the fire within me burns white hot. My arms come around her, crushing her to me, wedding her curves to my edges.

  Her hands come up, her fingers tangling in my hair, encouraging me, both with her touch and the sweet sound of her moans. I bend her back over my arm, supporting her as my mouth moves to her throat. The sweet scent of strawberries, a fragrance that I’ll forever connect to Alexis, envelopes me as I move lower, finding the firm curve of her breasts.

  I nip and nuzzle her breasts, loving how even through the fabric of her borrowed dress, my touch turns her on. The strength goes out of her knees and she sags against me.

  I sweep o
ne arm under her leg and lift her. My mouth continues to play with her as I carry her to our enormous bed and sit on the side, Alexis draped across my lap. Her sweet ass wriggles against my cock as my fingers find the zipper on the back of her borrowed dress and pull it down, exposing her cream-colored skin.

  A quick shove, a giggle from Alexis, and a flip, and the dress lies in a silken puddle on the floor, Alexis pinned on the mattress beneath me.

  My mouth explores her breasts, nipping and teasing them. Her back arches with each touch, and broken, pleasured moans break free from her lips. Her head thrashes against the pillow, her nails dig deep lines into my back.

  I kick out of my trousers and free her of the thin scrap of panties that barely cover her pussy.

  “Beautiful,” I growl against her skin. And she’s mine. All mine.

  The primordial thought races across my brain followed by the instinct to brand her with my body, staking my claim.

  My hands skim her body, exploiting weeks of knowledge of all her most sensual spots, thrilling in the way each brush of my hand against her skin, causes her to buck and yell. Each sound of feminine pleasure sends a fresh wave of blood surging to my cock until I’m afraid I’m going to explode.

  Well, I am. Just not that way.

  I reach between her legs, spreading them before finding her clit and rolling it between my fingers. Her legs spasm and she screams a response.

  Mercy, everyone in the castle probably heard that. But I couldn’t care less. Everyone in this castle needs to know what my woman means to me.

  I rise above her. My hips settle between her thighs. My hands curl around her hips, holding her still as I slowly penetrate her.

  Her pussy clamps down on my cock and she captures my mouth in a fierce kiss.

  I move faster and she’s with me, stroke for stroke, her body urging me on.

  “Oh God,” I groan as pressure builds. I’m so close to losing control but I don’t want to. This feels so good, so right, I want it to continue for the rest of time.

  Alexis bucks and twists beneath me. Her hands are everywhere, in my hair, stroking my belly, clawing at my back.

  “Can’t … hold … on much … longer.”

  She shatters around me. The force of her orgasm, triggering my own.

  I short out, or maybe just black out. All I know is that one moment, I’m in the middle of the most intense climax of my life, and the next I’m laying on my side caught in a warm afterglow that feels just as good as the actual act did.

  It’s addictive.

  Alexis rolls into me, burrowing against my chest, while her body shakes with the aftershocks of her orgasm. I stroke her hair, soothing her.

  After a few minutes, she stills, the last of the tension drains from her muscles and I hear the soft sigh that always signals she’s tumbling into sleep.

  My own eyes droop in response. My breathing evens out and my consciousness dims as I drift towards sleep. I’m almost there when Alexis stirs in my arms.

  “Lucas,” she whispers. Her hand moves against my chest, feeling the slow steady rhythm of my breathing. “Lucas, are you awake?”

  I consider responding, but it seems like too much effort.

  She puts her mouth close to my ear.

  “Lucas,” she repeats, her voice no louder than a playful summer wind. “I know you don’t feel the same way, but I need to say this. I – I love you.” She pauses, her throat seeming to clench, before she continues.

  “I just needed to say it, just this one time.”

  272

  Lucas

  Eileen and my mother wind their way through the milling crowd of fencers and their families and coaching staff and make their way towards me. Alexis isn’t with them. I push away the white-hot stab of disappointment. When I told her I was fencing in this competition she said she’d be here.

  I guess she got distracted.

  Just two weeks ago she whispered that she loves me while thought I was sleeping, but she’s yet to repeat the statement while I’m awake, and ever since that night she’s behaved … not strangely exactly, but it seems like she has even less time for me.

  She’s putting more than sixteen hours a day into the museum problem, and on the rare occasions when she’s not there she’s talking about the museum. It’s like it consumes her. I’m starting to get kind of jealous of it.

  My mother smiles and hugs me. “Good luck,” she murmurs.

  The event’s not as important as the European Fencing Masters Championships, but it’s the first step towards redeeming my Olympic performance.

