Wishing on a Dream Page 5

  I was curious about what it was like to have that kind of sexual confidence. Was she any good? Even if she wasn’t, the women she was with would surely think she was, i.e. the aura of sex with Tobin Parks. Her name alone conjured up an image of pure, raw sex appeal. Was her sexual-technique repertoire enormous? Did she know hundreds of ways to please a woman? Did she like to be tied up or be the top?

  All this and many more vivid images popped in and out of my brain all through dinner. Needless to say I hadn’t eaten much. Tobin, on the other hand, ate everything on her plate, including her salad and a piece of chocolate cake. Ahhh, the metabolism of a twenty-five-year-old.

  What was she doing now? Had she gotten back on an airplane and flown to wherever she came from? Had she made a detour to a bar for some quick, naughty entertainment? Was she with her now? Was she on her back or between a stranger’s legs? Did she come only once or as many times as the play allowed? Did she demand submission or active participation? Did she talk dirty or say nothing at all?

  “Enough!” I spoke out loud to the empty room. I got up and walked to the patio door on shaky legs. My hands trembled as I fumbled for the lock. Pushing the curtain aside, I slid the door open. A cool blast of fresh air hit my overheated skin, and goose bumps sprang to life on my arms.

  There wasn’t a cloud overhead, and thousands of stars stood out on a background of jet-black sky. There were very few lights and no pollution, and the air smelled crisp and clean. I could get used to this. I let the cool breeze blow across me for several minutes, hoping I would cool down enough to get some sleep.

  I returned inside, turned off the lights, and slid under the covers. Sleep slowly settled over me with the image of Tobin’s face dancing in the candlelight as I drifted off.

  Chapter Eight

  “Here’s your key, Tobin. Room 1042.” Jake handed me a bright-orange card key. My coach had been running hot, and I’d be spending the night in a hotel while it was getting checked out. I had two shows here in Boston so the timing was perfect. We’d pulled into town about an hour ago, so I had time to take a quick nap before sound check.

  The lobby was busy and thankfully nobody noticed me. I could have come in through the rear, but that always made me feel like a criminal. I passed an ornate sign giving directions to the Fergusons’ party on the second-floor ballroom. I couldn’t remember the last time I went to a party. High school, maybe? No, more like middle school. I dropped out of high school to play music in cheap bars around town. There were so many, I could have played in a different one every night. More often than not I recognized someone from my neighborhood, and occasionally they weren’t with the person they were married to.

  My band and I didn’t start in my garage. Trailer parks don’t have garages. Besides, we didn’t have a car to put in it even if we had one. We practiced in Russ’s grandma’s barn, which was nine hundred and eighty-two white lines painted in the middle of the asphalt road from mine. I counted them what seemed like at least a hundred times as I walked to and from Grandma Elliott’s house. When it was too dark to see, I could tell how much farther I needed to go till I got home. Not that I needed to be home by a designated time. My parents’ idea of curfew was just don’t have the cops bring me home. Their idea of parental responsibility was very similar.

  I left Jake downstairs and slid the thin card into the slot, then turned the knob when I heard the soft click of the lock. The room opened into a large sitting area containing three overstuffed chairs, a couch, love seat, and four tables. I kicked off my shoes and let my toes sink into the plush, ridiculously white carpet. To my right was a bathroom, and four steps into the room was a bar. Chrome and glass glinted off the mirrors behind the neatly lined bottles waiting to be plucked off the shelf and put to work. A silver ice bucket with a pair of stainless-steel tongs across the lid stood in the middle of the counter. I was eleven years old before I learned you didn’t just reach in and grab ice cubes with your hands. I still have the scar on the top of my hand as a reminder. Like I needed one.

  The walls were white with oil paintings on one and abstract sculpture on another. With the exception of pillows of varying shades of green, it looked like a snowstorm had hit the room. Warm and relaxing it was not. The bedroom was equally sterile and almost blinding when I pulled open the curtains. A small seating area on the balcony was the only place that looked remotely inviting. I unlocked the patio door, and it didn’t make a sound when I slid it open.

