by Bishop, Ally
I cover my face, my skin flaming, and giggle. Yes, I giggle. When I can compose myself enough to form words, I avoid it altogether and nod.
Lux holds her index fingers up. “Just nod when I’m close.” She slowly draws them apart, wider and wider.
I finally nod, just to get her to stop, though it’s probably pretty accurate.
Lux sobers and nods. “Damn. ‘Go big or go home,’ indeed. I have all new respect for you, Ells. I never thought you had it in you.”
Though I grin, her words sit with me for several minutes. She’s popped in her headphones, but I tap her arm.
“Hm?” She removes a bud and glances at me.
“What did you mean, ‘I never thought you had it in you’? I’m not offended. I’m just curious what you mean. I feel like…this week has challenged a lot of the notions I’ve had about myself, and I’m curious how you view me.” It’s an honest question, but one that carries with it a lot of danger, I know. I can see it in Lux’s eyes. “I’m not trying to trap you, Lulu. But I’m starting to see the last few years as a sort of…hiding place. And I want to change that fear that keeps me there.”
She grabs my neck and pulls me over so she can kiss my forehead. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. Because I think you are brilliant and wonderful, Ells. Truly. I’ve never met anyone as smart or as fast-thinking as you are, and you get business and people. It’s amazing. But I’ve always wondered if Jonathan broke you. Noah’s worried about that, too—not that we’ve been talking about you behind your back,” she quickly interjects, “but his concern over how long it’s been since you dated anyone—”
“Over three years.”
My interruption floors her. “Seriously? Wow.” She takes a few moments to process the information, then continues. “So he had a point, I daresay. But yeah, it’s been hard to watch, seeing you keep your light from the world, when I have no doubt, you are designed to shine quite brightly.”
Her words—and the clear belief in her eyes—sober me. I’ve never seen myself as anything all that special, but I know I’m good at writing. And Elementary has done pretty well for a new business, which is in part both because it’s a booming niche market—who doesn’t want to come home and have a whole evening’s food and entertainment arranged without lifting a finger?—and because Noah and I are good with people. Still…I’ve never stopped to think about how others might see the situation.
“Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
She grins and stretches in the chair, careful not to move her feet.
“My turn: how’s things with Evan?”
“Good, I think.”
“You think?”
Lux shrugs and fingers the edge of the towel holding her hair. “I never know how to judge these things. While you are a serial monogamist, I’m anything but. I do better when relationships are fluid and open, but let’s face it: that doesn’t match the desires of most partners. So I’m trying. And Evan’s great. And romantic.”
“And submissive.” I wink.
“True. That man definitely knows his place.” She smiles a bit easier, but there’s still a shadow behind her light eyes. “I wish I knew if this is how it’s supposed to feel.”
I give her comment some thought. “How what’s supposed to feel? Moving in together? Or being in love?”
“Both? Either? What’s it feel like for you with Ian?”
I don’t hesitate. “Amazing. My stomach’s pretty much vibrating with nerves 24/7 but in a good way.” I can’t help laughing, though there’s no reason for it.
She grins a bit wistfully. “See, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that. With anyone. Maybe I’m just not wired that way.”
“Maybe things just happen differently for you. Do you love Evan?”
She doesn’t answer right away, but then she nods. “I think so. He’s a good man, and I couldn’t ask for a better match.”
That she can’t embrace her relationship with Evan fully makes me sad, but I don’t want to make it worse. “Give it time, Lux.”
“I know. And I haven’t had a traditional relationship ever, so I’m being a bit unrealistic. Hell, I don’t even work a traditional job.” When she smiles now, it’s a bit more “Lux.”
“See?”
We’re waiting for our finger and toenails to dry when Lux asks, “So when are you going to tell Noah about Ian?”
“After the party tomorrow night. Once Ian’s not technically a client anymore, I won’t feel quite so weird about the whole thing.”
Lux grins at me. “And Noah will have slightly less to tease you about.”
