Eternal Heat Read online

  He closes his eyes and exhales, pulling me into another embrace. We hang on to each other firmly. I exhale deeply. Crying with Erik has given me a deeper feeling of healing than I’ve ever had about this. And it’s made me feel like the things that have been between us aren’t there anymore.

  He pulls back and holds my face in his hands again, caressing my cheeks. We look at each other openly, tenderly. Holding my gaze, he slowly leans in and puts his lips on mine.

  I close my eyes and kiss him back. I’m falling so far. God, I feel like he’s falling right there with me.

  His arms tighten around me, and our mouths slowly open to each other. When I feel his tongue on mine, my heart starts to race. I kiss him deeply, slowly.

  I remember this. I remember him. I remember the feel of his hands on my hips. All of it. Suddenly that five years feels like nothing.

  Our kiss grows more intense. My blood is starting to sprint. I snake my hands into his hair and his hands press against my lower back. Everything in me is racing ahead. My whole body is tuned in to him, wanting him, carrying me away so fast.

  I pull back. “Wait.” I can’t. It’s too fast.

  He stops, but stays close. He gives me an appraising look. He fears my rejection. I see it.

  Heart pounding, I pat his chest lightly. I quietly disentangle myself from his embrace. “I think I’d better go.”

  He stays on the bench, watching me.

  I pack my bag and throw it over my shoulder. I don’t leave right away though. I stand there looking at him for a moment.

  “Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night?” There’s a bit of trembling under his voice. The question he just asked must feel as heavy to him as it does to me.

  I glance down at the floor, thinking, then back up to that face I’ve loved for years and years.

  I grip the straps of my bag. We’re on the edge of something. I feel it.

  “Okay,” I say, pushing us over.

  I realize he’s been holding his breath, because he lets it out slowly. “Pick you up at six?”

  I nod and pull a small notebook and pen out of my bag.

  I think about giving him my number, but I’m not ready to reintroduce the phone into our lives. I don’t really know what’s going to happen next. I don’t want to be faced with even the possibility of unanswered texts again.

  I write down my address and set it on the piano, giving him the slightest smile.

  Then I really do leave, a little bit hopeful and more than a little terrified.

  There’s no going back now.

  Chapter 15

  I’m still getting ready when there’s a knock on my door. I check the little faux-antique clock on my vanity. It’s only five-thirty. Wasn’t he supposed to come at six?

  My hair is down and dried after my shower (no small task, that) but I haven’t styled it yet. At least I’ve put on my lip gloss and I’m dressed. I’m wearing a silk scoop-neck peasant top and slim, black pants with a low waist. I smooth my hands over the material at my hips and answer the door to find not Erik, but Sam and Jack.

  No wonder the time was off.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I open the door to let them in. They both know about the date.

  “Moral support,” Sam says, but Jack has a look on his face that gives me pause.

  “And we wanted to meet him,” Jack says.

  “No,” I say in a pleading voice. “Please don’t do this tonight.”

  “What?” he asks innocently.

  “The whole big brother thing.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I sigh. He’s full of crap.

  “Want help braiding your hair?” A diversion.

  “I’m wearing it down.”

  He and Sam look at each other with raised eyebrows.

  “Oh, cut it out.” I head for my bedroom. “I just want to look nice.”

  They follow me back, but don’t say anything. I stand in front of my vanity and grab the big curling iron I’ve been warming up. Jack plops on the edge of my bed and Sam starts to separate a lock of hair for curling. “Make yourself useful,” I say to Jack, handing over a brush. He gets up and takes it obediently. Most the time I curl my hair myself, but they’ve helped me get ready before enough performances that they know the routine.

  They’re certainly speeding things up, which almost makes up for the fact that they’re here when I’m pretty sure I’d rather they not be.

  I wrap the ends of my hair around the curler. “You have to hide in the bedroom when he gets here.”

  “Come on, really?” Sam rolls her eyes and gets the next section ready.

  “I’m serious. This is hard enough.”

  Sam exchanges a serious look with me in the mirror. “You don’t have to do this.”

  I release my hair from the curler and give the curls support while they cool. “Yes, I do.” I look at Jack firmly. “So no funny business.”

  “All right,” he agrees, but he doesn’t look happy about it.

  “You were the ones who told me it was okay to forgive him.”

  Jack shrugs. “Well, yeah. But you also said it was over between you.”

  I exhale in frustration, taking the next section from Sam and starting to load it onto the iron. “Is it really so crazy if it’s not?”

  He frowns at the back of my head and starts to brush a section, even though he’s already done it once. “No. I just... don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I know,” I say, softening. “But...”

  I focus on the strand I’m curling in the mirror, not saying anything. Sam and Jack continue their work in silence, waiting. I let my hair out of the iron and hastily hold it to cool for a few seconds. Ignoring the strand Sam’s holding out for me, I put the iron on the table and turn to face them.

  “Look, I appreciate your concern. I really do. I love you for it. And if I do get hurt, I know who’ll have my back.”

  “And who will be stuffing Erik into a piano,” Jack says.

  “But this is not helping me right now,” I tell him firmly. “Please,” I say to them both, softer now. “I just need to do this alone, okay?”

