A Perilous Pursuit

by Diane Gilmore

  Later they visited The London Eye, a huge Ferris wheel-like ride situated along the River Thames, which allowed visitors to see the entire city of London from a height of over 400 feet. Susan and Shaun eagerly entered one of the 32 futuristic-looking passenger capsules that would take them to the top.

  “Come on, you two,” Susan called to them, “there’s plenty of room in here.”

  “No, you go on,” Craig said. “I don’t like heights, especially in little canisters dangling from a giant bicycle wheel.” He turned to Taylor. “It’s a slow rotation. They’ll be back down in a half an hour.”

  “Then I’ll stay with you,” Taylor offered. The door of the capsule closed and they watched as it began its ascent to the top of the massive ring.

  “You know, people have tried to scale that thing from time to time, for political reasons or just being crazy,” Craig said.

  “Really? That would be quite a climb,” Taylor tilted her head back and put her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes as she watched Susan and Shaun’s capsule meander into the London sky. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to go up that high.”

  Craig turned to face her. “I’m already high. On you.”

  She looked into his eyes and saw the same heated passion of his need for her as she felt for him. He lifted her hand and kissed her wrist where her pulse beat. He put his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. Then he reached across the side of her face and pushed her hair behind her ear. He nuzzled his mouth into her neck, leaving a trail of kisses up to her ear. Goose bumps sprung out all over her body as Taylor folded readily into his arms. She felt weak, like a puppet, while he controlled the strings, as if she had no will of her own.

  Craig raised her chin to kiss her. His lips lightly crossed hers, brushing gently back and forth. Then with a ragged intake of breath, he pressed his mouth harder against hers until her lips parted, and slid his tongue through to explore the recesses of her mouth. She returned his kiss, forgetting where she was for that timeless moment while excitement charged through her. She eagerly entwined her tongue with his, wanting nothing more than to taste him, to feel connected to him.

  It was never like this with Diesel. Diesel was aggressive, hungry, demanding, and void of any feeling. Craig stoked a passion that warmed her blood and quickened her heart rate, and she wanted more of it. With a little moan, she pushed up his sweater and slid her hands over his back, tracing the line of his spine in soothing strokes as his husky gasp rang in her ear.

  Craig’s mouth moved away, and he lingered over her face. “You know how to put a spanner in a bloke’s life, don’t you?” he said softly.

  Taylor smiled. “Maybe. And what do you intend to do about it?”

  Craig raised his brows and smiled back. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to think of something, won’t I?”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Who’s up for some scran?” Shaun suggested later after visiting Trafalgar Square. “The day’s getting on, and the Village Lion is nearby.”

  Taylor and Susan looked at each quizzically.

  “He means do you want to eat,” Craig explained. He turned to his brother. “What’s the time, mate?”

  “Nearly half five.”

  “Yeah, good idea,” Craig said. “I think we’re all about ready to eat.”

  The group got back in the car and drove north, turning off the busy Charing Cross Road into a pretty alleyway. Flanked by two bookshops sat the Village Lion Pub. Inside, Taylor found a warm, comfortable place, with rough-cut cedar beams along the ceiling. Various sized pictures, trinkets, and small brass plates were placed on the walls in an aimless array. A well-used dartboard stood in the back of the room, along with a snooker table, a cue and ball game that took up the remaining space in that area. To Taylor, it looked like a British version of an American billiards table.

  The pub’s menu consisted of a vast assortment of hot snacks, cheeses, beer, and wine. Craig and Shaun strode up to the bar and ordered a plentiful selection of the house specialties. She heard Craig finish up their order with, “We’ll take a couple of pints of Fosters, mates, and the ladies will have some wine.”

  To Taylor’s delight, Craig and Shaun proved to be possessed with the gift of lively conversation in addition to their knowledge of their country’s sights and history. She and Susan listened as they told them of their childhood and how the band was formed five years earlier.

  “Speaking of the band,” Susan asked when they were finished, “have you decided when you’re going to start the demo?”

  “We know a fella down near Tottenham Court Road,” Craig replied. “He says he can probably slide us in within the week.”

  “Sounds good,” Taylor said, “but where is this studio? I hardly know my bearings around town yet.”

  “Not to worry, luv.” Craig smiled and squeezed her hand. “We’ll take care of getting you there.”

  Shaun turned to his brother. “You know, kidda, for spending the day with a couple of Yanks, I’m having a good time.”

  Taylor smiled. “That sounds like a compliment. I think.”

  “Well, I didn’t know what to expect today,” Shaun said. “See, I had a bit of a scrap with a rather large Yank a few months ago.”

  “Oh, don’t start with that again,” Craig groaned. “I had to bail you out of jail that night!”

  “You’re kidding,” Taylor said, surprised. “What happened?”

  “Oh, the stupid cun . . . I mean person, came into a pub in Kensington where we were playing one night and started spouting his mouth off about England. The trouble with Britain, he said, was that all the best people left our esteemed country for the fucking Colonies, right? ‘Scuse the French. Said the rest of us who stayed behind ended up being nothing but wimpy, hungry bastards, and that’s why America is so bleedin’ wonderful today.”