“Exactly.”
Noah seems fine when I get home, and when I try to talk about the day before, he shrugs it off.
“Don’t stress it, Ells. I was being a douche. You’re entitled to have some fun in life, and you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
It’s such a normal answer for Noah, I almost believe him. But something in his eyes is off, and I know it’s my fault. But is it my secrecy, or his own demons surrounding his career that are bogging him down? I don’t know, and that makes it hard to concentrate. But I call back prospective clients, double-check all the catering needs for a party this week, confirm the arrival of the live band, and review Noah’s final invoice calculations.
Ian texts me later that day.
So if live sex acts are out, can you stay over? :)
I laugh to myself, thankful Noah ran out to grab food for us so I can enjoy the moment.
No, I’ll have to clean up and help load. It’ll look really weird if I stay. I promise to be there bright and early on Sunday.
After I hit “send,” I rethink my message.
Correction: I’ll be there on Sunday at noon. Not enough sleep, and I won’t be much good for anything. ;)
After a few minutes, his response dings.
I’m happy to see to your *every* need, so you don’t have to move a muscle. In fact, I might insist on it. Even if that means I have to tie you up. ;)
My stomach flips hard, and my whole body heats up. I’ve never played with restraining anyone, despite Lux’s insistence that it can really rev up your sex life. Do I trust Ian enough—after barely a week—to let him have that much control?
Noah’s key scrapes at the door, so I text back quickly.
Hm. We might have to explore that further. Talk to u l8r. xoxo
CHAPTER 14
MUCH ADO ABOUT...
Adrienne! No!” The devastation in Noah’s voice as he falls upon his beloved’s inert body draws a hush across the room.
“You’ve killed her,” he whispers into the deadly quiet, his face dropped to Adrienne’s. “I will come for you, Maden. I will find you.”
Someone darkens the lights, and the audience awakens from their thrall and applauds. As the lights return, a warm glow spreads across twenty people or so, all seated around Ian’s huge dining table that was recently cleared of plates from a sumptuous meal where vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free, and soy-free options were offered. The food was praised, as I knew it would be, and I hope it made all of Misha’s work worth it, as she really outdid herself, especially with so many food restrictions present.
I join in the applause, amazed once again by Noah’s performance, as well as the other four actors who are present. They take a bow together, amid the hoots and whistles of their captive watchers. I eye Mick Jeffries’ reaction, pleased to see his handsome face grinning. He claps the loudest, which gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d be interested in championing Noah’s acting career.
When the actors head upstairs to change, I slip out, joining Misha in the kitchen.
“Sounds like you made magic again.” Her sharp, angular face cheers with a broad grin. “Damn, Ella, you are good.”
I fight to contain my smile. If she only knew just how good…
I slap her high-five before helping her assemble the last of the puffed pastries, strawberries, and dark chocolate drizzle. This evening is a coup: a wealthy c
lient, celebrity clientele, and an opportunity for future bookings with the like. And it has gone off like a charm, which helps allay the nerves that have been climbing up my throat most of the evening. Not to mention, keeping my hands off Ian has been…challenging.
Dessert proves to be yet another high point, and though several party revelers complain that they are much too full, they manage to pack it in. Misha’s creations are too tempting. As I leave to rejoin Misha in the kitchen, Ian catches my wrist.
“Ella, I cannot thank you enough. This was spectacular.” His eyes meet mine, ebullient.
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.” I can feel a flush creeping up my neck.
“This has been the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”
“I’m glad.” I give him a small smile, enjoying the feel of his hand on my mine and the way his fingers trace the pulse point below my palm. His gaze darkens as his eyes devour me, but we’re interrupted by the actors as they return to talk to the guests and answer questions.
Tonight’s mystery, Much Ado About Death, is one of a three part series that I wrote the end of last year. While each story has a stand-alone mystery—in this case, the lead characters must catch a thief who stole a priceless (fictional) first edition of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. They manage to nab the perpetrator, but one of them dies (or at least, she appears to…) in the process. If the attendees want to see the next installment, they have to book us.