  Sam sighs and gives me a hug. “All right. I had a feeling this would be too much.”

  Resigned to it, Jack pulls me against his chest and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time.” I don’t think he’s sure at all, but I appreciate the gesture anyway.

  After they leave, I finish the curls, pondering things. I understand why they’re afraid. I’m afraid too, and of the exact same thing. But I can’t ignore the way it felt to be with Erik yesterday in that moment when there were no more barriers between us. My heart felt snug inside of his.

  It felt right.

  I have to see where this goes.

  That right feeling began again the moment he picked me up—looking so smart in a button-down shirt and loose slacks—and has carried on all the way through dinner. We’re at The Iron House, a tiny upscale steakhouse on the north side of town, sitting close in the circular booth. It didn’t start this way, but over the course of the evening we’ve been slowly drawn into each other. We’re facing slightly toward one another so we can look into each other’s eyes as we talk. His arm is around my shoulders and I’m holding his other hand. Our hands rest lightly on my thigh.

  The waitress cleared our plates and took care of the check long ago, but still we linger. We’ve talked about so much, I couldn’t go back and list it all if I tried. Right now he’s finally touched on the topic of his dad.

  “It’s hard to resolve how I feel about him, you know?” he says quietly. “How do you try to settle something with someone who’s gone? Sometimes I’m just so mad at him, but other times I actually miss him. Even though he was really hard to deal with sometimes, he wasn’t all bad. I did love him.”

  I nod in acknowledgement, not wanting to interrupt.

  “At the same time, I can’t seem to let go of my anger. At l
east with my mom, I’ve been able to kind of talk through things. Though we didn’t really talk about what happened with you until after the accident.”

  Then he starts to tell me what it was like to take care of his mom right after it happened. She was lucky to survive, and it was a rough haul there for a while. From what he says, she’ll never be all the way back to normal. I stroke his arm again as he talks. It sounds like it was a pretty tough time for both of them.

  When he mentions she’s living here in Rosebrook, I ask in surprise, “She moved here?”

  He nods, absently playing with my hair. “It was the only way I would agree to go back to school so soon. I wanted to be able to check on her, or help her out if she needed it. She insists she doesn’t need help anymore, but I think she knows that’s not true because she didn’t really fight me on it. She was just glad I was willing to come back to music. She was afraid I’d left it for good.”

  “Why would you do that? Because of the accident?”

  He sighs and cocks his head. His eyes cast over the restaurant before coming back to me. “Juilliard was... not what I thought it would be.”

  I raise my eyebrows slightly.

  “Or at least,” he continues, “the music world was a little more harsh than I thought it would be. It’s just so competitive, you know? And so few of us can actually make a career of it. The more I learned about the odds and what I was up against, the more I started to realize the path I was on was something that had been decided for me. There was never any question. No one ever asked me what I wanted. It was just assumed. I was good at it, so of course that’s what I’d do. And there I was, years later, neck deep in the bowels of Juilliard wondering if that’s what I even wanted.”

  I can only blink at him. I can’t imagine someone with Erik’s passion questioning any of this.

  “Then the accident happened. I was already accepted into the graduate program at Juilliard and still had another couple months on the lease of my apartment. My parents were in San Antonio by this time. Another promotion for my dad,” he explains with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, I flew home after the accident. Mom thought I was going to go back to school after the funeral. Maybe at first I thought I was too. But when I left New York, I realized I kind of wanted to be away for a while. Figure out what I wanted, now that my dad wasn’t there to tell me what I wanted. And there was just so much going on with my mom, you know? She was such a mess. Physically and emotionally.”

  He pinches his brows together and looks down at our entwined hands. He rubs one thumb over the back of my hand. “I know this might sound a little cold, but sometimes I think my dad dying was better for my mom.” He looks back up to me. “She’d kill me if she heard me saying that, and would probably deny it. But she’s a lot softer now. Without him.”

  “Maybe that was from being so injured, instead of from being without your dad.”

  He shrugs, furrowing his brow and getting the slightly angry look that seems reserved for his dad. “Maybe. But he was so... domineering and controlling. He always had to have his way. No matter what. No matter who it hurt.”

  He takes a deep breath and I start stroking his arm again.

  “Anyway, even with all the distraction of what was going on with my mom, being away from music became painful. Like, physically painful. I eventually realized I really did want a career in music, more than almost anything.” His eyes get that burning desire I recognize in myself. “No one was pushing me anymore, but I wanted it. I wanted it more than I ever wanted it. Without it, something in me felt...”

  He pauses, looking for the right word.

  “Empty?” I suggest. We share a look of understanding. Two kindred souls who know what it’s like to have something like music living inside you.

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t leave music behind. What a waste that would’ve been.”

  He gives me a gentle smile. “I’m glad I came back too, but not for that reason.” We smile at each other softly. “At least,” he says, “not only for that reason.”

  “Because you missed your music, didn’t you?”

  “I missed you more.” He leans in and gives me a gentle kiss that swirls up a whirlwind in my chest. “I was empty without music,” he whispers, “but I’ve been more empty without you.”

