Starstruck, p.13
Starstruck, page 13
She arrived at the open doors and hesitated as if she knew he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she’d stood. As if she sensed the burn of his gaze even before she smiled over her shoulder and disappeared from sight.
He couldn’t have been more relaxed. The most knowledgeable, talented masseur known to man couldn’t relax him as Sam did. With that thought he drifted, soon asleep under the hot sun.
When he woke by the pool, the sky was getting dark and he was sore with sunburn. He called out to Sam, but the only answer was the wind blowing through the trees.
Standing, he stretched his arms above his head, his back creaking with discomfort, anxious to be by her side again. He moved forward but his legs were too heavy for his body. They fought him as he tried to walk toward the open doors. Invisible elastic bands pulled him back, every step forward harder than the last. He hated the intensity of the panic exploding inside his chest. All he wanted to do was run. Run from a fear that gripped his heart like a sharp-toothed vice.
Time was of the essence. It was running out, but for what?
It seemed an eternity before he finally set his feet on the cold black slate of the kitchen. The room was dark. He flicked the switch at the wall and called Sam’s name, his throat hoarse and dry.
No answer. Thinking she must be in the shower or asleep upstairs, he headed to his bedroom.
His heart quickened when he approached the thick wooden door of the master suite. He wasn’t sure he wanted to open it, suddenly terrified beyond reason. Something was wrong…very, very wrong.
He barged through his bedroom door, angry and frightened. Where was she? She wasn’t in the room or his huge walk-in closet. He checked the bathroom, but it too was empty. He walked to his bed and his heart stopped when he focused on Sam’s sarong on the other side of the room, lying on the floor near the open window.
He leaped across the bed and picked up the thin red skirt. As he stood, an excruciating pain shot through his ankle. He fell to the floor, clutching his foot in agony. Tears sprang to his eyes. He screamed at the ceiling. And then as rapid as the pain had arrived, it ebbed to a dull throb.
Breathing heavily, he stared at the fabric in his hand. A moment passed before he registered the red sticky substance on his fingers. He glanced from his hands to the red skirt and back again. Blood…and it was not his.
He was going to die. His heart was going to fail and this would be the last thing he saw—the carpet on his bedroom floor.
His heart wrenched out of his chest as his scream echoed through the empty house. “Sa-a-am!” he roared.
She was gone. She was hurt and it was his fault. He didn’t know why, he just knew it was the truth.
His heart lurched one final thump in his chest and everything went black.
He was jolted awake when the plane experienced minor turbulence. His hand instinctively clutched his chest over his heart until reality seeped in and the nightmare cleared from his mind. Nausea roiled in the pit of his stomach.
Sam was still fast asleep with her head on his shoulder. A tiny frown formed on her brow as she twitched in his arms.
“Mr. Maurello?” the hostess asked quietly. “We’ll be landing in approximately thirty minutes. Is there anything I can get you?”
“Some cold water would be great, thanks.”
When the woman walked away, he tenderly kissed Sam’s forehead, stirring her from sleep. She opened her eyes and smiled.
I could get used to waking up to that.
“Ow, my head’s pounding. What time is it?” She rubbed the back of her neck. “That was one hell of a dream,” she mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Huh?”
He was going to ask again, but was distracted when she yawned and stretched her arms above her head, revealing a quick flash of her bellybutton.
He shook his head to clear the naughty thoughts hardening his cock. The last thing he wanted was to parade around the airport with a hard-on. “Ah, it’s six London time, so that would make it, what? Two in the afternoon?” He clicked his seat back to the upright position as Sam did the same. “Did you have a good sleep?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
The hostess handed them each a bottle of cool spring water as she rushed past to attend passengers down the aisle.
“We’ll be landing soon.” He cleared his throat. “So…hey, I was thinkin’. What are your plans for today? Anywhere you have to be?”