I’m about to step away when Mick Jeffries calls out, “Hey, Ella, you have to tell us what happens next!”
I turn, unable to resist grinning at the stunning Mick. He’s really as good-looking as he appears on a glossy magazine cover, maybe even more so. “You want to see more, you have to hire us for your next party.” I say it with a wink and a flirtatious tone, and he laughs.
“Fair enough. You’re hired.”
While I know he’s joking in the mood of the moment—and they’re all a bit sloshed from the champagne and wine they’ve ingested, my heart still skips a beat. Tonight could put us on the map with the who’s who of the upper crust. While I love putting on mysteries for anyone who comes to us, getting in with those who can afford to pay top dollar could change everything for Noah and me.
“I’m going to hold you to it,” I return with a wide smile.
“You better. I have to know what happens.”
Misha chuckles as I return to the kitchen to help her clean up. “Girl, you are too much.”
“What does that mean?” I keep my face turned away from her, busying myself with gathering the dirty linen pile into a bag.
“Oh, please.” She waits for me to turn around and look at her. She stands with her hand on her hip, eyebrow raised. “You are flirting with two of the best looking men in the city. Don’t play innocent with me.” She grins wryly.
I roll my eyes and set the bag at the front door to the kitchen. “They’re drunk and having a good time.”
With a snort, she returns to washing dishes. “Ian couldn’t take his eyes off of you all night.”
I am saved from responding when Noah peeks his head into the kitchen. “Do you need me to take anything out back? I’m going to grab our bags and throw them in the van.”
I smile at him, thrilled for the interruption. “You guys did great. And you nailed that role.”
His eyes reflect his weariness, but also his pleasure at the compliment. “Thanks. It seemed to go well.” He covers his mouth as he coughs.
“Are you getting sick?” I eye him suspiciously. He didn’t get in until late this morning, and he had to be up by noon to help me get ready.
He waves me off. “Stop being a mother hen. I’m fine.” He smiles to soften his words, but I can see the darkness around his eyes. He’s definitely getting sick.
I shake my head and wave to the bag of dirty linens. “Grab that one for me, would you?” I nod in appreciation to Noah as he ducks back out. A few minutes later, he returns, weighed down with the suitcase filled with costumes and props, as well as a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He disappears outside, and I pile a few other bins at the door for him to load.
“I need to freshen up before I go back out there to mingle. Be back in a few,” I call to Misha as I head for the powder room.
The downside to putting on a show is that you end up sweaty and a bit of a wreck. I slip into the small bathroom behind the kitchen, thankful for a moment of near silence as the door closes off the din from the party. But only for a moment, as it swings open almost immediately.
“I’m in—” The word “here” dies on my lips as I see Ian staring down at me with a molten gaze.
With one step, he joins me, pulling the door shut behind him. Then his mouth crushes mine, his hands lifting me onto the sink’s counter so he can situate himself between my legs. He tastes like red wine and chocolate with a hint of strawberry, and the intensity of our kiss has me moaning into him.
“I need to be inside you, Ella,” he whispers against my mouth.
“But I should be out there…” I can’t keep my thoughts straight as his lips blaze a trail over my collarbone, sending jolts of desire to my core. I wrap my legs around his waist, wanting to pull him even closer. His hand glides up my thigh, and I’m thankful I decided on a dress this evening. Even more so as he pulls aside the v-neck, teasing my breast through my silk bra.
As his fingers dip beneath my panties and find my center, I suck in air, trying desperately to remain quiet. His strokes, firm yet gentle, unwrap me from the inside, and as I crest, I clutch his shoulders, burying my face in his neck to avoid crying out.
He savages my mouth, and I return his fervor. When he pulls me from the counter and turns me so he can press his erection against my ass, I fall back against him, languid from my orgasm.
