“Drago Castenoff? The composer? God, Sarah plays your stuff all the time. She even dances to it.” She looked at Sarah, then back, a hand pressed against her heart. “But I guess you already know that.” She grabbed Sarah’s hands. “God, Sarah, why didn’t you say anything? I’ll take Lacey to McDonald’s or something. I wouldn’t want to disturb you guys. This is so cool!”
Drago felt like shit. He hadn’t wanted Sarah to find out this way. He’d been relieved that his name hadn’t come up on Monday, but he knew he’d have to address who he was eventually. He already knew she must have some connection to his music, since she had indeed been dancing to it Monday night, but he hadn’t wanted to seem like some player using who he was and what he did to get her more naked than she already was. Problem was, now he feared he just looked like a deceptive game-playing jack-ass. The look in Sarah’s eyes confirmed it.
“No, Belle. I already have dinner made and I am not interested in being alone with Mr. Castenoff.” She offered a tight smile. “Kind though he’s been.”
“Well…” Isabelle looked first at Drago then at Sarah, then took the coward’s way out, grabbing Lacey’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart, mommy’s got new bath beads we can try.”
“Can I swim in Aunt Sarah’s big tub?”
Isabelle scooped Lacey up at the bottom of the stairs and shot a look back over her shoulder. “You sure can, sweetie. Sar, let me know about dinner when you’re sure, ‘kay?”
“I’m already sure. I made lamb.”
“Oh, that’s where the apple smell is coming from.” She sighed. “All right, then. We’ll be down in a bit.”
Drago’s stare might have intimidated Sarah, if she’d bothered to look at him. Instead, she just stood there, arms folded harshly below her breasts, eyes downcast to the floor.
“Sarah, I didn’t deliberately keep it from you. I just…” he let out a sigh and pulled her towards him. Thankfully, she didn’t fight him, but she still wasn’t looking at him, either. “I just wanted you to see me. The man, not the composer. I liked that you didn’t know. I can’t remember the last woman I met who didn’t already have some pre-conceived notion about who I was. If you’d known, wouldn’t you? You listen to my music, so you must have had some fantasy about what I’d be like.”
He waited. She said nothing. Finally he tipped her chin up, only to catch a tear slip down her cheek.
“Ah Jesus, Sarah. I wasn’t trying to be vague, or cruel, for that matter.”
“I just feel so stupid.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Embarrassed. I don’t always dance to your stuff, you know. I use lots of different music.” She pushed him away, but only slightly. “Did you pick me thinking I’d be an easy fuck because I was dancing to your music?” She shook her head. “No, that’s not right. Was it ego that had you coming on to me in the first place, or something more? Something bigger? Something you…”
“Couldn’t resist.” He finished for her. “Your music, my music, it took me by surprise, got my attention, but when you took that stage, you took my breath right along with it and I haven’t been the same since.”
Her lips spread in the tiniest hint of a smile and her eyes softened, right before she punched him in the arm. Hard.
“And I did not have fantasies about you, you arrogant son of a bitch!”
Drago laughed so hard he nearly choked, then he grabbed his woman to his chest and held her until his breath melded with hers. He ran his hand through her hair, inhaled her soft scent, reveled in the feel of her smooth skin.
“I am arrogant.” He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “But you did have fantasies. I saw it in your eyes the second you realized who I was.” Sarah sucked in a breath and tried to pull away, but Drago held her tight and soon she surrendered. “And one day very soon, you’ll tell me exactly what they were, and Sarah…” with one finger, he tipped her chin up, his gaze smoldering as her darkened one met his. “…I’m going to exceed every one.”
* * * *
Sarah stood in her small kitchen making another pass over the mosaic tabletop with a damp sponge, still unable to believe Drago Castenoff was standing in her kitchen. Dwarfing her kitchen, truth be told, and rinsing dishes before placing them into the dishwasher with a gentleness that belied his size and appearance.
