They all laughed, and Romana playfully punched her brother’s arm. “Hey, I forgot to give you this earlier. A little gift for your evening.” She handed him a small package and he opened it to reveal a pocket square. On the corner, stitched beautifully, was the word: Loser.
Pilot busted out laughing as Romana grinned. “Thanks, sis.” He tucked it into the pocket of his suit, making sure the embroidered word was showing. Boh grinned, shaking her head. “What kind of insane family am I marrying into?”
Blair pretended to be insulted, then smiled at Boh. “Too late now, you’ve said yes. Come on, let’s go grab some more champagne. It’s a special night.”
The party went late into the night, and Boh found herself talking to everyone who seemed to come. They congratulated her on both the pictures and her dancing and by one a.m., her head was whirling. Quilla came to find her to bid her goodbye. “I left Jakob at the hotel looking after the kids and they’ve had way too much sugar.” She hugged Boh. “Next time you get to Seattle, or we come here, promise me we’ll have dinner and catch up.”
“I promise.”
Boh wanted to find Pilot and tell him that she had a girl crush on Quilla, knowing it would make him laugh, but she couldn’t find him. She asked Grady where her lover was.
“He just had to go back to the studio and pick up some provenances the gallery asked for. No biggie. He tried to find you but asked me to tell you he’d be right back.”
“Oh, okay, thanks, Grady.”
Grady nodded to the exhibit. “This will put him over the top, you know. We’ve had calls from galleries all over the world. Maceo has already locked him down to show in Venice and Rome.”
“It’s what he deserves,” Boh said fondly and Grady clinked his glass against hers.
“Amen, sister.”
An hour later, and Boh still couldn’t find Pilot. She tried his cell phone but it went straight to voicemail. Blair and Romana came to say goodbye and found Boh frowning. “Is everything okay?”
“I can’t find Pilot.” She explained where he had gone.
Romana chewed her lip. “I’m sure he’s around so—” She trailed off and looked past Boh’s shoulder, out of the window of the gallery.
Both Blair and Boh turned to see Eugenie standing outside, staring in at them. There was a cruel twist to her smile as she gazed directly at Boh and Boh felt her pulse quicken. What the hell?
“Miss Dali? This was just sent for you.” A gallery assistant held out a padded envelope to her and Boh took it. She pulled it open and reached in, feeling something sticky. She pulled it out and gasped. Blood. A blood-soaked piece of cotton. As her heart pounded heavily against her chest, she turned it over and read the single word embroidered onto it.
Loser.
No. God, no. She looked up to see Eugenie smirk at her, then turn and disappear into the night.
“No, no, no, please, no …” Boh began to run. “Call 911,” she screamed back at a stunned Blair and Romana. “Send them to Pilot’s studio!”
Then she was out in the night, running through the city, ignoring the strange stares she was getting from passersby. She ran the few blocks to the studio and burst in. “Pilot!”
She searched the studio, knowing what she was about to find, but when she did, she knew she could never be prepared. Pilot lay on his stomach, his arms flailed out at his sides, his eyes closed. Despite the black color of his suit, she could see the blood, the stab wounds in his upper back. She dropped to his side and tried to turn him over. He was lying in a pool of blood and at first, she couldn’t tell where he had been stabbed. She listened for his breath, trying to still her own gasps of horror. He was breathing—barely.
“Baby, please hold on, please, please …” She heard sirens coming closer and a minute later, Romana, Blair, and Grady burst into the room as Boh tried desperately to keep the blood inside her lover’s body.
She looked up at them, tears pouring down her face. “She stabbed him … she stabbed him … no, no, please, Pilot, don’t go, stay with me … stay with me …”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hollow.
That was how Boh felt as they waited in the relatives room of the hospital. She’d seen the loaded glances of the paramedics as they fought to save Pilot’s life—it didn’t look good.
