by J. J. Sorel
I loved the room. The stage was draped with cascading red-velvet. The rest of the space, covered in bordello-style wallpaper, was reminiscent of the barrooms in the Wild West.
In acknowledgement of celebrated blues artists, there were black-and-white framed photographs of famous African-American musicians, along with signed album covers. My favorite aspect of the décor, however, was the sheet-music wallpaper behind the bar.
Aidan chatted away with a broad, solid man. He looked like a security guard. They were laughing about something when Aidan’s eyes shifted towards me. The room emptied suddenly. It was just us. He was ravaging me again with that smoldering gaze. The guy he was talking to turned to see what had drawn his friend’s attention. He said something to Aidan who, having not taken his eyes away from me, just nodded in a trancelike way.
I stood by his side, and he drew me in close. In an open display of affection, he kissed me on the cheek. Who would have thought a peck on the cheek could be so erotic?
“I love your hair out, Clarissa. I cannot tell you how much you’re driving me crazy.” His eyes had that heavy, lust-filled look.
Aidan ran his hands down my hair. Despite demurring, with a thousand eyes watching us, I could do little but succumb to the sheer bliss of Aidan’s closeness.
I imagined being the envy of every woman present, with their unwavering attention blatantly directed at Aidan. How could they not feel that way when he had jeans that hugged his athletic body perfectly and a face that Hollywood producers would’ve leapt over pits of vipers to sign up?
Aidan Thornhill was pure male in every sense of the word. And as he stood behind me and pulled me in close, I felt his desire, hard and ready.
“What do you think of this place?” asked Aidan.
“I love it. It’s so Victorian bordello, very sensual. I love the velvets and satiny textures. It’s a triumph. I could live here.”
Aidan laughed. “Well, I don’t know about letting you live here. But you, darling girl, have got impeccable taste.”
“Does it belong to somebody you know?” I asked, recalling him pressing the security code earlier.
“You could say that.” Aidan smirked.
“Well?” I said, shaking my head.
“This is my place, Clarissa.”
My lips parted. “Oh… its charming, Aidan—all the pictures and the design. The sheet-music wallpaper is marvelous. Did you get a designer?”
“Not really. I designed it.” Aidan had that adorable off-center, uncertain smile. I’d learnt to recognize that expression, which appeared whenever Aidan admitted to an achievement. I sensed that being a humble person, Aidan felt pride deeply, but not in a boastful way.
“You have a great eye, Aidan. You surround yourself with so much beauty,” I gushed.
“Nothing as beautiful as you, you’re the masterpiece, Clarissa.” Aidan held me tighter. My face hurt from smiling too much.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Grant Thornhill had the exemplary blues voice. His throaty rasp seemed infused with cigarettes and whisky, or at least that was how it sounded. His body bent back slightly as he twanged his guitar. Confidant and very capable, Grant was the consummate performer. With Sara on keyboards, along with a drummer and a bass guitarist, the music was visceral. Then again, everything about that night seemed raw and emotive.
I enjoyed the blues, especially how the bass worked through my ribcage. Grant was an accomplished musician, plucking his dark chords with deep emotion. And Sara’s melodious harmonies blended effortlessly. They were a tight and well-practiced band.
Aidan stood behind me, and with his arms around my waist, he was enticingly close. He felt divinely hard against my butt. And as he moved to the music, it was almost obscene. I prayed nobody could smell my desire, because I was dripping with it.
When Aidan asked me to dance to the slow ballad, I responded with a puzzled frown.
“What’s wrong? You don’t want to?” Aidan asked.
“I do, only it’s slow,” I replied.
“All the better,” said Aidan with that chocolate-melting smile.
He led me onto the dance floor, placing one arm around my shoulder and another around my waist. My cheek rested on his shoulder for a slow and sensuous dance.
I suddenly discovered another magical aspect of the past: the waltz. Aidan was right—the slower the better. I had never waltzed before. And Aidan was an excellent partner, confident and capable with no clumsy moves. I don’t even recall feeling my feet on the ground, we seemed to glide.