“I’ve got a room booked at the Comfort Inn, but my first meeting isn’t until tomorrow morning.” Her smile reflected in the small window as she stared down at the ocean below. The plane was under the clouds, closing in on the shores of southeastern New York. He placed his hand over hers, resting on her leg.
“Oh…well…like I said. I was thinking…maybe you’d like to stay with me for a few days? I know it’s not the Comfort Inn, but it’s a roof and four walls. I’m pretty sure I can make you comfortable.”
Fuck! What do I do if she says no?
* * * * *
“I don’t want to let you go just yet. And I might even cook, if you’re lucky.” He smiled that goddamned sexy half-smile she loved so much. “Cancel your booking and stay with me instead. I’ll make sure you get wherever you need to go. I’ll even drive you myself if I have to.”
She was jumping on the inside, perfecting a triple somersault. Every ounce of her being concentrated on containing the grin that threatened to take over her entire face.
He really wants me to stay with him!
“Okay…I guess I could cancel. If you’ve got room for me, that is. You sure I won’t be cramping your style?”
He leaned close. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure. I kinda like the idea of having you in my bed a few more nights,” he whispered, taking the opportunity to nibble her neck.
“That may be the only place you see me, rock star. My days could be hectic.” She gently pushed him back to his seat. Now wasn’t the time for snuggling. Some passengers were beginning to stare.
“That’s okay, darlin’. I’ll take what I can get.”
The seatbelt light came on and they buckled up for landing.
Navigating through JFK Airport intimidated Sam, but they got away pretty much unnoticed. This was Jesse’s home turf. As they approached his car inside the airport’s private parking level, she widened her eyes, and then blinked.
“Wow! Is that your car?”
He grinned. “Yes it is. You like?”
“Do I like it? I love it! Ma-a-an, she’s beautiful.” She ran her fingertips over the seductive curves of the bonnet—a midnight-blue Stingray with brightly polished, silver chrome fat wheels—her favorite car.
“What year is it?” she asked as he opened the passenger door for her.
“2011,” he teased.
“The car, smartarse. What year is it?”
“Eighty. I’ve had it awhile now. She was a real wreck when I got her though. A few of my buddies helped me fix her up. What do ya think? Not just a pretty face, am I?”
“It’s getting spooky, is what I think.” She melted into the seat and swung her legs in so Jesse could close the door.
He raced around the front of the car and got into the driver’s seat. The car smelled of him and the scent only intensified when he sealed them inside. She breathed him in.
“What’s spooky?” he asked.
“Jesse, this is my favorite car of all time. Not to mention I was born in 1980. Haven’t you noticed we have a hell of a lot in common? It’s a little spooky, don’t you think?”
He turned the key in the ignition and she squealed as the engine roared to life. He tapped the accelerator, once, twice, revving it for her before putting the car into gear. She was as delighted as a little girl in that instant—one who had just gotten that bicycle for Christmas.
“Yeah…I’ve noticed.”
He eased out of the airport and headed toward the upper eastside of Manhattan—driving a little faster than he should—Sam squirming in her seat when he rested his hand on her leg between changing gears. Her excitement was swelling. The vibrations from the powerful Chevy motor surged through the chassis and purred under her seat.
This is foreplay…
* * * * *
The woman in black got off the plane without a hitch. Jesse and Sam had exited quickly and disappeared ahead of the crowd. It didn’t matter. She knew how to find them. She always knew how to find him.
Previously wired from the thrill of the chase, she’d now hit a wall. She badly needed sleep if she were to execute her plan for the new lovebirds.
Enjoy it while it lasts, kids. It’ll be all over soon.
She was proud of herself. She had given a false name when booking her tickets. For the moment, she was Sarah Jones. The fake ID and passport she’d purchased a few months prior had paid off. It was an expensive investment, but then if a person wanted authentic documents they had to pay a high price. She got through the airport without any problems.