When they’d opened his shirt, Boh had seen the stab wounds in his chest. Too near his heart. Eugenie had been merciless. The police were looking for the blonde socialite now, after both Boh and Blair had told them they had no doubt that Eugenie had done this. She’d planned it all—the call to the gallery to ask for the provenances, knowing Pilot wouldn’t send someone else, knowing he would go collect them himself. She’d waited for him, then attacked him. His arms and hands were covered in cuts, defensive wounds, but Eugenie had had the element of surprise.
Boh couldn’t stop picturing it, the knife sinking into Pilot’s back, then, as he fell, that demon woman on top of him, stabbing him over and over.
God, please, Pilot … please, fight. Fight.
Romana, her usual exuberance gone, her face pale, suddenly turned up the television.
“A night of triumph and terror for world-renowned photographer Pilot Scamo. After the triumph of his new show, Boh, by Scamo, the 40-year-old now lies in hospital, fighting for his life after being stabbed in his studio. Although police have yet to confirm it, it is rumored that Mr. Scamo’s ex-wife, Eugenie Radcliffe-Morgan is a person of interest in this horrific crime. The attack comes a week after Mr. Scamo’s muse and rumored lover, ballet dancer Boheme Dali, was reportedly injured after during a performance.”
“Turn it off, please.” Boh put her head in her hands as she heard Romana click the television off. She felt Blair put her arms around her.
“He’ll be okay. My boy knows how to fight.” But she didn’t sound convinced. Boh hugged her back tightly.
“Give me five minutes with that bitch and I’ll make sure she never hurts anyone again.” Romana was furious and hurting, Boh knew. She tried to smile at her almost-sister-in-law.
“Join the queue,” she said.
They sat waiting for hours, then finally, a surgeon came to see them. Although he had changed, there was a smear of blood on his scrubs, dark red, and Boh couldn’t take her eyes off it. His blood. Pilot’s blood. Oh God …
“We’ve stabilized him, but there will be a long recovery—if he makes it through the next few days. The knife penetrated his heart, but we think we’ve managed to repair it. He’s fighting, which is good, but I expect him to remain unconscious for a few days.” He sat down next to them. “That’s a good thing—it gives his body the chance to recover. He’s in good condition, the right weight for his age, and obviously fit. It’s all positive, but we should still take pause. His injuries are serious, and he remains a critical patient.”
“Can we see him?”
The doctor patted Boh’s hand. “Would you be upset if I asked you to wait until he’s out of recovery? An hour or two, then you can all sit with him.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Bair nodded at him and Romana shook his hand.
The three women were allowed to see Pilot an hour and a half later, and Blair and Romana sat one side while Boh sat on the other, holding his hand. He was so still, his dark curls flat against his skin, usually so olive and swarthy, now pale and drained. Dark violet shadows were under his eyes. Boh bent down and kissed his cool lips. “I love you,” she whispered, “please come back to me.”
After two days, Blair made Boh go home to shower and sleep. “I’ll call you the moment anything happens,” she promised as she firmly steered Boh into a cab.
At home, Boh felt the silence ringing through their apartment. The emptiness she felt inside overwhelmed her and she broke down, curling up on the floor of the living room and sobbing all her pain out. As her sobs finally quieted, she fell into an uneasy, exhausted sleep.
Waking a couple of hours later, she dragged her aching body into the shower and stood under the hot
water for long minutes. She’d barely eaten since Pilot’s stabbing, and now she felt the need to eat something. Pilot would need her to be strong for him for months now.
She checked her voicemails, listening to all of her friends calling to check in, asking after Pilot, telling her how sorry they were. She’d call them back later—it would distract her from watching over Pilot. God. It was hell watching him, unable to talk to him, knowing that he was in such pain. She wanted to take all that pain into herself and save him from it.
Her cell phone rang as she was scarfing down scrambled eggs and she grabbed it, hoping to see either Blair or Ramona’s name.
“Miss Dali?”
“Yes?”
“Jack Grissom here, detective with the NYPD.” It was the detective who had shown up at the crime scene—he had been kind and polite.