When the song ended, Grant said, “Thanks for coming, folks. This is the last number and I’d like to call my son, Aidan, up for a little jam.”
Aidan shook his head. “No.”
I was in his ear in an instant. “I would love you to play, Aidan. Please.”
The audience was with me, clapping keenly. “I think you have to,” I said with an encouraging nod.
He brushed his hair away from his face and rolled his eyes. His face flushed, he finally agreed. Aidan’s innate sensitivity made my heart dissolve.
I saw him whisper something to his security mates, whose attention thereafter was directed at me.
Aidan picked up a green electric guitar and waited for his father to plug him in. Then, with a harmonica in his mouth, Grant started the song. Side by side, father and son made for a powerful and moving image. The rhythm so hypnotic my body swayed. Ripping into a guitar solo, Aidan was a rock god. He had an immense presence on stage. And his playing, oh my, I hadn’t expected it, but Aidan was a consummate musician.
The place went wild. My heart flipped with each explosive strum of that sexy-sounding guitar. Talent was supposed to be an aphrodisiac, and Aidan had plenty of it to add to his already supreme sexiness. His solo was heartfelt. With eyes shut, while biting his bottom lip, Aidan looked like he was in the throes of a musical orgasm. Or did I read sex into everything to do with Aidan?
My face and body ached. I was overdosing on his sheer animal allure. A thorn in my side was the pest who wouldn’t take no for an answer. After I refused to dance with him, he grabbed my arm imploringly. And despite being in deep musical concentration, Aidan’s expression hardened. I noticed his eyes move over my head. Within a breath, a security guard, the one Aidan had spoken to, came over, and after a few words, my admirer crept off with a disappointed scowl.
Aidan played the guitar as if making love. His pelvis flexed against the instrument. I had to fan my face. In fact, the whole room by then was awash in female hormones. I’m certain I wasn’t the only one heating up down south.
Their tuneful singing melded brilliantly. Aidan’s eyes never left mine as he sang along. The ballad spoke of pain. I wondered what he was telling me. I was the only one there suddenly. Unable to close my jaw, I thought to myself, how did I—an art history major with very little to show for it— end up with such a man?
After performing an encore to rapturous applause, the set came to an end, and the patrons cleared out.
Aidan and I sat with Grant and Sara. While Aidan slid off to have a chat with his ex-army buddies, Grant sat next to me.
“I can’t tell you how it feels to see Aidan looking so happy. It’s the first time in ages, if ever I’ve seen him like that.”
Ever?
“Oh?” Questions suddenly lined up in my busy mind.
“Aidan hasn’t had an easy life. His mother was, and still is, a raging alcoholic and not a pretty one at that.” He smiled grimly. “The army broke Aidan.”
“He hasn’t spoken about that much,” I said.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” said Grant almost to himself. “Aidan doesn’t speak to anyone about that period in his life. When my boy returned from Afghanistan, not only had he changed physically and mentally, but he also brought back a demon.”
“One reads about the shock of war. Shell shock it was called in the olden days. I guess it’s still the same.”
“It sure is. Not that Aidan has fessed up to an
ything. He doesn’t speak about it at all. But there’s something going on.” He took a sip of his drink and rolled a cigarette. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
I shook my head.
“Anyway, this is a first. I can see he’s crazy about you. I’ve only met one woman, and he never brought her here, mind you.” Grant took a puff of his cigarette. “I met his ex by sheer accident. I’ve never seen Aidan as relaxed as he is with you.” His eyes, just like Aidan’s, glowed with sincerity. I could see the love he had for Aidan. “And by the way, all that gossip about Aidan changing women as often as his underwear is absolute bullshit. I can see you’re a sensitive girl.” He smiled gently. “I’m sure that’s what my boy sees in you. And one thing’s for sure: Aidan has changed since I last saw him. When he made money, Aidan had lots of girls around. While many of his army buddies abused liquor or drugs to deal with the aftermath of a vicious campaign, Aidan got his escape from chicks.” He raised his eyebrows. “But he’s changed, especially after Jessica.”