  Craig snickered. “Yeah, and Shaun ended up with a black eye and spending the night in jail over a few drunken insults. He should have just let the big dope drink up and go on his merry way.”

  “Well, I couldn’t hold back, and that was my first and only exposure to a genuine, A-1 Yank. That is, until now.”

  “I certainly hope we’ve changed your viewpoint somewhat,” Susan said.

  “In more ways than one, darlin’,” Shaun winked suggestively. “So, the night is young. What do you say to you and me hitting the town? We don’t need a car. There’s a tube station right down the street.”

  “A what?” Susan asked blankly.

  “A tube,” Shaun repeated. “They’re like the subways in New York. We can get everywhere quick, and it’s dirt cheap.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Susan replied.

  Craig turned to Taylor. “If they’re going out, perhaps I can show you my flat before I take you home. I have some songs on my computer that I wrote. You might be interested in hearing them.”

  “I’d like that,” Taylor said.

  The group parted ways, and Craig drove the car to Covent Garden and pulled into the parking lot of his building. His flat was on the second floor. The stairs leading up to his door were very old and somewhat damp and musty. His door was dark and rather imposing, with a small number “7” at eye level. Just above the number was a small plastic oblong plate with the name “Phillips” etched upon it in elaborate silver scroll.

  He turned his key in the lock and led Taylor into the small, three-room apartment.

  The contrast between the damp, aged stairway and the bright white apartment was startling, and Taylor felt as though she’d stepped into another world. The first thing she noticed was a vivid Andy Warhol portrait of Marilyn Monroe on Craig’s wall, illuminated by two colored track lights that beamed down from the ceiling.

  His furniture was sparse but functional. A modern white bed
seemed to overwhelm the room, fitted with rich burgundy satin sheets. Next to the bed was a huge bay window with matching burgundy cushions on it. Numerous sheets of paper containing musical notes and words scribbled on them lay spread out on the floor, where a deep burgundy rug covered that area of the room. Taylor immediately envisioned Craig sitting at that window, looking out at the up-market wine bars and theaters while idly strumming on his guitar and jotting down notes.

  Other than a chest of drawers, the only other major furnishing in the room was a rather expensive audio system, complete with different components, an amplifier, and a computer with a large screen sitting next to it. Two sets of wireless headphones lay next to each other on the floor.

  Next to the bed was a black marble wine rack, fully stocked. A tall-stemmed black ashtray stood next to it, badly in need of emptying. The fireplace was littered with crumpled paper like the clutter lying around the window. On the mantle above it were two marble candlesticks covered with masses of used wax, and in the center of the shelf stood a large photograph of Craig and Shaun, which Taylor guessed was probably taken when Craig was in his early teens and Shaun was still a young boy.

  “There’s a bottle of wine there in the rack,” he called to her as he headed toward the kitchen. Taylor reached down and pulled at one of the bottles from the rack’s ample supply. In a moment Craig returned with a corkscrew and two glasses.

  “Sit down,” he suggested.

  Taylor chose the window seat and sank comfortably down on the cushions. Craig joined her with the two filled glasses. He turned on the computer and queued some of the audio files, then sat down beside her, letting his arm circle her shoulders when the music began. The sound came out of four speakers placed in the corners up near the ceiling of the room.

  Taylor heard Craig’s alluring voice, the same smooth, compelling voice that not only charmed her, but which she knew had the potential to captivate an American audience.

  Many of the songs were upbeat pop tunes, the kind Taylor felt Fury would thrive on. Then the livelier songs gave way to slower, more bittersweet melodies. They were deeply emotional rock ballads. Bluesy, haunting tunes that were filled with both desperation and heartache about a present situation, yet an optimistic hope for the future. The songs, some stretching to nearly seven minutes in length, had an undercurrent of a sadness, a yearning for loyalty and sincerity. Still others told of the euphoric joy of being in love. They were all spellbinding.

  After a time, Taylor said, “I had no idea you could write ballads like that, Craig.”

  “Do you like them?”

  Taylor shook her head in amazement. “I love them. They have a spark that seems to speak right to you, even though you’ve never heard them before. Yet you can’t forget the melodies after you hear them. It’s a different style of sound.”

  Suddenly another familiar tune began to play.

  “That one’s my favorite,” Taylor remarked, pointing absently toward the computer monitor. “I remember it from Soho the other night.”

  “That’s ‘Love Moods.’ I only wrote that recently.”

  “It’s a very touching song,” Taylor reflected. “The melody is slow, yet very emotional. It could melt a heart of stone.”

  “That song, as well as the other ballads, wasn’t exactly written on one of my better days.”

  Taylor looked at him thoughtfully. “Now I detect a hint of bitterness in your voice. Any special reason?”

  Craig shrugged absently as he looked out the window. “Songwriting has always been my refuge, the means of expressing my feelings because I had no one else to express them to. I wrote most of the lonely-hearts club stuff when I was feeling alone and trapped. You can hide pain in the weirdest places.”