“Hi …” Her heart began to beat quickly. “Detective, tell me there’s good news.”
“We have her. We have Eugenie Radcliffe-Morgan.”
The relief was overwhelming and Boh tried to stop her hands from shaking. “Does she admit to stabbing Pilot?”
“She’s lawyered up and isn’t talking at all—but her hands are covered in cuts. She’s guilty as hell. We stopped her from flying out of the country. Her private plane was waiting at Teterboro. She was arrogant enough that she thought we wouldn’t be watching.” He sounded as angry as Boh felt.
“I want to talk to her.”
“I can’t allow that, I’m afraid, not while she’s being questioned. We’ll charge her and transfer to a holding jail. You can see her there but I can’t guarantee she’ll agree to meeting you.”
“Will she get bail?”
“Not if I can help it. She’s already proved a flight risk and the nature of her crimes … we believe she also arranged the murder of Serena Carver. We’ve proved they were working together.”
Realization dawned. “I’m not surprised.” She talked a little longer to the detective then thanked him.
Boh walked around the apartment, her mind whirling. Did she actually want to see that bitch? No. All she wanted to do was get her hands around Eugenie’s throat and squeeze the life out of her … no. Unlike you, Genie, she thought, I couldn’t kill another person, not even you.
Boh jumped as someone pounded at her door and as she yanked it open, she saw Romana, hot and breathless from running. Boh’s heart failed. Romana grabbed her hand.
“You have to come now,” she said, breathing hard, “he’s awake.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Pilot saw her face and it was like a shot of pure morphine through his aching body. “Hey, pretty girl.”
Boh’s face was wet with tears as she kissed him. “Pilot, Pilot …” she seemed to choke on her words and she began to cry.
“Hey, hey, hey, I’m okay.” The tubes in his arms stopped him from reaching out to her, but he managed to stroke her head. “It’s okay, baby, really.”
Boh got herself together, clutching his hands. “Sorry, baby … how do you feel?”
“A little groggy, but actually fine. I assume that’s the drugs.” He grinned at her. “God, you’re even more beautiful than when I saw you last.”
“That is the drugs,” she chuckled, wiping her face. She stroked his hair back from his forehead, her smile fading. “Pilot … was it her? Was it Eugenie?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Why didn’t I see that coming?”
“None of us did. They’ve arrested her, and are pretty sure she’s guilty, that they’ll get a conviction. She’ll try and bargain for a plea deal but the detective says they’re going to throw the book at her.”
Pilot nodded. “Okay. Good.” He sighed. “Maybe we can finally believe that it’s all over?”
“I hope so, baby.”
Pilot beckoned her down so he could kiss her lips. “The minute I get out of here, I’m marrying you, Boheme Dali. I cannot wait a minute more to begin our life together.”
“Neither can I … and I have something I need to tell you.”
Pilot searched her eyes. “What is it?”
Boh had tears in her eyes. “I don’t know how it happened, we’ve always used a condom … but I’m pregnant.”
Pilot’s answering smile stretched across his handsome face. “My God … talk about meant to be.”
“I know. When I took the test this morning, I couldn’t believe it, but now … it’s a sign, Pilot.”
“I love you so much, Boheme, and I can’t wait for our little slugger to be born.”
Boh started to laugh and cry at the same time. “Six weeks. Six weeks and our lives are so different. And despite everything … I’m so happy, Pilot. Please, get well fast …”
Pilot reached out for her and she went into his arms, gingerly, not wanting to hurt him. “From now on,” he said, as his lips found hers again, “from now on, Boh, everything will be good.”
“Promise?”
He smiled at her. “I promise …” and he kissed her again, knowing this was the first moment of the rest of their lives …
The End.
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The Brady Files
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At work, I’m one man; at home, I’m the complete opposite…
That’s because at home I can wash up after getting filthy.
The dirtier, the better, has always been my motto when it comes to sex.
I’d had a lull in my sex-life since I began working at WOLF. That lull was about to end.