  I stepped outside and inhaled deeply. The air smelled of soot, car exhaust, and history. Boston was one of the oldest cities in the country, its architecture and customs couched deep in history. The city is less than fifty miles square but home to over seven million people. My hotel was downtown in the middle of an eclectic combination of old and new. A building secure as a historical landmark was adjacent to an empty lot, recently razed to build a high-rise office building. Several bridges spanned the Charles River connecting the neighboring communities to the historic city.

  I’d read all this the last time I was in town, which was over a year ago. Then I’d been able to get out and roam the city undetected. I’d walked through the Boston Tea Party ships and the John F. Kennedy Memorial Library. I’d even attended an afternoon game at Fenway Park.

  I left the doors open and stripped down to my skivvies. My luggage had been brought up by the bellman or a roadie and was stacked neatly at the foot of the king-sized bed. My guitar case was propped against the wall by the window.

  I picked up my cell, unlocked the screen, and touched the phone icon. Scrolling down to Favorite #4, I touched the number. While it rang I opened the cap on an overpriced bottle of water sitting on the counter above the mini-bar.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Justin. It’s Tobin.” My neighbor had not yet entered the digital age, let alone the caller ID of any smart phone.

  “Tobin, how are you?” the familiar voice said in my ear. “Where are you?”

  “Boston. I’m here for a few days,” I answered, looking out the large window and feeling a little bit lonely.

  “I love Boston,” he replied, his voice rough and scratchy. “Have you been to Betsy Ross’s house yet? It’s this little bitty thing tucked up on the second or third floor of an old block building. Hard to imagine living in a place that small.”

  Mr. Justin loved small talk and could discuss anything, anytime. He’d been everywhere and always had an amusing anecdote about my current location.

  “No, not this trip, I’m afraid,” I answered, the same answer I always gave him when he asked.

  “Tobin, you’ve got to get out more. You travel to some of the most important and magical places in the world, and you don’t see anything except the inside of your bus.”

  I sensed disappointment in his voice. “But I can tell you where every marker is on every stage in the world,” I said.

  “I’ll be sure to put that on your tombstone.”

  Leave it to an eighty-something-year-old man to tell it the way it is. “How’s Frieda?” I asked, turning the topic to his favorite one—his forty-eight-pound greyhound. We were on his porch playing cribbage when the greyhound walked up and sat beside the old man. Frieda had no tags, and when the vet declared she wasn’t chipped, Mr. Justin took her home.

  “Sitting right here,” he answered, and I pictured the gray dog lying in her usual spot just to the left of Mr. Justin’s feet. “We tossed the ball for a bit after lunch and she’s taking a nap.” It was more than likely Mr. Justin was the one taking the nap.

  We chitchatted about nothing in particular, and I let him go with a promise to call and check in with Mrs. Foster tomorrow. He said she missed me, and that made me feel all warm inside. I slid under the sheet. Jake would wake me in plenty of time to get to wherever the hell I needed to be.

  I closed my eyes, and the image of Kiersten flashed in front of me. I’d been thinking about our conversation a few nights ago. Actually, I’d been going over it in my head almost word for word. Why had she sa
id no? What could I have done or said differently to change the outcome? I had no idea. What I did know was that Kiersten Fellows was a stunning, attractive woman. I wondered what she was like in bed. Was she as cool and composed as she looked, or did she unravel when she came?

  I had noticed her hands. That’s usually the first thing I notice. Were they big and strong to hold and caress boldly or small and delicate to caress with a feather touch? I make music with my hands by stroking the strings on my guitar or the skin of a beautiful woman. I pluck strings or a nipple. I slide my fingers down the neck of my guitar or a smooth inner thigh. I make beautiful music with my guitar and beautiful music with a woman. Music can be romantic, soothing, or hard and explosive. Sex can be described exactly the same way. I fell asleep imagining Kiersten in all of them.

