Masters Forever (Masters #3)

by Ginger Voight

  Clearly this was part of his dastardly plan. He wanted me to remember the life we had planned to live together. I didn’t even have to burn through my one question to confirm it.

  No, I only had one question, which I waited to ask him after we sat at the outdoor table he had piled full of grilled goodness, from salmon to chicken to the veggies he tossed with Dijon vinaigrette. Several powerful heaters hummed around us as he prepared my plate. He likewise topped off my glass of wine before he finally sat across from me.

  “Thank you for joining me,” he offered cordially as he placed a napkin across his lap.

  I wanted to ask, “Did I have a choice?” But it was a question, and I only got one, and I already knew the answer.

  “Thanks for the invitation,” I said instead. “Though I’m not really sure what the point of all this is.”

  “Sharing a lovely meal in a lovely place with a lovely lady,” he murmured as he filled his own glass of wine. “Life’s little pleasures.”

  I sighed before I dug into my meal. It was delicious, but I knew it would be. He had cooked for me many times before.

  “Clearly it wasn’t enough for you when we were married, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone off screwing someone else.”

  He mulled that over as he stared at me. “Is that your oblique way of asking your question, Coralie?”

  “Is that your question?” I shot back.

  He chuckled. “Well played. Actually that is not my question.” I sat back and I waited. “But ladies first,” he acquiesced with a nod.

  I put my fork beside my plate. “Why can’t you leave me alone, Devlin?”

  “Because you’re mine,” he stated simply in that low voice that made my senses hum even louder than the heaters.

  “Devlin,” I started with a shake of my head. Surprisingly, he continued.

  “I knew it from the first time we touched, Coralie. You were different from all the others, and I had gone through plenty. Beautiful women. Successful women. Powerful women. Women who had it all. Me included.” He seemed almost ravaged to admit it. “I’d fuck them and move on because I could. It was never that hard to move on because none of them belonged to me. They all blended together, even when I had made knowing every last detail about them my business. Those details never became a part of me until the night I met you.”

  I held my breath as I waited, to see what else he might say. His voice only grew softer.

  “Right away you were like a tattoo on my brain. To this day, every time I close my eyes I see your face. Your beautiful, perfect face.”

  All of this was very romantic, but he had always been a sweet talker and a charmer. I couldn’t let myself fall prey to it again. “Even when you’re fucking Suzanne?” I scoffed.

  His eyes darkened. “I’m sorry. You’ve already used your question for the evening.”

  With a growl I threw my napkin on the plate and shot up from my chair. “Goodbye, Devlin.”

  Before I could take two steps from the table, he said, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  I turned back to face him. He placed his napkin on the table, rose from his chair and crossed the ten or so steps between us. I was sorely tempted to back up a step when he reached me. The closer he got, the weaker I felt. And the bastard knew it. “When was the last time someone fucked you like you deserve to be fucked?”

  I glared at him. “October 9th, apparently.” I turned to leave but he captured my arm.

  “It was a trick question. I already know the answer. I can see it on your face. It’s that same hunger you wore when we first met, a hunger only I have been able to satisfy. And you know it.” He fit my body against his. “I’m still the only one who can hear you screaming, Coralie.”

  I pulled back against him. “You’d like to think so. But I know you saw Caz and me together when you broke into my house–again,” I snapped.

  He locked his arms around me. “And yet you’re still dissatisfied. Imagine that.”

  I struggled. He somehow saw through every lie I told.

  #definitelymagic

  I wanted to scream, “What do you want from me?” But I knew better. It was another question.

  He knew how to get around that annoying little provision. He didn’t ask. He commanded. His voice was soft, like a caress. “Stay with me tonight, Coralie.”

  I glared up at him. “If you plan to seduce me, you’ll need my consent. And consent is a question with a yes or no answer.”

  He chuckled deep in his throat as he stared down at me. “It’s only a question if there is more than one answer, darlin.’” His head bent towards mine and I watched with widened eyes as his mouth closed over mine.

  I nearly went up like a Roman candle when his lips opened over my mouth, his tongue brushing ever so slightly against my lips, trying to nudge them apart. I held my ground against him, though it wasn’t easy. He was right. There was no question if I wanted to be with him. There was only one question that mattered: Should I stay?

  His hands slid down the curve of my spine, coming to rest just above my tailbone, pressing me into his rock-solid body. I could still picture him beautiful and naked as I liberally explored, and memorized, every square inch. It awakened the ache inside of me right around the time his tongue penetrated my lips. I could feel his hunger too.

  That answered the question for me. I knew if I stayed, I’d never leave. Devlin wanted to consume me, and he was the only man who could. I felt it in the way he trembled against me. I put my hands on his chest and pushed him away. My voice shook as I said, “There’s your answer.”

  He let me pull free and said nothing as I crossed back into the house to fetch my purse and head towards the front door. The minute I opened it, I heard his voice from behind me. “See you next Wednesday,” he said in that low, confident voice of his.