She stood and pressed a hand into her stomach, hoping to calm her new assortment of butterfly friends. Dinner had been great, primarily because Isabelle and Lacey did most of the talking. She’d been able to sit quietly and simply watch as Lacey asked him a million questions from, “Do you have kids?” to “Why’s your hair so long?” and Isabelle gave him doe eyes all night, grilling him about Tom Cruise, Harrison Ford, and what it felt like to win an Oscar.
The problem was, Isabelle was now putting Lacey to bed and Sarah wasn’t stupid enough to believe she’d be coming back when she was finished, which meant she was now alone with the great Drago Castenoff.
Drago Castenoff?
Something very akin to a hysterical giggle bubbled up within her, and she ruthlessly squelched it. Drago Castenoff was one of the best-known composers in Hollywood. Hell, he even had two Broadway musicals to his long list of credits. Fantasies? Oh yeah, she had fantasies.
With that name and that music, how was a girl to resist a few fantasies? Besides, his music had the ability to get under her skin and then it stayed there, not unlike the man himself. If only she’d taken the time to Google him, but she’d never wanted to spoil the fantasy by finding out he was some old shriveled up geezer in plaid biker pants.
One of his scores in her head was a common occurrence and there had been more than a few times since she’d been twelve years old—when she put his name with the music for the first time—that she’d dreamed of all manner of things involving that man. From the sweet and innocent wedding—where she’d wear white, no less—to the hot erotic dreams of a faceless maestro who visited her in the night, bringing her to levels of arousal and fulfillment she’d never even imagined, then left before morning.
“I’m going to surpass every one.”
That silky promise echoed again in her head and that stupid bubble of hysterical laughter made another bid for freedom.
“Are you okay?”
As he ran both hands down her bare arms, a shiver slipped down her spine, causing that idiotic grin to spread on his face. That face, so wickedly beautiful that she hadn’t been able to remove it from her thoughts. She tilted her head to one side, considering that handsome face for a moment. She touched his jaw, “I like this raw, unshaved look on you.”
She supposed he laughed, but it sounded more like a bark. It made her smile anyway. “And I like your eyebrows.” They were sort of on the bushy side, but they kept him from being God-like perfect and that was a good thing.
“You’re a fascinating woman, Sarah.”
She shivered again at the sound of her name in that deep, smooth voice. She wondered if he sang.
As if he needs more appeal.
Then all thought fell by the wayside as his soft, full lips oh-so-gently touched hers. With his hand caressing her cheek, he began the most gentle invasion she’d felt in all her life. In fact, Sarah had no idea a kiss could be so gentle. It had the effect of both stunning her and dragging her into the undercurrent that was all Drago.
“Touch me.”
Oh God. Her eyes flew open as she froze.
Please God, tell me that whiny, breathy, needy voice hadn’t been me.
But it was and it acted as good as a slap. She bolted from him, back against the sliding glass door, as far away as she could get. She covered her mouth with her fingers, so ashamed of herself she could just wither and die. She wanted to cry from embarrassment. This was not just any man. This was Drago Castenoff, a veritable God in the music world and a lifelong obsession of hers. Up until that moment he’d been a safe place to put her emotions. In a strange way, she’d used him, the fantasy of him, to meet her own needs for companionship without fear of being used u
p, abandoned or having her heart ripped from her chest. The reality of him was too much, too dangerous. She simply could not allow herself to be alone with the man ever, ever again.
“Sarah?”
He stood in the same position he’d been, hands on his hips, white linen pants and another silk shirt—this one in cornflower blue—rolled to the elbows, revealing a long-tailed winged dragon wrapping itself from wrist to elbow. As if that wasn’t bad enough, his collar was open, showing off the rock-hard chest she’d been manhandling earlier. The hint and allure of sex shrouded the man, making Sarah want to rip the clothes from his body and do all manner of things to his person.
“What happened?”