  He shifted so he faced Taylor directly. “Have you ever felt that way? Alone and trapped?”

  Suddenly Taylor saw another face of Craig Phillips, a side she, too, possessed.

  “Why would you ever feel that way?” she asked.

  “For the same reasons that you do,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “You are surrounded every day by your clients and your business associates just like I’m surrounded by shallow hangers-on, but we both have no one. We’re in the middle of a swirling vortex. Everybody else is enjoying themselves, but we’re watching them spin around us, not able to break in and join them. I can see it in your eyes, Taylor. You’ve been there, too.”

  His statement hit her like a blow to the gut, as if he had somehow reached in and ripped away the veil of her inner self to see her soul fully exposed. He was right, but could he know? She didn’t answer right away while her senses recovered.

  “So, how do you deal with it?” she finally asked.

  “I write music,” Craig said. “I write and I keep on writing. I go deeply into the feeling and get as much out of it as I can. I’ve written some good stuff in times like that, even though it’s the last place on earth I want to be.”

  In the soft, semi-dark silence of his apartment, the outside sounds of the city seemed to fade away. He looked directly at Taylor. “I’ve been walking a lonely road out there for a while, but I think someone has found me.”

  He searched her eyes for a long moment, as if beckoning her spirit to be one with him. His hand reached out and lovingly caressed her hair, her face. His fingertips felt like tiny sparks on her skin as his thumb traced little circles on her cheek.

  “You look beautiful sitting there,” he said in a low, seductive voice.

  As if in slow motion, he leaned forward and lightly touched his lips to hers. When she didn’t pull away, he settled his mouth more firmly on hers, slipping his tongue between her lips with hungry demand, tempting the hunger to let go and follow him.

  A blaze of heated arousal raced like a wildfire through her body. In an instant, she felt a surge of being alive that she had never felt before, and it felt marvelous. She didn’t fight him. Instead, her fingers gripped his shoulders and her tongue welcomed his, drawing him into her with a rhythmic demand, urging him closer.

  “You taste marvelous,” he whispered. “Intoxicating.”

  She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of his lips on hers. He had invaded her senses on every level. No man had ever affected her like him, not Diesel, not anyone. She felt every fiber of her body betraying her, calling out like a siren for his passion to meet hers.

  Craig rose and took her by the hand to the bed, moving their emotions to the soft burgundy sheets. She went willingly, melting into him as he laid her down and slid alongside her, holding her legs firmly beneath him with one long, muscular thigh.

  She relished the feel of his arms around her, holding her against his rock solid chest, feeling his heart race against her breasts and the hardness of his body against her. A sweet storm of lightning heat began to spark in her loins. Her body reacted to it like a key that had unlocked a door long closed, and she was powerless to stop it. And she didn’t want to stop it.

  Craig roamed his hands hungrily over her body. “You look stunning lying here,” Craig whispered huskily. “I want to touch you, to hold you—”

  Taylor shivered but she was far from cold. A longing, a fierce desire she had never known existed, rose from deep within as she basked in the sensations of his touch. Sharing intimacies was never like this with Diesel, who seemed incapable of loving anyone but himself. She had grown so accustomed to performing the mechanical act of sex with Diesel that the lack of true response became second nature to her.

  Craig’s lips commenced a fiery assault, leaving light, tingling kisses on her eyelids and nose, and eventually working a path down her neck. She moaned softly as her hands removed his shirt to find his smooth chest, fanning her fingers over his back to take in the firm muscles.

  Craig’s hands were moving again, skillfully removing her shirt and snapping free the front clasp of her bra.<
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  “You feel so soft, like fine silk,” he murmured approvingly. His long fingers kneaded the soft mounds of her breasts as his tongue explored the valley between them. His tongue caressed one of her nipples, then covered it, drawing it into the liquid fire of his mouth.

  Moaning softly, she pushed his head into her, wanting more of the desperate pleasure he was awakening in her.

  He groaned against her breast. “Taylor . . .”

  His movements became more deliberate as he reached down and unbuttoned her jeans. He unzipped them slowly, and she moved her hips to help remove them. His hands pressed between her thighs, spreading them to let his fingers in to play on her skin like the keys of a Wurlitzer, caressing her thigh muscles until they wanted to sing. He slid his hand under her panties, brushing her tender flesh as he gently pulled them free of her body. A satisfying grin crossed his face as he found that magical place. His hand glided over her, touching and caressing her until her thigh muscles relaxed and her legs slowly opened for him. His fingers reached in to stroke the slick folds of her flesh, gliding through the wet opening, stroking and teasing. The sensation raked through her with unimaginable speed, and her hips began moving of their own volition, pressing against his hand.

  “I love what you’re doing to me,” Taylor breathed. She could hardly get the words out. Each thrust of his fingers inside her body was like throwing gasoline on the flame of desire.

  “I love pleasing you,” Craig said hoarsely.

  His fingers continued their plunge into her delicate folds, creating waves of sweet lust tearing into her that bombarded her with an onslaught of pure pleasure. She felt the secretions flow from her sensitive flesh like a raging river that swamped her to the point of wanting to explode.