  We stay until the restaurant closes. I’m still not ready to leave him yet. I don’t think he’s ready either, because he invites me to his place to see his piano. It’s actually the same one we used to play on together, so I’ve already seen it.

  But that’s not why he asked me over and that’s not why I agreed.

  He lives in a charming townhouse on Herma Vista. It’s not as grand as his parents’ old house on the Boise River, but it’s nicer than any grad student apartment I’ve ever seen. On one side of the entryway is a sunken area, with a comfortable-looking living room set and a flat screen TV. On the right, a staircase leads to the second floor. Holding hands, we go through a short hall to the rear of the house. A kitchen with a bar opens onto the family room opposite it. There’s a set of large windows that I assume give a view of some kind of backyard, but it’s too dark out to see. The family room has a couch and a chair, a stone fireplace, and, of course, the piano.

  I smile as we walk up to it. I rub my hand along its smooth surface and exhale slowly. “I’ve always been in love with this piano.”

  He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me to face him. My heart does a little flip when I look into his deep brown eyes. “If I didn’t know better,” he brings his hand to my cheek, “I’d be jealous.”

  He kisses me then, and it’s the kiss I’ve been waiting for. We kissed many times at the restaurant, but this is different. We’re alone now, and safe, and truly in each other’s arms at last. We slowly inhale together as we sink deeper into an embrace. My heart is thumping soundly. Mouths opening to each other, our tongues gently touch.

  Under my cascade of hair, his arms tighten around me, one hand curling around and cupping my shoulder. The length of our bodies press against each other. I bring my fingers into his hair, and our kiss deepens.

  As we taste and caress each other, I don’t just want him physically, though there’s that too—my body temperature is climbing with each passing minute. I want him, the man I loved and... God, it’s happened so quickly, but I can’t help it... the man I love again.

  Our kisses slowly escalate to a new intensity. He backs me up slightly until my rear hits the piano. His firm erection presses against me. He lowers his mouth to the crook of my neck and I soften in his arms, my head falling back. When he comes back to my mouth, our kisses are heated and hungry.

  We sink to the floor and he lowers his weight on me. I hook one calf around his leg. We kiss each other passionately, breathing hard between each kiss. As I rub my hands along his body, he feels so familiar—like coming home—but also slightly changed. He’s a little firmer and broader in the chest. His presence above me is more substantial than it had been. It only makes me need him more.

  I wrap my legs around his waist and his shaft presses hard into me. Tremors of pleasure ripple under his touch in response. He slides my shirt and bra strap off my shoulder in one motion and sucks on the exposed skin. I arch my head back and pull up the hem of his shirt until I can rub my hands on his bare back.

  I bring my hands to the front, caressing his abs and chest. He lifts up slightly and together we remove his shirt. He comes down and claims my mouth, his hand sliding under my bra. Wanting my shirt off as well, I indicate I want to roll over and he follows my signal. Hanging on to each other, he rolls onto his back, keeping me close in a strong embrace. Sitting up and straddling him now, his desire strains underneath me. I pull off my shirt and slide it down the length of my hair before tossing it away.

  I’m wearing a deep purple, lacey bra. Eyes taking me in, he gently slides both hands down the length of my breasts as I reach behind me to release the hook. As soon as the material springs forward, he tak
es hold of it and pulls it down my arms. He drops it to the side slowly. Still breathing hard, his eyes glide between my chest and my face a couple times, before his eyes lock with mine.

  When he holds my eyes and sits up, my breath catches in my chest. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me so deep and so slow, I think my heart’s going to break.

  He slowly pulls me back down, until I’m lying on top of him and my hair is falling around us in sheets. Looking into my eyes, he brings his hands to my face. For a moment it is only this space, and only he and I in it.

  “Oh, honey,” he whispers. “I missed you so much.”

  “I missed you, too. I’ve never stopped missing you.” I kiss him with as much love as I’ve ever felt for him. He kisses me back, holding me close.

  Three more heartbeats and the softness is gone and the fire is back. We’re kissing each other so feverishly, I’m slightly dizzy. Hanging on to me, he rolls me onto my back, then starts planting hot, wet kisses down the length of my neck. The electricity on my skin increases steadily as he advances to the crook of my collar bone. When he hits the bullseye, I let out a shaky exhale and shudder with pleasure.

  He keeps going down, until he’s eagerly working my breasts. He teases and sucks my nipples and I arch against him, needing more. He finally releases me to suck on the tender skin just below my breast. As he works his way down my stomach, I start to throb, anticipating him.

  I hook my thumbs under my waistband and shimmy my pants down my hips. He kneels back enough to help me slide my pants off, but doesn’t take his eyes off my lacey panties. He pulls the wet crotch away to reveal my folds. He takes one long, hungry lick from my opening to my clit and I arch back, bringing my knees up.

  “God, Erik,” I breathe.

  His tongue caresses me softly and my eyelids flutter shut. His tongue slides over me masterfully. My arm flies out to the side and my outstretched hand presses flat against the floor. I’m panting and moaning shamelessly now. One hand runs up my bare stomach and to my chest, cupping and squeezing me.

  I’m throbbing and aching to be filled. “I want you.”