His voice brought her attention up from his chest to his eyes, silver eyes that held secrets and depth and pain. Eyes she felt connected to and never wanted to let go of. She bit her lower lip and lied, “Nothing. I just, well it’s late. I… I—” you what? Have to get to bed? As if the man doesn’t already know you don’t sleep until at least five in the morning. “I have to write some letters.”
She rolled her eyes, not even believing that one herself, but that was what she’d chosen, so she went with it. Her mind wandered for a minute wondering who on earth she’d write letters to in the first place.
“Oh!”
She was suddenly back in Drago’s arms, his scent intoxicating her, his warmth making her want to burrow in and take up residence.
“Where’d you go?”
She blinked up at him, still a little dazed from the abrupt yank on her little fantasy world and from the man’s general presence. “What?”
He smiled, ran his finger over her lower lip, then kissed her forehead, leaving his lips there when he said, “You zoned out on me. One minute you where sharing your charming little fantasy, the next your eyes just glazed over and you were gone.”
“Oh, well…” she found herself melting against him, surrendering to his light hold on her. Then his words registered and a surge of indignation swept her. She pulled back sharply, meeting his laughing eyes. “What do you mean fantasy?”
“Angel, you may be the only person on the planet lonelier than me. Your imaginary friends are sweet, and I enjoy hearing about them, but they don’t give you what you need. I can. So, why did you pull away from me?”
“They are not imaginary!” She fisted her hands at her side, spine rigid. “And I’m not lonely.” She lost a little steam on that one because she was. So soul-deep lonely she couldn’t stand it sometimes, but he didn’t need to know that. Her momentum completely gone, she finished with, “You don’t know anything about it.”
“Oh, but I do.”
He came towards her. She couldn’t actually say he took her in his arms, since both his hands were on her face, tipping her until she met that silvery gaze, but their bodies were aligned. She felt herself lean into him, despite everything.
“I know of such great loneliness that even in a crowd it doesn’t dim. Even when surrounded by people you consider your friends. Even when filling your life with satisfying work or hobbies, it lingers. My work satisfies it for a while, as I’d imagine your time with Lacey does for you. But at night, when you lay awake in bed, near tears because you’re so lonely, you don’t think anything will ever be able to fill that hole. You’ve been told nothing will, that there’s just something wrong with you, that you’re too damned needy. I understand it all, angel. I live it every damn day.”
He didn’t kiss her, though she saw the need to in his darkened eyes. Was it possible he understood? Was it possible this man—who made the music that companioned her heart—really understood the relentless loneliness she felt? Before she could respond in any way, he took her hand, a wicked smile on his lips.
“Come outside with me. I want to proposition you properly and I want to see your garden.”
She followed like an obedient child, brain trying very hard, and failing miserably, to make the sharp turns he kept taking her on. He pushed open the sliding glass door that led to the small piece of land she’d spent the last year cultivating. Gardening was one of her hobbies that hadn’t lost its appeal yet.
As they stepped out into the faintly-lit space, she heard the trickle of water from the small pond she’d put in and smelled the jasmine thick in the air. It was bliss. He led her to a wooden bench in the far corner of the garden as if he’d known it was there. They passed her rose and agapanthus bed and the newest addition, her salad garden, before he stood before the bench and waited for her to sit.
The bench had always seemed a lot larger than it did the moment he sat on it with her. Sitting thigh to thigh with him forced her to absorb his heat and drown in his scent. Not even the hot desert night she usually relished made any impact on her senses. They were already consumed.
Drago shifted in what space there was on the tiny bench. It had seemed a lot larger when he spied it earlier through the glass door while admiring her garden. His Phoenix obviously loved a garden. The overflowing flower beds out front, her greenhouse of a living room and kitchen and this garden which was obviously newly planted, but lovingly designed and cared for all attested to her love of plants and flowers. He couldn’t help taking pleasure in that. Couldn’t help but feel a stirring of anticipation for when he took her home, which was a foregone conclusion for him. Convincing her was the only obstacle remaining.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear, loving the way the silk felt between his fingers. He’d never dated a woman with hair below her neckline, let alone longer than his own. He couldn’t wait to get her into his bed to explore possibilities.
