Broken Crown

by Susan Ward

  I climb from the chair. I’ll go in, say hello to Chrissie, then cut out. It’s the right thing to do. For both of us.

  I step into the kitchen and Lourdes whirls to face me.

  “Señor Alan. You are back.”

  I set my glass on the counter and smile at her. She’s always liked me, though I’m not exactly sure why. Her arms open. She wants a hug.

  I let her take me into her embrace. She squeezes me tightly and gives me a little shake, in an exuberant, motherly sort of way. Christ, she must be near seventy. She’s worked for Chrissie forever. Like hell she can’t take care of all these kids by herself. She’s got quite a grip on her.

  She steps back. “It is good that you are here.”

  She says that in a heavy, worried sort of way. She’s part of Chrissie’s family. She knows everything and what she thinks matters here.

  “Everything has been all right, hasn’t it?”

  She nods. “The kids, they are mostly good. They miss Señor Jesse. Kaley the most. That girl—” She crosses herself quickly. “—she needs a firm hand. I do not know what’s happened to mi niña. The changes, it has been hardest on her. It breaks my heart to see her so angry and in pain.”

  She brushes at her cheeks, removing tears that broke through her iron control.

  I nod, and though it’s petty, I feel a slight relief knowing that it’s not just me Kaley is hostile with. Lourdes is definitely concerned about the girl.

  “It will be all right, Lourdes. These things take time to mend. Kaley is a good girl. She’ll work through this soon.”

  Her brows lift. “How long are you here for?”

  I shrug. “Three months. I go out on the road in April again. Last four months of the tour. After that, I don’t know. I’m thinking of moving back to Malibu permanently.”

  Her face brightens.

  Fuck, where did that come from?

  I haven’t thought about that even once.

  “You are a good man. You will be a good father, too. La niña needs a father. Don’t disappoint me. I will not like you if you do.”

  Her finger pokes into my chest with each word. My reaction to that is an odd mix. I bite back a smile, but inside every part of me is roiling. Lourdes knows I’m Khloe’s father and I’m surprised how much it matters to me to know she approves. And I’ve just been told by the housekeeper not to be a fuckup.

  “I’ll do my best, Lourdes. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

  She nods again approvingly.

  “You won’t disappoint me, Señor Alan. I am certain of this. Are you staying for dinner? Mrs. Harris, she has not eaten today. I was about to make her dinner.”

  I have a sudden impulse to kiss her. I drop a peck on her forehead. “Set a plate, but I’m not sure if I’m staying.”

  She smiles and nods.

  I go to the studio and enter quietly. I stare through the glass and smile. Chrissie is hunched over the piano, focusing on the sheets she has spread across the top, chewing a pencil.

  A brilliant songwriter, but methodical. I can tell by her posture that she’s nearly finished with something and she’s pleased with it.

  Not a good time to interrupt her.

  She probably hasn’t had two minutes to focus on anything except the kids since Jesse—

  I cut off my thoughts.

  I’m not ready to think about him.

  I settle on the chair in front of soundboard and prop up my feet, content to just watch her. Wispy images of the night we first met float through my head. How stunning she was, even at eighteen, in a denim skirt, UGG boots, and playing the cello in Jack’s studio.

  What was it I said to her through the intercom when she realized someone was watching her beyond the glass? It was probably inane. Something to keep her there. Ah. Yes. Theatrical, but it suited her.

  “Don’t open your eyes. I’m not going to hurt you and if you open your eyes this will do you no good.”

  Then I kissed her forehead and those gorgeous eyes flew wide. I was only messing with her, trying to figure out if I was interested enough in her to fuck her, but how it ended up was poetic justice. She looked at me. That was it. Took me for a walk on the beach. Chattered away in nonsensical drivel. Let me kiss her once. That was all. And she had me. I left her house without even trying to fuck her.

  Remorse moves in my veins. I was such an arrogant bastard back then and it did turn out to be a lie, the part about me not hurting her, because I did hurt her. A lot. I didn’t intend to. I never wanted to do anything but love her.

  Music floats through the intercom, filling the room with piano and her. I lean my head back, closing my eyes, savoring the sound. The sexy huskiness of her voice when she sings. It’s like the feel of her touching my body. I get a hard-on just listening to her.