  From the way my heart leapt at his sexy command, I suspected that was no longer a question either.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I brought the glass of champagne to my lips as I stared out of the window of the limousine. We waited in line behind several other cars inching along Hollywood Boulevard towards the historic Chinese theater hosting A Journey to Remember, the film premiere that Caz and I were attending, one of our many public appearances for YC. The movie itself was a true Fierce baby, much like the first movie in the series, the Oscar-winning A Journey Home, had been. Jordi Hemphill sang the mega-hit from the first movie, so she was featured prominently on the newest soundtrack that Graham Baxter had produced. They had originally wanted to release it over the holidays, in time for that year’s Oscar season, but the producers decided to make a few tweaks and release it at the beginning of the year instead, to set the pace for the following year.

  Graham had invited everyone involved with Youniquely Cabot, though Caz and I were the only ones to accept the invitation. It was Oliver’s bright idea, considering the buzz the movie was generating. Another high-profile event, another stunning outfit to wear, and this time I’d actually have a date on my arm.

  I turned to Caz, who played around on his phone as he guzzled champagne himself. He leaned towards me to capture a selfie. “Say cheese,” he said before he snapped the shot and posted it, tagging it #prettiestdateatthepremiere #luckyguy. “You should post one, too,” he suggested before he pocketed his phone. “Hashtag: Lucky girl.”

  I simply shook my head and swallowed what was left in my glass. I honestly wasn’t in the mood. I had started my period and it was another rough one. None of them had normalized ever since I dropped hormonal birth control the year before.

  I had gone to the doctor that first week of January to get back on the pill, scared shitless by how close I came to sleeping with two men at the same time. My life didn’t need that kind of complication. While bad publicity was better than no publicity at all, I didn’t think Youniquely Cabot would benefit much off of starring in our own “Who’s Your Daddy” episode.

  I just had to wait for this period to pass and I could start my n
ew pack of pills. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about pregnancy or babies ever again.

  Such thoughts always left me surlier than usual.

  But I didn’t have time to attend my own pity party. My schedule was chock full of social commitments, one that started when I stepped out of that limo onto the red carpet.

  By now I was used to the screaming photographers who all bellowed my name to get my attention. Only this time, they were screaming Caz’s name too. My date casually draped an arm around me as he leaned in to smile for each and every photo they shot. It was a long, slow process making it up that carpet, past the media gauntlet where several video crews wanted to stop us for a chat. These invariably circled around to whether or not we were dating.

  Caz looked down at me with that damnable smirk. “We don’t feel compelled to define things right now,” he deflected with a possessive squeeze of my shoulders. “But any time I can steal with this lovely lady is definitely a win.”

  I offered a demure smile and said nothing, swept by the tide of people into the theater.

  I quickly spotted several familiar faces once we took our seat. There was Graham, of course, and his main squeeze Maggie, who sat next to the other producers of Fierce, including the famous talk show host, Dixie, and Shannon McKenna-Dalton and her husband Jake. Jordi had already taken her place next to her equally famous other half, Jace Riga, the heroic amputee who had won America’s heart the first season of Fierce. Giovanni Carnevale was there as well, with his lovely wife, Andy, both of whom sat next to the author of the book the movie was based upon, Sabrina Parsons. She sat with her famous hubby, and former rock icon, Vance Gale.

  It dawned on me that all these women were shamelessly voluptuous, like I once used to be. They were all happy and in love, having snatched their happily ever afters from the cruel, superficial hand of fate that might have deemed them unworthy for not being “beautiful” enough. Likely they had faced instances in their lives where they felt like I had felt, invisible and discarded, and yet they had found enough love of self to attract the love of others, without benefit of being made perfect first.

  I had finally reached that level of perfection, and yet I sat there with a man who was pretending to be my date, rather than a legitimate date itself, with no love to call my own.

  The whole thing struck me as comically ironic, but that might have been because of the edible candy I had to choke down just to get into the limo. By the time my happy medicine kicked in, I was in the right frame of mind that I found it funny, rather than sad, so I chuckled to myself as the lights went down.

  Caz wrapped one arm around me with a smile, as if he could read my thoughts.

  Maybe he could. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  I simply focused on the screen and tried to enjoy the movie. I had actually loved the first one, a period piece about a freed slave tasked with piecing together her scattered family during the final days of the Civil War. A Journey to Remember was set in present day, when one of her descendants returned to South Carolina to research this tragic history. There she ultimately found the man of her dreams and carving out her own happy ending as she defined her place in the world.

  What surprised me most was one of the songs used for the hero, who had to convince the determined heroine to give him a chance. As a white man, particularly one from the South, the heroine didn’t think they would have anything in common, so he spent most of the movie pining for a woman who wouldn’t give him the time of day, though no one was as dedicated to her reaching her goal as the man least likely to understand it.

  When I heard the slowed notes of the Roy Orbison classic begin to play, turning a rock classic into a forlorn ballad, I knew before he even started singing that it was Devlin. It was the very same rendition of the song that he had played for Graham many months ago on the Fierce stage. He sounded as incredible now as he had then, and every single nerve ending I had reacted to that deep, rich voice that had sung to me more than once.