There was so much to speak of with her, but right now—in the moonlight, with the gentle sound of running water and serenading crickets—all he could think of was that silly Disney song, Kiss the Girl, so he obeyed his baser instincts and took her lips, gently sliding his tongue inside her welcoming mouth.
Touch me.
Those words would live forever in his mind, but something had spooked her. Maybe it was simply the fact that they barely knew one another. Yet, at the same time, every second he spent with her, he came closer to accepting the truth that had been there from that very first night, that he was hers. He’d do anything for this woman before him, anything she asked of him. He’d move the heavens if that was what she needed. The only thing he refused to do was let her walk away from the potential of what they had. Which brought him full circle and he broke the kiss before she distracted him again.
Tucking her body against his, he allowed her scent to wash over him. Mixed with the heady fragrance of jasmine, it was a powerful combination that threatened to knock him on his ass. Sara was intoxicating all on her own, ingredients added to heighten that appeal were simply not at all fair. It gave a man no chance.
Not that there will be any more men.
He nearly growled at the thought. Accept it or not, she belonged to him now and he wouldn’t stand for her to be with other men and the only one she’d be stripping for was him. In private.
Which again brought him back to his proposal, and little did she know she’d given him the additional ammunition he needed to secure his victory. By the time he finished explaining all the finer points, there was no way she’d be able to refuse him and by this time tomorrow night he’d have her in his home, in his bed.
After indulging in one more deep breath, he dove into his proposition head on.
“Isabelle’s too sweet a girl to keep hooking.” He started bluntly. “It’ll eat her up within the year.”
He felt her stiffen beside him at thoughts he was sure she’d had herself. After all, approve or not, she worried.
“I have a way to save her.” Not that he didn’t plan to go through with that end of things regardless of how Sarah responded. After spending the evening with sweet Lacey and her equally sweet and shockingly naïve-and-innocent-seeming mother, he had no choice but to step in, but he was going to use his plans as leverage all the same, bastard though that made him. “A bargai
n to strike with you.”
She pulled away. He let her, if only so she could look in his eyes while he spoke and hopefully see that he wasn’t being completely selfish. In his own way he was trying to save both women, as well as himself and a five year old girl.
“What kind of bargain?”
He nearly choked on the suspicious tone she used, not to mention the narrowed eyes. It suddenly occurred to him that she’d probably been on the receiving end of many proposals, but even if she regularly accepted men’s less than honorable advances, he knew she wouldn’t accept his. Not if she could find any way around it.
“I want you, Sarah. I’ve made no secret of it.” Time to drop the ax. “In exchange for you accompanying me back to my home in Maryland and sharing my home with me for whatever amount of time I deem appropriate, I’ll set up trust funds for both Isabelle and Lacey. Lacey will never have to work a day in her life if she chooses not to. To receive her money, Isabelle will be given the additional requirement that if she chooses to work, any profession she chooses needs to be out of the adult entertainment arena. In addition, I’ll buy them a home of their own if they wish it.
“Of course I’ll also pay off your loan on this place. In essence Sarah, I’m offering to secure the futures of the two people that mean the most to you, in exchange for your willing company.” He tipped her chin up, he noted her shocked expression and glazed eyes that did not seem to focus on anything. Having her exactly where he wanted her, he dealt his last card. “You have fifteen minutes to decide.”
Chapter 7
Sex was the only thing on her mind twenty-four/seven. Despite everything she’d been and done in her life, Sarah couldn’t remember another time when she had such a one-track mind. She was as sex crazed as what she imagined a normal thirteen-year-old girl would be, but by the time she’d been thirteen, her life had already gone to hell in the proverbial hand basket and she had missed this simply wonderful stage of puberty and she was damn well too old for it now.
1933563079-Torrid-Hearts-Lucas.doc Page 6