  Fuck, she’s amazing.

  She could have been the biggest female vocalist in the industry. Ever. But she didn’t want it. Most artists spend their entire careers scrambling. Fighting to stay on top of the charts. They compete with themselves every minute, afraid to become irrelevant. But oh no, not Chrissie. She never does anything she doesn’t want to do. She quietly stepped back when she married Jesse. And she became anything but irrelevant. Artists beg to record her music.

  She’s has it all, her way, always.

  “How long have you been here?” Chrissie’s voice, rich with amusement, penetrates my thoughts.

  I open my eyes to find her leaning against the board, close to me, smiling.

  “About two hours.”

  Her eyes sparkle and she laughs. “Really? Two hours. You’ve survived alone, two hours, here.”

  Her manner is light, silly, to hide what she’s thinking. She is still cautious. Not sure about what direction to go with us. Not sure about me.

  I shrug. “It wasn’t so bad. It’s nearly an empty house in there.”

  She laughs again and eases into me, finally breaking the awkward and agonizing separateness between us we both seem strangely committed to keep. Her hand on my chest shoots sensation through my body. Her lips touch mine, a fast greeting kiss, nothing more. I fight not to pull her against me and turn this into what it should be.

  The way I want it.

  With her.

  She lifts her mouth, doesn’t pull completely back and instead places both her palms flat against my shirt. And fuck, the way she’s bent over leaves me a clear view—she’s not wearing a bra—and her tits are so close to me, nipples showing through her cotton tank top, teasing and not touching me.

  “Are you staying for dinner?” she asks softly.

  I’d rather stay for the night.

  I adjust in the chair, willing my body not to respond to my thoughts or her closeness.

  “If you want me to,” I say, trying not to overplay my hand too soon.

  “Oh yeah. I want. You can stay.”

  Her voice shoots through my veins like a Viagra rush and I can’t even begin to decipher the way her eyes are shining at me. I watch, stunned, mute, as she moves a leg until she’s straddling my thighs and sets her ass down on me, curling up against my chest with her arms around me.

  Her fingers lightly stroke the back of my neck. She brushes her cheek against my chest. My dick hardens to its full length. From another woman, I’d think I was about to be fucked, right here, right now. But no, that’s not Chrissie.

  I try to will down my erection.

  Nope, not working.

  I lift the hair from her shoulder and lean in, kissing her neck. She moves in to my touch, not away. Maybe this is going where I want it to.

  I pull her up into me until that tight little ass is on my cock that’s begging to be freed from my pants. Leaning in, I capture her mouth in a brutal kiss. No hesitation. Her mouth melts beneath mine. I deepen the contact, altering the flow, my hips flexing, my body rubbing her there.

  She moans and pulls back, breathless. “God, we feel good tonight. Stay close. It feels good.”

  I touch her face. My body is burning. “I
’ll stay close. For as long as you want me to. Fuck, you have no idea how much I love you. How much I want you. How much I want this.”

  Her fingers dive into my hair, dragging me back into her kiss. There is something in her I’ve never felt before. A different intimacy, more intense, something potent and even beyond sexual, and it’s like a fire running all through her.

  I stop grinding into her, and ease both my body and my mouth from her. If I don’t pull back now, I’m going to fuck her on the floor.

  I touch her cheek. “What’s gotten into you? Tell me what I did to cause this, love. I’ll do it every day. When I touch you and you feel like this, it makes me out of my mind for you. I don’t even know what this feeling is I’m feeling in you, Chrissie.”

  Her over-bright eyes are laced with amusement. “I’ve been worried. And now I’m not. It feels amazing to know everything is going to be OK.”

  I don’t understand her.

  Fuck, does it matter?

  I just want make to make love to her and enjoy this—whatever this is.

  She rubs her cheek against my chest again, kisses me once, and then lifts her face. “I don’t even remember me before you, Alan. I love you. I’ve loved you from the first moment we met. But never more than I do tonight with the smell of Khloe on your shirt.”