  I lean down kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Your father managed to clear his schedule enough to catch your first round.” Her eyes sparkle. “He’s in the parking lot, talking to a group of youngsters he found. I should go rescue him, otherwise he’ll forget why he’s here.”

  She moves off. To my surprise, Eileen doesn’t follow at her heels like she usually does, but hangs back.

  I raise my brow. “Is there a problem?”

  Eileen shakes her head and offers me a small smile. “Just wanted to let you know that I’m rooting for you – and that after you win the match, there’s going to be a small press conference so you can discuss your win.”

  A press conference without Alexis. That’ll be interesting. “Assuming I win, you mean”

  “You will.” Eileen leans over my large equipment bag and squeezes my arm. “After all, you’re the best.”

  I grunt a response before she turns and follows my mother. I wish I shared her confidence. The truth is that I’m hyper aware of the fact that I’m getting older while most of the competition is still quite young. I’m finally starting to realize that simply staying on top until the next Olympics is going to be an uphill battle itself. Let alone redeeming myself…

  I look around, taking in the wide variety of fencers preparing for their first rounds. Each one of them proud of their abilities and confident that they’ll walk away with the championship.

  Seven, eight years ago, few fencers traveled to Moravia for competitions. We were only starting to develop a strong national team and hadn’t gained enough respect for our competition to draw much interest from other countries.

  Things had changed. Today's competition isn't large enough to garner much interest from heavyweight countries like the United States and Russia with the resources needed to put on their own events and keep their national teams close to home, but it's big enough. The competition's going to be fierce – and it gets harder every year.

  As it’s grown, I’ve enjoyed watching how the different cultures come together over a shared love of my preferred sport.

  A tall gangly kid with a bandaged ankle and crutches, who’s old enough to be even taller than me but young enough to possess that rangy, half-starved look of adolescence approaches.

  “Mister … Prince … Your Majesty …” the more the young man struggles to land on the proper term of address, the stronger his melodic South African accent becomes.

  There was a time when I would have stood here, amused, while he continued to babble, but those days are behind me. I’m a better person now. Alexis has a lot to do with that. She doesn’t take my shit…

  “Please, call me Lucas.”

  The kid eyeballs me as if he’s sensing some kind of trap. “But –”

  “At home I’m a prince,” I tell him. “Here I’m just another fencer. Like you.”

  The boy nods. “I’m going to represent my country at the next Olympics.”

  “So right here, right now and at any other competition we meet at, I’m Lucas, and you are…”

  “JoJo.”

  “JoJo,” I repeat. “So right now, we’re just Lucas and JoJo. Okay?”

  He nods. I don’t have to wait long for him to tell me what he wants. “I’ve always admired your style and I hoped you’d give me some tips.”

  I look down at the bandage and crutches. “Other than not wrecking yourself?”

  He grins, sho
wing off teeth that gleam as bright as truce flags and chuckles.

  “Aye,” he chortles. “I tripped and cracked two bones and broke a toe. Stupid, right?”

  He doesn’t appear to be too upset about it. I have a funny feeling it’s a talking point with the ladies…

  “It’ll certainly make it hard to practice your foot work.”

  The kid throws his head back and roars with laughter. And Alexis thinks I don’t have a sense of humor. Shows what she knows. This kid thinks I’m a riot of laughs. Maybe the problem isn’t me, but her.

  “The best piece of advice I can give you, kid, is always be on the offensive. As long as you're moving, as long as you're attacking and keeping your opponent on the run, you’ll do just fine.”

  Something – a flash of movement or maybe just instinct, causes me to turn towards the door as Alexis pushes open the door and walks through it. Her bodyguard follows at a discreet distance.

  She came. Pleasure warms my chest. I take a moment to drink in her appearance.

  On anyone else the navy-blue bandage dress would look sedate, but on her, wow, the things it does to her curves. It's short enough to make her perfectly shaped legs look like they ended at her rib cage. Strappy silver sandals with kitten heels show off her feet, drawing attention to her rainbow-colored toenails. She’s taken extra time with her hair and make-up, something I know she’s done for my benefit.

  I wave my hand. She nods a response and changes her angle so she’s walking towards me.

  JoJo follows my gaze and lets out a low whistle. “That your woman?”

  “Yes,” I murmur. “My wife.” Saying the word gives me a sense of pride and I suddenly realize I want to spend the rest of my life calling her that. I just need to figure out a way to make her realize I’m not as stiff as she thinks.

  Looking at her, knowing she’s going to be with my family, watching everything in our private box fills me with the confidence I’ve been missing. I’m going to win this thing. With her watching me, how can I possibly do anything else?