Page 2 of Claim Me
“Bullshit. Gah, I can’t believe the concert hall was packed,” she added as we pushed our way through the crowd. I continued looking at her, so entrenched in what she was saying I ran into another performer.
“Oops!” I laughed, giving a hand sign as the celloist grinned.
“You can make it up to me by going out for a drink.” The musician’s hand brushed down my back and instead of the tingling sensations I’d felt before, his touch was creepy.
I could tell Joseph was shouting, which was unnecessary. I shook my head, avoiding eye contact. “I’m finally back home in Seattle. I need my warm bed.” I also craved a tall glass of wine all by myself. Maybe a movie under a warm blanket. I put my two hands together, placing them by my ear and leaning my head against them indicating sleepy time.
He gave me a heated look. “That can be arranged.”
I swatted him while Teresa wagged her finger. “Not this time.”
Sighing, his gaze turned darker, but he nodded. “One day, Marissa. One day.”
He was so sure of himself. Of course it didn’t help almost all the female musicians fawned over him.
We both waited as he moved into the crowd, no doubt eager to start his evening of drinking with the guys.
“He never gives up,” she mused, shaking her head. “Kind of creepy if you ask me.”
“No, he doesn’t, which is a problem, but he’s a nice guy.” He’d asked me out on countless dates over the last few months. I’d accepted one. He’d reminded me why his nickname was Mr. Handsy. I’d caught him lingering in the corridors waiting for me to walk by afterwards. He wasn’t a bad guy, but my world revolved around my music. I opened my dressing room door, another little thrill. For tonight, I had a dressing room of my own. Maybe it was the size of a closet, but that didn’t matter. I only hoped my brother had made it to the concert. He’d be so proud of me. He’d been my greatest supporter over the years.
“You might want to give him a chance. Maybe a cup of coffee.” Teresa leaned against the wall, giving me one of her infamous looks. “That’s right. You already did that. How many times did he shove his tongue down your throat?” Her laughter caused me to shake my head.
The hallway was abuzz with activity and excitement. We were home for a full week before heading out to Europe. “You are incorrigible.”
Shrugging, she studied my hands. “I know, but I’m just looking out for you. At least have a drink with me. We need to party.”
“That I can do.” I walked in and immediately froze. Very slowly a smile crossed my face. This time the sweeping sensations were explosive. My made-up images of my adoring fan centered in my mind. Soft lips. Hard muscles. A big, thick cock. I licked my lips as I thought about swirling my tongue around his shaft. “My God.”
“What?” she asked.
“Take a look.” A tiny thrill tickled me all the way to my toes. The roses were from him, the sexy stranger I’d never met. I’d been right. He’d been in the audience. Maybe he was waiting for me.
Teresa trailed behind me, peering around my shoulder. “Wow. Those roses are incredible. Suddenly, you’re popular. Maybe he’s a hot guy. Ooh-la-la.”
I was shocked to see them, the instant thrill followed by a moment of sheer fantasy even filthier than before. It was the third time an admirer had sent flowers. Always blood red. Always accompanied by a beautiful quote. After the first, the fantasy had been born, the person responsible a handsome man who adored my music, someone exploding with passion. Another series of tingles slipped down my spine. “Maybe,” I breathed. “They are… amazing.”
“Perhaps they’re from your brother or…” She squeezed my arm, issuing her famous pout. “No, my guess is some gorgeous man wants to sweep you off your feet. He must be rich. Your lucky day. I’m jealous.”
“Oh, stop. Besides, what if I have a boyfriend?”
She swatted me. “You wouldn’t keep something so decadent from your bestie. Whoa. There’s a package for you too. This kind of thing only happens in romance books.”
True enough.
There was a silver bag with a glorious red bow that perfectly matched the shade of roses. Another moment of shock and awe settled in. Only my brother knew my favorite color was red. Maybe Teresa was right. I was home in Seattle. Charlie had promised he’d try to attend.
Suddenly, an unsettling feeling replaced the giddiness. Hesitantly, I moved toward the crystal vase that glistened in the LED lighting, pressing my fingers around the stem of one while I inhaled. The scent was incredible, the velvety petals tickling my nose. Staring at the bag, I was almost fearful to discover what was hiding beneath the crisp tissue paper.
Teresa moved to where I could see her. “Well, open it. Don’t keep a girl waiting. I certainly have never received a gift after a performance. I’m already jealous,” she encouraged even though her mouth twisted into a pout. She was almost as excited as I was.
I glanced toward the still open door, hopeful to see my brother standing just outside. He’d been so busy lately that even when we’d performed in Seattle two months before, he hadn’t been able to attend the performance. Musicians rushed by the door, all laughing in their moment of celebration. At that moment, the crowd blended together in a sea of bodies and noise.
Blinking, I looked away, the uneasiness continuing. That was ridiculous. Someone valued me as an artist. Nothing more.
I tugged at the bow, draping it across the edge of the mirror once freed. I peered inside to find a black velvet box.
Bright red tissue paper was nestled inside, the folds perfectly done. My fingers were shaking as I removed the box, eager yet a tiny nagging feeling pooled in my stomach. There was no reason for me to feel nervous, but butterflies swarmed my stomach. Very gingerly I opened the lid, the light immediately reflecting across bedazzled jewels. Wow. The flutter continued as a wash of heat crossed my jaw.