“After Jessica?” I asked.
His eyes did a quick sweep of the room. “Let’s put it this way. Aidan got involved for all the wrong reasons—some irrational need to tie the Thornhill name to old wealth. Not that he’s ever admitted that. I think it’s because he wanted to remove attention from his dysfunctional upbringing. I’m not too proud about that, mind you.” His mouth twisted. “But in those days, career and touring came as natural to me as breathing did.”
“The life of an artist is complex,” I said gently.
“Yeah, sure is.” His mouth turned up at one end, just like his son’s. “Aidan’s made running away from his past a lifetime habit.” He paused and regarded me with familiar intensity. Like father, like son. “Maybe one day he’ll reveal to you what’s holding him down. He sees a shrink.”
“Oh, right?” I recrossed my legs. “You mentioned Jessica.”
“She brought with her a lifestyle foreign to Aidan. He changed, or at least, he couldn’t be himself. That’s when Aidan built this place—not only to keep me from touring, but so he could escape Jessica.” Grant chuckled. “They didn’t look good together. One can always read people’s relationships by their body language. It came as no surprise when Aidan ended it. It was a relief.”
“Was she that bad?” I sat forward, keen for all the gritty detail.
“She’s attractive, to be sure.” Grant’s face softened. “Not like you, of course. I’ve never seen Aidan with anyone as strikingly beautiful as you. Jessica was alluring in a manicured way. Aidan described her as bossy, controlling, and someone who whined a lot.”
Grant paused and took a sip of his drink. “When he broke it off, she left the country. It created a rift with some of the families around Malibu. Not that Aidan cares about that.” Grant’s focus suddenly shifted away from my face to above my head.
A hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to find Aidan there, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You two appear to be in a deep and meaningful conversation.” He settled down by my side.
“Just learning a little about Clarissa, that’s all,” said Grant, giving me a subtle wink.
Aidan leaned in and whispered, “Are you ready to go?” He touched the nape of my neck, sending a shiver through me. I nodded.
As we stood to leave, Sara said, “You’ll both have to come over for dinner soon. How about this week sometime?”
“I’ve got business to attend to. I’ll be out of town this week. And there’s an auction.” He looked at me as if that activity involved me. “Let me get back to you. Probably the week after.” He kissed her on the cheek.
Judging by his relaxed manner and familiar tone, it was clear that Aidan liked his stepmother.
“Okay. But make sure you do. I’d like to get to know this little sweetie.” She kissed me on the cheek.
Grant whispered, “It’s been a delight meeting you. Take care of my boy. He’s more fragile than he makes out.” He hugged me, and they left.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
It turned out that Aidan had an apartment not far from the Red House. Not in the mood for driving, he suggested we stay there. I was fine with that. Even a garbage dump would have been acceptable as long as Aidan was there.
“Sara’s friendly. I’d enjoy meeting them for dinner,” I said.
Aidan had his arm around my waist as we sauntered along. Although he’d had a few drinks, too many to drive, he didn’t show any signs of being drunk. I sensed Aidan held his liquor well. Like my father, who was also partial to a drink or two, Aidan never slurred his words or stumbled about.
“She’s a vegan. She cooks these colorful, elaborate meals.” Aidan laughed. “I always have to grab a cheeseburger on the way home.”
I giggled. “I’m the same. I tried to do the vegetarian thing at college, but I got so iron deficient I couldn’t get out of bed.”
Aidan turned and regarded me at length. “There’s so much I have yet to discover about you, Clarissa Moone. I’m excited at the prospect of doing just that.” Aidan smiled radiantly.
“That makes two of us. There’s much I don’t know about you, Aidan Thornhill.”
“I must say, you were pretty thick with my father there. I’m sure you weren’t just talking about the weather.”
“He told me that philandering was your way of dealing with the aftermath of Afghanistan.”
Aidan stopped walking. His face contorted. “What?”