Slumping against the taxi’s smelly backseat, she revised her plan during the drive to the Comfort Inn. She had been very resourceful, researching the finer details. She hadn’t wanted to waste any time second-guessing her decisions once she landed.
Chapter Ten
Jesse pulled into his cobblestone driveway on East 87th, stopping in front of the huge black iron gates at the property entrance. He leaned out the driver’s window and put what appeared to be a credit card into a seemingly invisible slot. The black security box stood partially hidden amongst the shrubbery and when he removed the card, a small computerized screen flipped open. He pressed his palm to the screen. It flashed bright green and closed automatically. The heavy gates clicked, swung inward, and then stealthily closed behind the car.
Sam gaped at the manicured grounds as Jesse drove up the long wide path toward the house. Once clear of the trees, she caught her first glimpse of his home, standing proudly in the middle of the private acreage.
“This is your roof and four walls?”
“One of them, yes. I designed this one myself.” He drove around the back of the mansion to an extremely long single-story building—bigger than the block of land her whole house stood on in Sydney.
Jesse stopped at a second panel identical to the first and repeated the security procedure. A large door glided open in front of them and the interior lights came on. He cut the headlights and eased the blue beast into a pristine garage.
Sam gazed upon his motorized treasures and gasped in surprise at his ’vette collection. “A man after my own heart,” she whispered.
He can’t be this perfect…can he?
He had several Corvettes, a Cherokee 4x4, a new BMW and a Chevy Camaro. She was in automotive heaven.
Luggage in tow, Sam followed him to the front of the house. Made of huge sandstone blocks, it boasted two large peaked roofs on either side of an even larger peak in the middle. It stood two stories high, the massive feature windows at least eighteen feet from top to bottom. Each room appeared to have its own private balcony and the gardens were breathtaking. She couldn’t wait to get inside. The Lives of the Rich and Famous sprang to mind.
He opened the tall Blackwood door and dropped their bags inside. The foyer lit up and Sam was stunned. She eyed the Italian marble floor, the antique oriental furnishings and a grand staircase that wound to the second floor.
Wow!
Taking her hand, Jesse led her into the living room—filled with extravagant pieces he’d no doubt picked up during his travels around the world. The huge dark-chocolate leather couch was inviting and she recognized some of the framed paintings from her art history books. The room was rich in color but also felt lived in, comfortable. She got a pleasant vibe from his space.
A warmth that radiated with his energy coated and calmed her. There was no theme to the room, and to a pompous decorator the features would have probably seemed totally mismatched, but to Sam’s artful eye the room was perfect. It was Jesse.
She followed him to the kitchen at the back of the house where he went straight for the coffee machine and turned it on. Opening the refrigerator, he smiled, apparently happy to see it was fully stocked with fresh food.
“Gotta give my housekeeper a raise, I guess. You hungry?”
“Starving, but do you mind if I take a shower first? I always feel dirty after flying.” She yawned.
“Come on. I’ll show you where it is.” He pulled her in for a quick kiss and led her upstairs to his room.
“I’ll bring your bags up in a minute. Help yourself to whatever you like. Fresh towels are on the shelf and this cabinet is full of shampoos and soaps and stuff.” He leaned against the wall, his gaze slowly meandering over her body as she undressed. “Do you like omelets?”
She grinned. “With cheese?”
His breathing deepened when she dropped her shirt and jeans to the floor. “You can have whatever you want, darlin’.” He pushed off the wall and prowled closer.
“Well what are you waiting for, Romeo? Get cookin’. I won’t be long.”
He reluctantly left the bathroom, whistling a slow tune she’d never heard before. It was pretty and melodious. She’d have to remember to ask him what it was.
She ventured downstairs fifteen minutes later, dressed in a silk robe she’d found on the back of his bathroom door. She padded barefoot into the kitchen, the delicious aromas making her mouth water and her tummy grumble. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was.
“Smells good.” She accepted the stool he offered at the wide, black marble counter centered in the room.