“I want to fuck you.” He meets my eyes in the mirror, his hair mussed from my hands.
I hold his gaze for a moment before leaning forward, enjoying the surprise and lust on his face. “Go ahead.”
He’s prepared with a condom, and within seconds, he shoves my panties down and slides the head of his cock against my clit. I watch us in the mirror: the sight of him behind me, his penetrating gaze as he slowly guides himself into me, serves to heighten my arousal.
One hand grips the back of my neck as his other reaches beneath me to tug on a nipple. “God, all I could think about all night was how much I wanted to make you come.”
Between his barely audible words and our reflection, I can’t contain my orgasm, but I want to go with his, to enjoy our climax together. He has no intention of letting me, though, and as I squeeze my eyes closed, getting lost in the sensation, he plunges into me even faster. I bite my lip, tasting metal, as I struggle to stay quiet. Once I’m satisfied, he holds my hips, moving from his steady rhythm to a punishing one. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he whispers, watching my face closely.
I shake my head, unable to say how good it feels, or how I’ve never experienced anything like this, but I’m starting to crave it. He deepens his thrusts, and I cover my mouth with my hand, determined not to moan. Since sleeping with Ian, I seem incapable of having just one orgasm, and the fury of his need makes me even hotter.
He drops down to the toilet and pulls me back against him. “I need to touch you,” he whispers, his hand lightly holding my throat. In the mirror, his eyes meet mine as his other hand glides down to torture me, pinching and swirling over my clit. My muscles contract around him, and I’m unable to stop my climax, but as I constrict around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure buffets me, he clutches me tight against his chest and finds his own release.
We don’t move for moments, and when someone knocks at the door, I nearly leap off him. The door knob wiggles, but the person walks away when it doesn’t yield. I slap my hand over my mouth, holding in a bit of hysterical laughter.
Ian’s looking at me with amusement. “You okay?” he mouths to me, meeting my gaze in the mirror.
I nod, hand still firmly over my mout
h. The happiness in his eyes makes me want to melt against him, but there’s work yet to be done. And people waiting for the bathroom.
We right our clothing, and then pause at the door.
“Should I go first?” I whisper.
He draws me to him, his arms anchored behind my back. “In a moment.” He holds me, dropping a kiss on my head. “You are like breathing, Ella. I can’t seem to get enough of you.” He tilts my face so our gazes meet. “And it’s not just this—it’s all of you.”
The sweetness of his statement shakes me, but there’s something else in his gaze.
It can’t be…not yet. But deep down, I know what I see, and it scares me as much as it thrills me.
After Misha leaves with our van and the actors, only the three-person band remains, and they play old blues and R&B hits while the guests converse.
Noah looks like he’s about fall face first onto the table.
“Why don’t you head home? I’ll be right behind you. I want to do a little mingling with business cards.”
He shakes his head, though weariness informs his every move. “No, I’ll help you.”
I glance at the room of mostly men, with a few wives or girlfriends present. I shake my head. “Somehow, I think I’m better suited.” I grin. “Seriously, you look like death warmed over. Go home. I’ll finish up.”
It takes a bit more cajoling, but when I call a cab as I don’t trust him to have enough energy to take the right train, he capitulates. With any witnesses gone, I can breathe a little easier, and when Ian gestures to the seat beside him, I accept it gratefully. He rubs my knee beneath the table, but it’s more comforting than arousing, and the simplicity of it reminds me yet again how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed closeness with anyone.
Mick, his eyes bleary with booze, slaps the table near me. “Tell us about you, Ella! We want to know where you got this fucking brilliant business idea, and who does all the work, really, between you and Noah.”
“Yeah, what’s your story?” The follow-up question comes from Mason, known to the world at large as “Em Dawg,” one of the up and comers on the R&B scene, though you’d be hard-pressed to tell he’s reaching celeb status. He’s as laid-back and friendly as they come in a football jersey, his dreads pulled back, and an easy way about him that’s very engaging.