  I could hardly breathe as I stared at the screen, trying to process what it all meant.

  I didn’t need the credits to tell me it was Dev, yet I needed to see it for myself. My eyes were transfixed to the screen as the credits rolled, where Devlin’s name scrolled lazily across the screen as a composer, with a special credit introducing him a performer, appearing courtesy of Baxter Mega-Worldwide Media Corporation. Caz turned to me with an equally stunned expression on his face. “Did you know?”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t move as many of the people filed past us as they made their way up the aisle. Graham and Maggie stopped to say hello, and to introduce me to the two daughters of the movie producer who had brought A Journey to Remember to the big screen. They were the ones who had read and loved the book, insisting their father take on the project.

  They were also the same two women Devlin had courted to the New Year’s Eve party, the ones he made me think were his paid dates for the evening.

  Before I could ask any questions, Caz tapped me on the shoulder and pointed behind us to the balcony, where Devlin stood watching us. He wore a suit, and stood with his hands in his pockets as he stared down at the theater below.

  “You’re coming to the party, I hope,” Graham said as he clasped my hand warmly between his own.

  It was safe to say that wild horses couldn’t keep me away.

  I followed the Fierce crew out of the opulent theater, where waiting limos shuttled us to a club on Melrose. Music thundered as Caz herded me inside, winding through the jubilant crowd. I kept my eyes peeled for Devlin, sure that he would pop up and complicate my already confusing night. The last thing we needed were photos taken of us together.

  Or maybe it was the best thing. The press would eat it up, which would be great for YC, even if it threw me into an emotional tailspin.

  Either way, I was a nervous wreck from the time I entered the West Hollywood hotspot. I found myself hobnobbing with people I barely knew or didn’t know at all. Vanni was charming as he greeted me, remembering me by name as he bent to kiss my cheek. “So good to see you again, Coralie,” he murmured before he turned to the brunette standing next to him. “This is my wife, Andy.”

  She gushed as she pumped my hand. “It is an honor to meet you! I’m such a huge fan. I’ve worn nothing but Youniquely Cabot since you launched it in November.” She modeled the velvet stunner she wore with a sexy little twirl. The plum-colored material hugged every curve of her size-16 body, with all the luscious curves I used to possess. In fact, she looked a lot like I had when I first met Devlin, so I knew how sexy she must have felt.

  “You look amazing,” I complimented.

  “Not to impugn Cabot’s, but she didn’t need a dress for that,” Vanni smiled as he cuddled her close, relishing every curve.

  God, I missed that.

  I was passed along to Jordi, who likewise sported another YC design. Jace, too, draped his arm proudly around his woman, appreciating every inch of her ample figure which hovered somewhere around the size-20 mark.

  She wasn’t plus-sized. She was size-fabulous. Her confidence oozed from every pore, truly fierce.

  Somehow I had made all the women in that room feel like goddesses, yet couldn’t steal any of that sunshine for myself. This was despite all the changes I had made, changes that everyone always promised would make me happy.

  It only made me feel even more like a loser.

  Finally I found myself in front of Graham. Since I knew Devlin would never tell me what was going on, I asked him point-blank. “When did you hire Devlin to do the music?”

  “I knew I wanted that song the minute I heard him perform it back in September. It took a little bit longer to get him to commit,” he confessed with a grin. “Hence why we had to put off releasing the film. There was a lot going on,” he mentioned softly, compassionately. “I had a contract by mid-October and we finished all three songs he contributed, including the score, about six weeks after that. He’s a consummate professional,” Graham added. “And a per
fectionist. I guess I should have seen that coming.”

  I practically snorted in derision. I tried to match up the dates in my head. “So … mid-October?” It made me think about the house, and Dev’s sudden windfall so that he could buy me out rather than sell it entirely. I knew better than to ask the specifics, but as it turned out, I didn’t need to.

  “It might have been sooner but he can drive a hard bargain. I ended up paying out the nose, but honestly, I think that track in particular will sell this movie every bit as much as Jordi’s original. We’re releasing it, along with the video for it, opening day.”

  Graham’s enthusiasm was contagious. I knew, too, that the song could launch Devlin down a whole new career path, one that he both deserved and was well suited. He was a gifted musician and composer, with enough charisma to carry a performance, on stage, without any help at all. All eyes were always drawn to him, and he never failed to surprise anyone who might be lucky enough to hear him play.

  My eyes scanned the crowd until my gaze finally landed on Devlin, who stood at the bar chatting with Vanni and Andy. I couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered over her fuller curves, which reminded me of the night we met, at a bar very similar to this one.

  “If I hadn’t hired you, you could have passed me in the street and never looked twice.”

  “If that’s what you truly think, then you’re selling yourself as short as your father and Oliver both do. As a matter of fact I do find you attractive, and would have probably found a way to approach you in that bar, even if we hadn’t planned to meet.”

  Had he been telling the truth?

  “I have to go talk to him,” I told Caz, who leaned against the bar, nursing a drink.

  “Be careful, pussycat,” Caz said in a low voice. “It wasn’t a coincidence that we were invited to this. You have to know that.”