  Her eyes stare into mine in a way I know I’ll never forget. Her words warm every part of me. But they are stinging, too. She knows I finally went to meet Khloe. That’s what this is. And Christ, she is so easy to please it shames me, because I’ve done a damn poor job of that, always.

  What the hell am I doing here with her? Everyone is right. I’m just going to fuck up her life again. I don’t deserve her. Not even the best man among us deserves her. I’m far from the best. And the beauty of her at times is awe-inspiring.

  Whatever she wants.

  Whatever she asks for.

  I’ll do it.

  That she lets me through the front door is a bloody miracle.

  A sound escapes her throat, a husky half-laugh. A hint of delight mixes with the shimmers in her eyes. “I bet I’m the first woman ever to be turned on not by sexy you, but by baby drool on your shirt. I want this shirt, Alan. Mailing label and all. I’m going to put it in a plastic bag like the Monica Lewinsky dress and keep it forever in my safety deposit box.”

  I laugh—fuck, she’s ridiculous. Christ, I love her.

  She climbs from my lap too soon. She checks her watch. “Wow. Is it really 8:30? Come on. I’m hungry. Let’s eat dinner.”

  Absolutely ridiculous. I don’t want food. I want to make love to her. I follow her out of the studio anyway.

  Two hours later, we’re sitting on her back patio on a double lounger. Dinner was wonderful. Being alone with Chrissie was everything I remember. The quiet talk. Her gentle laughter. The sporadic touch of her hand on mine. The way her eyes smile at me over every bite.

  This evening has gone well. Better than I’d hoped for. But fuck, the intermission didn’t do anything to calm down my body. In fact, I’m even more urgent in my flesh.

  Fuck, how do I get her into bed?

  Jesus Christ, I can’t believe that I’m failing at this. I thought it was a done deal two hours ago. She came at me pretty hard in the studio. I thought dinner was just a break. But, fuck, she doesn’t seem to get the hints I drop.

  Maybe she gets them.

  Maybe she ignores them.

  Maybe it’s time for me to leave.

  She leans in to me and kisses me on the jaw. “You have the strangest look on your face, Alan. What are you thinking?”

  I’m thinking that if I don’t get you into bed soon he’s going to explode.

  I smile.

  I touch her cheek.

  “About Khloe. I’m thrilled about her. I shouldn’t have waited three days to say that. She’s beautiful. Beautiful like you and I’m thrilled.”

  She pulls me into a kiss. Against my mouth, she says, “I knew that before you said it. But it’s good to hear it.”

  There is a sweet kind of heaviness to the air. Like being drunk while sober. Intimate. Silly. Happy. Something new. Different.

  “Promise to tell me you’re thrilled, Chrissie, if we discover later that she has the gene that spouts expletives and Chekhov simultaneously. Right now I only see black hair from me.”

  She laughs and curls into me. “You need to look with more than your eyes, Alan. She is more like you than me. She pulls herself inward into calm. Isolated calm. That’s you, not me. She’s serious and studies everything. She likes Bach, Blackpoll and Metallica. Bold colors like Picasso. The feel of me all around her while she sleeps. She’s you. We’re in trouble. Big trouble.”

  Laughing, I close my hands on her cheeks and kiss her. “Were you sorry? Are you sorry? Expletives. Chekhov. Me.”

  I say that in a silly way, but it’s not a joke. Not inside me. I want her not only to be happy about Khloe. I want her to be happy she’s mine. I never expected to feel that way. I wait, tense, trying to read her face as she silently stares at me.

  She rolls her eyes. “How could I ever be sorry? Not for a second. Never. I love you, but I love more this part of you that’s mine.”

  I pull her into my arms and crush her against me. My limbs are trembling. The relief I feel is overpowering. It would have been awful if she regretted me.

  We feel good right now, but it’s like a caution telling me to leave. Things are in comfortable balance. It is better not to push. Better to let it sit for a while.

  “It’s late. I should probably cut out.”

  The patio door opens. Ethan runs out. He climbs onto Chrissie lap and curls into her. She brushes his golden blond hair from his face and kisses his brow. “What are you still doing awake, kiddo? Just because it’s winter break doesn’t mean you can stay up past 8:30.”