“Well, those weren’t his words, but…”
We stopped at an apartment tower across from the beach. It was such a magnificent night. The fresh, breezy air had sobered me up, because unlike Aidan, I was a little drunk.
“We’re here.” Aidan swiped a card over the double glass doors.
It was a very modern building with a marble-floored entrance. The walls were filled with giant canvases of contemporary abstract art, very much like the corporate buildings downtown.
“We’ll continue this later,” said Aidan in a serious tone.
We were alone in the elevator. Aidan held me. And as I stood against the wall, he pressed against me, his lips ravishing mine. Like mouth sex, his tongue took possession. I was putty in his hands as his fingers crept under my dress. He squeezed my bottom before running his hungry fingers up my thigh, settling on my cleft. “Oh God, you’re wet, my little princess,” Aidan said with a heavy breath.
When the elevator stopped, Aidan extricated himself from me. I was a little disappointed. I wanted to have hard, quick sex against the wall just like in the movies.
On my wavelength, Aidan said, “As much as I’d love to ravage you right now, a comfortable bed is more fitting for what I plan to do to you.”
Yum. With that engorged erection throbbing on my thigh, all my muscles below my naval clenched in excited anticipation.
“This is your other home,” I said, standing by the full-length window. With nothing but the sea and sky in view, the room’s dimensions seemed infinite.
“It’s one of my homes. I have a few. I grew up around Venice Beach, so I’m fond of this one.”
“Are you really that rich?” I asked.
“Uh-huh.” Aidan took me in his arms. “Would you be with me if I wasn’t?”
I pulled away. My brows met furiously. “What do you think?”
Aidan laughed. “You’re even sexier with a pout. Come here, Princess.” He crooked his finger.
“There’s so much I don’t know about you, Aidan,” I said, sitting next to him on the sofa.
“What do you want to know?” He kissed me on the neck.
“Why did you leave your fiancée? Do you plan to use me?”
Aidan pulled away and frowned. “Shit, Clarissa.”
“Well, you asked.” I rose and moved about the large room.
Despite being more contemporary than I was used to, the room had many tasteful and attractive objects to absorb, namely, the enormous canvases of seascapes and abstracts. They were masterfully created, textured and painted in oils. And as with ever
ything Aidan surrounded himself with, I was impressed.
Aidan grabbed two small bottles of Evian from the fridge. “Do you want a glass?” His face had softened, dropping that anguished look from a few moments earlier.
“No, I’m good.”
Aidan undid the cap for me and handed me the cold bottle.
I took a long sip. It was so refreshing and worked wonders for my pasty, dry mouth.
Aidan removed his shoes. Even his bare feet turned me on. “I left Jessica because I didn’t love her. I wasn’t attracted to her. For starters, our tastes diverged on everything. She liked modernist minimalism, and you’re aware of what I like.” Aidan’s lips curled up on one side.
“But different tastes are interesting,” I said.
“I wasn’t attracted to her. Simple.” Aidan’s eyes had that searing, carnal glint. “Clarissa, I’ve never met anyone like you before. I’m new to this.”
“So am I,” I said softly.
Aidan took me into his arms. I buried my head in his neck while he stroked my hair. “I’m crazy about you, Clarissa. I thought of little else. When you pushed me away last week, I lost it. I couldn’t concentrate. I’ve got a lot on my plate as well.” He sighed. “I had it so bad. I needed a session with Kieren just to get through the week.”
“Is he your psychologist?” I asked.
He nodded slowly. “Did my dad tell you?”
“He mentioned that you had one, mainly for issues related to the army.”
“Fuck.” Aidan pushed his hair back.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Everyone’s got a therapist these days. It shows that you’re trying to become a better person.”
“Do you want me to become a better person?” he asked.
“I like you the way you are. It’s just that I don’t know you that well.”
He approached the sofa again and sat close. He stroked my face, his blue eyes drilling into me. “That makes two of us.”
Lost Aidan was just as magnetic as confident, unsinkable Aidan. If anything, his vulnerability made me want him more.
