I feel his hand stroking my hair as my chin drops to my chest and I cry.
“I don’t like when you cry, Rachel,” he tells me softly, his mouth near my ear, his breath warm on my skin.
I nod rapidly, struggling to get the waterworks under control. I feel a lightening to the weight that has held me down for weeks now.
When I finally get my sobbing under wraps I lift my head and look into those green eyes. He blinks at me, then looks away. I know when he can hold my gaze that we’re okay. I don’t know how long that will take, but I’m vowing to myself right now that I’m going to make it happen. I’ll regain his trust if it’s the last thing I do.
“Topher? I was so wrong, and I’ve been miserable ever since. I’m sorry I ever doubted us. You don’t say things the way some people do, but you say them just right for me. What happened wasn’t because you did anything wrong, it was because I did. I was scared and I let what other people believed sway me. I know you. I know your heart and your thoughts. I should have never doubted we could find a way to make it work.”
I take one long shuddering breath. “But I’ve been looking at a vet school in Los Angeles,” I confess.
“You have?”
“Yes. I could transfer there. I might have to take a few extra classes in summer school, but I could do it. I have good grades, they’ll take me. I could live with Margo, at least until I get settled, and maybe we could spend some time together? I mean, if you aren’t too mad at me.”
He shifts on the sofa and it moves him closer to me. Our heads lean in, our hands still linked.
“I was mad at you,” he tells me. “Some days I’m still mad at you, but I also want to be with you, and I don’t want you to live with Margo.”
He finally looks up, and locks his gaze onto mine. I gasp it’s so intense.
“What I didn’t tell you before you left was that I wanted you to come live with me in my mom’s house so you could have your animal rescue there. It has a whole acre of land. We could build kennels and whatever else you needed. The whole south side could be dog runs for them to exercise. Sebastian and Carlos love it there.”
My hands fly to cover my mouth and I’m about to burst into tears again.
“But if you want to finish school here, I’ll move to Colorado until you’re done.”
“Oh my God, Topher.”
He gives me one of his shy smiles and shrugs lightly. “I told you, I love you.”
And that’s the moment when Topher Leigh captures me for life. Right there on the shitty futon sofa in my studio apartment in Fort Collins, Colorado.
I throw my arms around his neck and start kissing him. His neck, his jaw, his cheek. Until I reach his lips, and I stop, watching him for permission. He whispers as he runs strands of my hair through his fingers, “I love you, Rachel.”
“I love you too,” I tell him before we crush our lips together, the tension and deep sorrow of the last few weeks melting away like wax in heat.
Topher groans and I feel his hand slip up beneath my sweatshirt, his skin searing mine as he moves to cup my breasts. When he realizes I’m not wearing a bra he growls some sort of approval and I smile against his lips.
“Can we have sex now?” he asks in a whisper.
I laugh. “Yeah, we can have make-up sex now.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s better than regular sex,” I tell him as I stand and take his hand to lead him to the bed that’s behind a folding screen in the corner of the room.
“Oh,” he answers, whipping off his t-shirt before folding it and placing it on a chair next to the bed.
He points at my chest and I smirk as I pull the sweatshirt over my head. When I’ve tossed it on the floor he looks at me with hot eyes.
“I like things orderly,” he says as he unbuttons his jeans and drops them and his boxers to the floor. “I can keep your stuff neat too,” he adds.
I grin as I drop my leggings—again, no undergarments. I was home alone cleaning, no need to create more dirty laundry.
“Okay,” I tell him. “We can hire a cleaning lady too. I mean, after I finish school and get a job.”
He picks up his jeans and boxers and folds them, his eyes never leaving my body. I step out of my leggings and hand them to him. After he folds them and stacks them on his clothes he advances toward me. I back up until my legs hit the bed and I sit down ungracefully.
Then he’s standing above me, his hard cock right at my eye level. I wrap my hand around it and stroke it gently. His eyes never leave mine.
“Rachel,” he says, his voice hoarse with want. “I have a lot of money. We can hire a cleaning lady anytime you want.”
I answer him by taking his cock into my mouth, and sucking him deep. He shudders and I begin to pump him in and out, licking, sucking, stroking. He’s smooth, hard, and thick, and when I wrap one arm around his narrow hips to bring him closer to me I know that this is it. He is it. And why I ever doubted I just don’t know. Call it temporary insanity, but I can’t believe I’m getting a second chance, because Topher is special—but in the very best of ways. He’s kinder, gentler, more thoughtful, than any man I’ve ever known, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world that he’s chosen me.
He pulls out of my mouth and reaches down to grab my waist and push me farther back on the bed before he lies down over me.
He slides a hand down my torso, leaning in to take one of my nipples into his mouth at the same time. I moan when I feel the tingling pressure of him sucking on my breast. Then his hand slips between my legs and he strokes up my center and rubs my clit.
“So good,” I gasp.
That’s all the encouragement he needs and he plunges his fingers inside, pumping them in and out in a perfect rhythm that has me soaring to the precipice in a few minutes.
“Topher,” I gasp before he can make me come. “I want you inside of me.”