  Chapter Nine

  “Kiersten?” I stopped so suddenly Jake ran into me. Kiersten turned at the sound of her name, and my throat went dry. She was wearing a sleeveless royal-blue dress that dipped low in the front, lower in the back, and fell just above her knees. Her hair was up, accentuating her long, graceful neck and her tanned back. A sparkly watch on her left wrist and a couple of silver bangles on her right, along with a delicate necklace around her neck with a small pendant lying tantalizingly above just a hint of cleavage, complemented her outfit. The transformation from businesswoman to all woman stunned me. She was breathtaking.

  She looked at me for a few moments before recognizing me. My body responded like it was more than a little happy to see her.

  “Tobin?”

  The way she said my name was both a statement and a question. She looked from me to Jake, then back to me.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked stupidly. I was still dazzled with how beautiful Kiersten was. Until seeing her, I always categorized women as either hot or gorgeous. My vocabulary had just increased with words like stunning, striking, and lovely.

  “I’m attending a party,” she said carefully, looking between Jake and me again.

  “I’m not stalking you,” I said quickly, the second stupid thing to come out of my mouth in as many minutes. “I have a show at…uh…” I had no idea where it was. I looked to Jake for help.

  “The City Performing Arts Center,” he supplied. Jeez, how messed up was I that I couldn’t even remember where we were playing tonight.

  “Jake Richards,” he said, extending his hand. “Tobin’s manager.”

  Kiersten shook his hand. “Kiersten Fellows.” My breath caught at the way her dress moved when she shook Jake’s hand. It reminded me of water flowing in a shallow stream.

  “Yes. I know who you are,” he said in that we-can-do-something-for-each-other tone I recognized. Kiersten heard it too because her expression went from polite but cautious to polite but wary.

  “Jake, I’ll meet you at the car,” I said, not taking my eyes off Kiersten.

  “Tobin—”

  “I’ll meet you at the car,” I repeated.

  “We have to go,” he said firmly.

  “They can’t start the show without me, Jake,” I said jokingly. The tension around us was suddenly thick. “Go on. I’ll be right there.”

  He took one last look at Kiersten, then me, then back at Kiersten.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, my hand on his back pushing him toward the front doors of the hotel.

  When he was out of hearing range I said, “You are absolutely gorgeous.” I probably should have said something less personal, but I had no idea what. My mind wasn’t consulting my brain at this moment.

  In addition to the blue dress, Kiersten had on heels that put her eyes at least two inches above mine. A pair of diamonds dangled from her earlobes. Her makeup was subtle but clearly intended for evening. I wouldn’t personally know, but I’d been around enough makeup artists to recognize at least that. For some odd reason a pang of jealousy rumbled in my stomach. Who was she meeting to make her take extra time and effort to look like this? This was certainly not a dinner meeting.

  “Thank you,” she answered politely.

  I didn’t know what else to say. When we’d met over dinner that was business, and she’d looked nothing like this. Suddenly I wanted her. Every delectable inch of her. It was a vaguely unfamiliar feeling, one I hadn’t experienced in some time. Lust, yes, but this was more than a physical reaction. It both excited and startled me.

  “Did you want something?” The instant Kiersten said the words, blood roared through my head. What a loaded thing to say in such a sexually charged moment.

  “Well, now that you asked,” I said hopefully.

  Chapter Ten

  Tobin’s eyes made a slow perusal of me, from my freshly cut and styled hair to the top of my Blanchard shoes. She didn’t hurry, and when her eyes came back to mine they were darker than ever. I should have been offended by her blatant cruising, but for some reason I wasn’t. She liked what she saw, and I felt good that she did. I’d worked my ass off, both literally and figuratively, to have a woman look at me the way Tobin was now. But I wasn’t going to do anything about it, certainly not with Tobin Parks. My God, she was, what…at least ten years younger than me. My pulse jumped a few more beats per second at the expression of raw desire in her eyes. I might not know what to do with it, but I certainly recognized it.