  Ethan glares at me and says nothing.

  OK, I get it.

  You want me gone.

  You’re claiming her.

  Lourdes follows a few minutes later and hands her a cell phone. Chrissie quickly reads a text. Then her thumbs move rapidly in answer. She clicks off the phone and gives it to the housekeeper.

  She looks up at Lourdes. “Kaley is staying the night with Zoe at the Kennedys’. Do you mind if Ethan sleeps with you in your room, Lourdes? He won’t go to bed in his room without Eric.”

  The two women stare at each other.

  I should get out of Chrissie’s way.

  “No problem, Mrs. Harris,” Lourdes says softly, lifting Ethan from Chrissie’s lap, and then walks away.

  “I’m going to cut out, Chrissie.”

  I set down my glass and start to rise.

  She stops me with a hand. “No, wait,” she says with sudden anxiousness. She watches the house. The door closes.

  She stands and steps in to me. She doesn’t look at me. “If any of my kids other than Ethan were home, I wouldn’t be doing this. But he never wakes up, especially when he’s with Lourdes, and he sleeps late into the morning. You’ve got to be out of here by eight.” She peeks up at me, her face flush, her eyes glowing. “Stay the night with me, Alan.”

  Chapter 12

  Chrissie guides me down the hallway toward the back of the house, her hand in mine and her face sweetly averted.

  Everything about her—her posture and expression—is shy and alluring. Fuck, this is nothing new for us, we’ve spent more than half our lives together in bed. But I can feel her nervousness mixed with static anxiousness. It’s cute and a turn-on.

  God, I love her. This amazing woman, changeable yet constant, who has confounded me every minute of our life together.

  She releases my hand once we’re inside her room. I pull her into my arms, holding her flush against me and the door. She gasps, startled, and I can feel her against me and I know she can feel me.

  I stare down at her, bodies touching, nothing more. The darkness of the room is good. Maybe it will keep in control my damn libido. I want her in a way that is pai
nful. A way that warns me if I don’t take this slow I’m going to be over too early. The last thing I want is for this fuck to be quick with Chrissie.

  But the buildup.

  The thinking about it.

  Being with her.

  The thrill of the anticipation.

  Dick-ripping agony.

  Fuck, I’m surprised I haven’t already come. Every inch has been hard and pulsing for release since she said “Stay the night with me, Alan.”

  I take in a deep, steadying breath. My fingers lace through her hair and bring her face up to me, lips close, not touching.

  Her eyes widen, locking on mine.

  “I love you, Chrissie,” I whisper. I lean down and lightly kiss her, then tease her lower lip with mine. I inhale deeply the scent of her. My cock hardens more. “I don’t want to fuck. I want to make love. But I’m on fire. I need to do this slowly.”

  She studies me, her eyes enormous on her face. Then she laughs. “God, we’re ridiculous, Alan. We’ve gone to bed together hundreds of times. Why are we both nervous?”

  Both nervous?

  Oh fuck, she’s right—

  I am nervous.

  Her eyes have an expression of understanding and her cheeks just a wash of rose color. She’s entrancing. Intoxicating. She loves me and I love her and I am being ridiculous.

  This woman makes me crazy.

  The only woman ever to knock me off my feet, run roughshod over my body, and have me want it as she does it. I am fully lit and ready to fuck her. She’s fully lit and ready for me. The signals emanating from both of us are familiar and crystal fucking clear.

  But I’m stalled.

  I don’t know why.

  Then I shift my eyes to hers. Instant comprehension. There are times when who she is, what she’s feeling, and what she needs move through my body like Morse code.

  She really is nervous and it doesn’t take an expert in women to know why. This is not a Chrissie cuteness moment or flash of emotional illogical. Fuck, she just had a baby—my baby. This is new for her, for me, and for the both of us.

  I take a moment to cool my body. I’m not sure how to do this, make love to a new mother, but fuck, tossing her on the bed and taking her from behind I’m pretty sure wouldn’t be a winner. Bucking hard between her thighs probably not much better. A blow job—don’t be absurd, this is Chrissie. My dick pulses at the thought of her mouth on my cock even though he knows we’re not going to get it.