He nods, pulling his hand away. Even though it’s what I asked for I almost sob at the loss.
But the next thing I know his cock is nudging at my entrance and he’s over me, forearms braced next to my head as he looks down at me.
“I have lots of condoms this time,” he says.
“We don’t need them. I’m still on the pill,” I tell him.
“Good. It feels better without one. It feels like I can touch your soul,” he whispers.
Then he pushes into me and nothing else in the world matters—not school, not my sister, not his brother, not L.A. or Colorado, not how much we talk or don’t talk, not where we’ll live or how we’ll handle it when he’s on tour. No, the only thing that matters is right there, touching me, holding me, inside of me. Topher and me, together like this is the only thing that makes real sense in the whole crazy world.
He slides in and out of me gently at first, then the rhythm changes as his breath comes faster and harder. I’m moaning in pleasure, the tension rapidly building back up in my core.
“Tell me you love me, Rachel,” he says between gasps.
“I love you, Topher. I won’t ever be without you again. I promise.”
With that he pushes in hard, and his lips brush across mine, his silky hair tickling my forehead. I tumble over, taking him with me, and we both cry out, clutching each other in desperation and joy as we fall in so deep we’ll never want to climb back out.
Epilogue
Topher
Carlos dances around on the bed as Sebastian shoves his face in mine. He has terrible breath, I guess he needs his teeth brushed.
“Okay. I’m getting up,” I tell them. They have a dog door, so I know they don’t need to pee, but they want their breakfast and that’s always my job.
I walk to the kitchen in my boxers, stretching my arms over my head, the dogs following behind.
When I get there I see Rachel cooking something on the stove, shaking her ass to a tune she’s humming.
She’s wearing a t-shirt of mine, and it stretches over the swell of her belly. I come up behind her and wra
p my arms around the growing bump, resting my chin on her shoulder.
We don’t say anything, we don’t need to. She knows I’m listening, so she gives me time. The baby has his own rhythm, and it’s changed as he’s grown. I splay my palms across her belly and close my eyes, just feeling. I feel her heartbeat, and mine, and the slight shifting movements in her belly. It’s a layered rhythm that makes swirling colors in my mind. Long A, long B, short C, long B. Then there’s a section that’s a rapid b,b,b,c. That’s the baby. He’s fast and smart. I can tell already.
“How is he?” she asks.
“He’s fast,” I tell her.
“Good,” she says. “He’ll be able to keep up with Carlos.”
She flips the French toast in the pan in front of us. I kiss her on the neck and she shivers.
Sebastian barks and Carlos whines.
“Okay,” I say, releasing Rachel. “I’ll get your breakfast.”
“How many slices do you want?” she asks, plating up the breakfast as I dump food into the dogs’ bowls.
“Two, please.”
I can hear the dogs in the kennels outside barking as the guy we employ to help care for them does the morning feedings. Right now we have seven of them out there, and since we opened the shelter a year and a half ago right after our wedding, we’ve been able to rescue and place over thirty dogs. Rachel is still working on her vet degree, and will have to take a little time off when the baby is born, but she’s close to being done, and already she can do all the care for the shelter dogs so that we don’t have to pay anyone else for it.
The only dreams I have these days are about the baby. A few nights ago I dreamed that my father was there and we were both playing with the baby. He told me that I was going to make a great dad, and I believed him. When I woke up I was smiling, and it didn’t vanish. When I’m with Rachel I feel things—beautiful things, and precious things, and it reminds me every day that she is my perfect match. For whatever reason, she understands me in ways that no one else ever has. I want to make sure that I understand my son that same way, so I’ve been preparing, getting ready for him to be here, and studying everything I can find on what babies are like, what they need, and how to make them happy.
We sit at the table with our plates, and as we eat I want to tell Rachel the newest thing that I read yesterday. “Do you know what the most important thing for babies to have is?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Love,” I tell her.
She smiles and I smile back without thinking about it.
“Then he’s going to be a very happy baby,” she says.
“Yes, he is.”
* * *
The End.
* * *
Thank you for reading! I know there are lots of books to read, and I appreciate you taking the time to read mine. If you have just a few more minutes, you can help me a lot by leaving a review at the retailer of your choice. Even a couple of sentences are so helpful to other readers who are thinking about buying this book!
* * *
**Want more? Turn the page to read the first Rhapsody novel, A Lush Rhapsody.
Excerpt from A Lush Rhapsody
Tully
I’ve got the phone pressed so hard against my head I’m afraid the radiation is going to turn my brain into a baked potato. My hand is cramping from the clench I’ve got on the little metal and plastic box that is keeping me connected to the biggest dick I’ve ever known in my life—my brother, James. I should clarify that. All of my brothers are dicks, but James is the tallest, and usually the drunkest, and therefore he gets the dubious title of biggest dick.
“Listen to me, Tully,” he slurs, “if you didn’t want Mom to know about that tat then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten it and posted it on your fucking Instagram page.”
“My Instagram page is private for a reason, James. Mom would never have seen it if you hadn’t decided to show. It. To. Her. And you only did it to cause trouble and take the focus off of Jeanette dumping you. You would never do shit like this to Keith or Lou.”