  “No.”

  “You don’t even know what I was going to ask,” Tobin said.

  “I have a pretty good idea, and the answer is still no.”

  “Can we at least talk about it?”

  “No, I’m late, and your manager was not happy that you didn’t go with him.”

  “He’ll get over it. Can we meet later?”

  The way Tobin was looking at me, “later” was more than a reference to time.

  “I’m sorry, but…”

  “Please. I just want to talk to you.”

  I looked at her skeptically. I might be naive but I was no dummy.

  “Well, okay, I admit I’d like to do more than talk, but I promise to be on my best behavior.” She stepped back and gave me a salute. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Why do I not believe you were ever in any sort of scout troop?” I said, fighting the smile tugging at the edge of my lips. “Other than to be around all the girls,” I added.

  “Ugh…busted.” Tobin slapped her hand over her heart, pretending to be hurt. “My secret’s revealed.”

  I suddenly wanted to reveal all her secrets, very, very slowly. I swallowed to regain my equilibrium. “I’m sure your late and mine are hours apart.” Now why did I say that? She would probably take that as a weakening of my “no.”

  “I’ll be back here no later than eleven thirty. We can meet in my room,” she said eagerly.

  My eyebrows shot up, and before I could say no fucking way she added, “Or in the lounge. Wherever you say.”

  If I wasn’t mistaken, it looked like Tobin was expecting me to fall all over myself and say yes. I bet she’d never had to ask twice for anything in her life. If I gave in now I’d just be one more in a long line in the Tobin Parks’s harem because we were not talking about business.

  I have to admit I was tempted. Tobin Parks was hot with a capital H-O-T. I’d be crazy to turn her down, especially the way my pulse was racing and my other parts were tingling. But as much as right here, right now was personal, it was also professional, and I still didn’t mix the two.

  “I don’t think so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for an event upstairs.” The look of disappointment on Tobin’s face almost undid me. I hoped my knees would carry me to the elevator before I turned around and said yes.

  *

  Luck was on my side when the doors opened immediately after I pushed the button. My hand was shaking so bad it took two times to hit the button for the third floor. I entered the car and turned around. Tobin was standing exactly where I’d left her, her eyes burning when the doors closed behind me.

  More than my eyes were burning when I stepped out of the elevator. I took several deep breaths befor
e entering the crowded ballroom.

  “Kiersten, darling. What took you so long? I thought you’d be right behind me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I got held up. I ran into a business associate in the hall.” Not quite the truth, but not a lie either.

  “My goodness,” my mother said, fretting around me. “Don’t those people know it’s after hours and Saturday as well?” She sounded as offended as if they’d stopped to negotiate a merger as I was walking down the aisle.

  “It’s nothing, Mother. They were just saying hello. Where are Judy and Ray?” I asked, hoping to appease my mother’s disgust and end the conversation.

  I’d just greeted the hosts of the event when my brother Harrison caught my eye from across the room. He excused himself from the group he was talking with and walked toward me, his gait like a man going to the guillotine. He’d put on a few pounds since I saw him last, and if he kept that up he’d need more than one larger suit size. He didn’t hug me or show any sign that we were family.

  “Kiersten, how have you been?” he asked politely.

  Harrison was the senior partner in one of New York’s largest brokerage firms. I loved him, but he had grown into a pompous ass with the requisite Windsor knot in his tie and thousand-dollar wing-tips. He had a chip on his shoulder the size of my portfolio because he didn’t have my portfolio.

  “Good, Harrison. And you?” I sipped my drink. I should have asked the bartender for a double.

  “Fine. Investments are up twelve percent this year.”

  It was sad that my big brother, whom I’d idolized as a little girl, judged his success by the return on his investments. I braced myself as Brittney, Harrison’s wife, approached. She gave me the expected, not-so-subtle once-over. When her face didn’t scrunch up into her normal scowl, I assumed she approved of what I was wearing. I didn’t care.