Veronica and I met in the lobby at WOLF. She was interested in becoming an intern, and I was just plain interested in her.
Voluptuous, tantalizing, gorgeous, you name, this chick had it. She had it all, in spades. So I took her in. Got my boss to hire her on to intern under me.
She would be under me, all right. All day and all night too.
If I could get her to get past her fear of intimacy with the man who was her boss.Me …
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The Virgin’s Dance Extended Epilogue
An Older Man/Younger Woman Erotic Suspense
Two years after Boh and Pilot Scamo met and had the most intense six weeks of passion, love, and trauma of both of their lives, they await the trial of the woman who tried to kill them both: Pilot’s first wife, Eugenie.
Although Boh and Pilot have finally found their happy ever after, the trial begins to strain their lives, and then Pilot discovers that Eugenie lied about a pregnancy during their marriage. Instead of the miscarriage she claimed to have, she actually aborted their child late in the pregnancy—just to torment him.
Devastated, Pilot realizes he has yet to come to terms with the horrors of his first marriage. As Boh tries to help him come to terms with the loss, a health scare threatens both her health and the life of their child and she needs Pilot more than ever.
Can Pilot rise to the occasion or will his past still continue to affect the future?
Pilot Scamo wrapped his arms around his wriggling son as they sat in one of the boxes at the Metropolitan Opera House. “Stop moving, child,” he said gently. “Mommy will be dancing soon.”
Thirteen-month-old Tomaso ignored his father. Grace, Boh’s best friend and boss, chuckled at them. “I don’t think he gets ballet yet, Pilot.”
“Maybe not. But wait until Boh is on stage—he’ll stop everything and stare at her.”
Grace looked skeptical. “Really?”
“Really.”
As the ballet started, Pilot felt a rush of love and pride as Boh danced onto the stage, once again the lead in the company’s production of Giselle. As he had told Grace, their son immediately stopped struggling and gazed at his mother as she danced.
“Well, isn’t that something?” Grace said, impressed, but then she too was entranced by the ballet.
Boh, having given birth to Tom
aso, was back at work within three months, the baby weight gone, her body in tiptop condition. Now, thirteen months later, one would never know that she was pregnant again; only the tiniest curve to her abdomen gave her away. Only she and Pilot knew about the pregnancy so far. Pilot smiled to himself. At this rate, they’d have a brood of kids before Boh was even 30.
After this ballet, Boh was taking a sabbatical. She wanted to spend time with the baby this time around, and Tomaso before he got too old. Dancing had been her first love until she had met Pilot, but now that their little family was growing, and Pilot’s world tour of his hugely well-received Boh by Scamo exhibition was over, they planned to spend time in the country of his birth, Italy.
Before that though … the trial. Eugenie’s first trial had collapsed when the judge had been found guilty of taking bribes from Eugenie’s family and now she faced extra charges. The raft of what she had been charged with read like a horror story. Two counts of attempted murder, plus the stabbing; plus the murder of Serena Carver, her partner in crime, who had tried to get Boh killed live on stage; were just the tip of the iceberg.
She had pled the fifth during her first trial, but now, Pilot’s lawyer had told them she was ready to talk. “She knows she’s going to jail for a very long time. She won’t ever leave. But she still wants her day in the sun.”
“She wants to see you again,” a furious Boh had told him. “she wants to hurt you again.”
Pilot had taken his wife into his arms. “Let her try,” he said softly. “She can’t touch us anymore.”
Now, as he watched Boh dance, he hoped that he had been telling the truth. Tomorrow, his mother, Blair, would come to take Tomaso for the week and then he and Boh would go to court to see Eugenie tried. Pilot knew Boh was probably right—if Eugenie was talking, then it would only be to spill more bile, but Pilot didn’t care. Genie would show the world who she really was and then pay for it. He and Boh would go on with their lives, happily, knowing she could never touch them again.
The Virgin’s Dance_Older Man Younger Woman Romance Page 14