“Hope you don’t mind eating here. I don’t use the dining room much.”
“Not at all. If I’m not eating in front of my TV, I’m standing at my kitchen counter at home. I don’t use my table much either.”
She looked at the spread of omelets, bacon and hot rolls. “Nice. You can cook.” She smiled, digging into a triangle of her cheese and spring vegetable omelet.
“I can cook about three things so don’t get too excited. It doesn’t get much better than this,” he said, already having devoured most of the food on his plate. He reached for more bacon and another roll, winking at her. “You look good in my robe.”
“What happened with bringing my bags up? I wasn’t coming down naked,” she said around a mouthful of food.
“Note to self, hide my clothes next time too. You know, you might have gotten dessert if you were naked. Now you’re gonna have to do the dishes. Sorry. My house, my rules. Clothes on equals dish duty.”
“Whatever you say.” She casually pushed one side of the robe off her shoulder, exposing a single breast. Focused on her plate, she ignored Jesse, who at last glance sat with his lips parted, practically drooling…but her hardening nipple gave her away. “Like you said, your house, your rules. I can live with that.”
He scarfed down what was left on his plate and tossed his dishes in the sink. “Hurry up and eat, woman. I’m jumpin’ in the shower and want you in my bed by the time I get out. And leave the damn dishes.”
He pulled his robe up to cover her breast and swept the back of his hand across her nipple, sending shivers down her spine. He walked steadily out of the kitchen and Sam laughed at the rapid thump of his footsteps up the stairs.
Jesse was insatiable. She didn’t even have to try to turn him on. Tom was a different matter entirely. He would have degraded her. As far as he was concerned, she should always be on her best behavior and, above all else, act like a lady.
She’d never been allowed to make the first move romantically. Never been allowed to be promiscuous or sultry. She never wore the gowns her mother made for her around him. Tom thought the dresses too tight and revealing, scolding her the first time she’d worn one to dinner. He’d complained the entire night, saying he was uncomfortable because too many eyes were undressing her. Her ex had really held her back, but now she was free to be herself.
Jesse seemed to like the real her. She’d forgotten how much fun life could be when a person let go of her responsibilities for a while and just lived in the moment. She had to get back to work tomorrow, but for now she had Jesse to play with.
She put her plate in the sink, still hungry—but starving with a different desire—and leaped up the stairs, tearing off the robe as she dove onto his huge king-size, four-poster bed. Relaxing into the large fluffy white pillows, she enjoyed the smooth glide of the silky sheets against her naked skin.
* * * * *
While Jesse washed his hair, his cell announced a text message. He rinsed and shut off the faucets, stepping onto the cold floor. After toweling dry and wrapping the ends around his waist, he dug his phone from his jeans pocket. The message was from Becky.
How could u do this 2 me? Who’s the SLUT from Australia? Did u think I wouldn’t find out? R u trying 2 hurt me? We’re not over, Jesse! I’ll b seeing u baby…soon. B xxx
“She’s crazy,” he whispered.
When is she gonna take no for an answer?
He couldn’t have made his declaration any clearer before leaving for London. He’d told her many times it was over between them.
During their last conversation he’d been harsh, more so than he would have liked. He’d become certain she had a split personality. One minute she was the woman he’d once thought he could learn to love. She knew they were through, even accepted it. The next she was obsessed with him all over again. He never knew which Becky he was going to get.
She’d totally freaked when he’d hired a female vocalist for a few of their latest tracks. Becky had been convinced he was having an affair and had terrorized the poor woman until she damn well quit. It took leaving her for him to realize just how unstable she really was.
He stared at his phone. Maybe she’d get the hint from his silence.
He entered his darkened bedroom. Sam was lying in his bed, waiting. Becky who?
He crossed the room and removed his towel, climbing in beside the angel he already considered his. He loved the color of her hair—natural shades of light-brown- and-honey blonde with highlighted sun-kissed streaks.