“Yeah, well, Keith and Lou don’t go around getting tattoos of birds on their asses. Don’t you have any shame? What guy is going to want you when you’ve got that shit on your ass? Even your idiot rock and roll pussy guys won’t want to tap that.”
My stomach roils and I feel the sting of tears at the back of my eyes. I know he’s been drinking. I know I shouldn’t listen to the things a drunk says, but it’s tough. My whole life my brothers and father have treated me like a second-class citizen. They’ve spent twenty-two years trying to make me into something and someone I’m not, and even though I know better, I still let them hurt me.
“Fuck you,” I tell James. “And stay away from my social media. Consider yourself unfriended.”
I jab my finger at the screen to end the call and look up to find Joss Jamison, Mike Owens, and Colin Douglas staring at me from across the room. I still can’t get used to spending the majority of every day with the famous rock band, Lush. That I’m actually a member of said band is even more unbelievable. I’ve pretty much been in denial since they first hired me two months ago, and the way things have been going I won’t make it another two months before I get fired, so I really don’t need to believe the fairytale anyway.
Now, faced with their looks of shock at me spewing poison at James, not so quietly on the stage where we’re rehearsing for a summer tour, something inside of me that might once have been called professional pride shrivels up and dies.
“What’s the matter? Never heard a girl tell her brother to fuck off?” It’s a defense mechanism—my antagonistic attitude. I know this, but I don’t always have control over it. In my mind it’s better to be a bitch than to admit that I’m humiliated.
They all look uncomfortable and start clearing their throats. Before they can answer though the door opens behind me and I turn to see Walsh Clark come in carrying the cutest little dark-haired toddler I’ve ever seen.
“Hey, Tully,” he says with a big smile. “Let me introduce you to someone.” He reaches me and stops. The little boy looks up at me with such serious eyes, his chubby cheeks pink and smooth.
“Hey, dude,” I say making sure to soften my voice. The kid lays his head down on his dad’s shoulder, watching me carefully.
“This is Pax,” Walsh says as he rubs the boy’s back. “He’s twenty-two months. Pax, can you say hello to Miss Tully? She’s working with daddy today.”
Pax lifts his head from his dad’s shoulder and says, “Hi, Miss.”
My heart melts. My family may think I’m not a normal girl because I don’t wear frilly shit and cook all day, but I love kids as much as the next chick. In fact, I even want some of my own someday, not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.
“Hi, Pax,” I say stroking his little hand. “You’re about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“He is indeed,” Walsh says, so proud he looks like he’s going to burst.
The door flies open and Walsh’s wife, Tammy, bustles in. She’s about five eight, stacked, and looks like a supermodel. Her reputation is as an uber-bitch that only a guy as nice as Walsh could stand to be married to. But honestly, I feel like she’s just uncomfortable a lot. I get that. But she’s got Walsh, and they’re about as close as any couple I’ve ever seen. Childhood sweethearts who made it work for the long term. She and Pax came here to San Diego with us for our two weeks of rehearsals before the tour starts. Walsh tries to take them with him as much as possible when he’s on tour.
“There you two are,” she admonishes as she rushes over, pointedly ignoring me. “I’ve got to get him to his appointment.” She reaches out her arms and Walsh hands Pax to her after giving him a kiss on the forehead.
“Okay. They doing shots today?” Walsh asks.
“No, just a regular check-up,” Tammy answers, nuzzling Pax’s cheek. He pats hers in return. The sight makes something in me ache. I’m not ready for kids, I have a career to conquer first, but I do e
nvy all that love. It radiates off the three of them, and I crave some of it for myself.
“Thank God,” Walsh answers her. “I can’t stand it when they make him cry.”
Tammy laughs, and then gives me the side eye, because, well, she’s Tammy.
“Let’s get to work,” Joss yells from across the room.
Oh hell. My stomach flips again. I hate this.
* * *
I can’t remember the first time I played a piano, but I do remember the first time someone told me I had a knack for it. I was five or six, and I was sitting at the old piano in my parents’ living room. No one in my family played, but we’d inherited it from my mom’s grandmother, so it sat there, an ancient upright, taking up the corner of the room, gathering dust. I’m sure it was out of tune, and it had some of the keys chipped, but it played, and I loved nothing more than to spend my afterschool hours teaching myself songs I’d heard.
That day I was playing Pop Goes the Weasel, with a little variation—kind of a freeform blues riff, kindergarten style—when my grandmother came in and heard me. “Tallulah.” She walked over and sat next to me on the bench. “Where did you learn to play like that?”
“I didn’t learn it, Nana,” I told her. “I teached it to myself.”
Turns out neither my grandmother nor my mother had inherited the music gene from the piano’s original owner, but I had. And Nana decided she wanted to pay for me to have piano lessons. As the youngest of five kids, I didn’t get much attention. Both of my parents worked full-time at my dad’s construction business, and I was left with the older kids to supervise me. Once piano entered the picture though, I got to spend an afternoon every week with someone who thought I was special. It was the thing that saved my childhood.
Dreaming of Rhapsody Page 10
