A Beautiful Star (Beautiful Series, Book 5) (9 page)

“So tell me more about your trip to Paris,” I ask, as I lie on the blanket that Brad brought to the open-air cinema with us. I have to say that this man is nothing, if not prepared. He brought the rug, the food, the wine and he’s amazing company. I’m just struggling to keep my focus after what happened with Jonathan earlier. I still can’t believe he kissed me like that. And even worse, I can’t believe I responded the way I did. I should have pushed him away immediately and slapped him for being so forward, but I didn’t. I lost myself in it, and I still feel like I’m trying to claw my way back…

“And they use a technique that–am I boring you?” he asks, his voice sounding slightly amused.

“No. Not at all. I really do find the whole process fascinating, and I’m really interested in hearing about your trip. I think it may just be the wine going to my head a little,” I assure him, feeling that telling him that I was confused because my friend kissed me so passionately earlier that I can still feel his lips and on mine, might be a little inappropriate.

“Are you sure? Because we can talk about something else. You could tell me what story you’re working on, for example.”

Sitting up, I shake my head, and fully turn my attention towards him as I reach out and take a hold of his hand. “I want to learn about you. Tell me how you came to be a chef. When did you decide that food was your calling?”

He smiles, a glint in his eye that can only be seen by those people who are truly in love with their chosen vocation. “When I was fifteen, I applied to do work experience at a hotel not far from where we lived. I’d eaten in the restaurant with my family and the food, and the presentation of it just amazed me. And once I got in there, I worked so hard that they ended up offering me an apprenticeship. So, when I finished my school certificate, I took them up on it and worked my arse off. I gained the notice of a few food critics, which meant that I was offered positions at more prestigious establishments and then when I turned twenty-four, I was offered the job at Quay as the youngest head-chef they’ve ever employed.”

“From what I’ve read, you’re a bit of a visionary.”

“I don’t know that I’d say that, exactly, I just love what I do and so far, my risks have paid off.”

“And what about Bradley Rae, the man? Are you living the life you envisioned for yourself?” I pick up an olive and drop it in my mouth, and I see the way his eyes follow the movement and darken with desire. I focus my attention on that, focus on the blue of his eyes and the strong line of his jaw. I watch his smooth lips move as he talks, and I remind myself why I’m here and why Brad is right for me.

“So far, yeah. Lots of travel. A lot of great experiences. Beautiful women who I meet in elevators.”

“You said you don’t meet that many,” I tease.

“I don’t.”

He leans forward, nearing my mouth, his eyes dropping and lifting as if he’s looking for my permission. My breath holds for a moment. I want this man. I chose this man who ticks all of the right boxes and makes me feel special. My tongue snakes out, wetting my lips, knowing what’s coming. Knowing that Brad is the man I’m interested in romantically…

Closing my eyes, I lean forward, waiting for the connection, and when it comes, it’s a soft brush of lips, and a gentle suck that shifts to soft presses along my jaw, moving slowly toward my ear.

“There’s dessert at my place if you’d like,” he whispers. “I don’t live far from here.”

He pulls away and meets my eyes, and I nod my head, smiling as he takes my hand and presses it to his lips. I want to make something with the man in front of me. The man I chose from the start. We could be good together. I like him and he likes me, and together, we work. It’s fun, and it’s light, and there’s none of that confusing intensity that makes everything so hard to see clearly.

Helping me to stand, he reaches down and collects what remains of our picnic while I fold up the blanket and together, we leave the area quietly so as not to disturb other movie goers.

He holds my hand, his strong fingers lacing with mine, holding me securely as he walks with me to where he’s parked his car. A beep of his key fob. The basket is placed in the boot of his car before he opens the passenger door for me like all gentlemen do.

I smile, knowing that this is right. That this is the man I want. I take in his dark hair, his lean build and I watch him as he walks around the car and slides into his seat, asking me if I’m ready as we drive toward his city apartment only a few blocks away from his restaurant.

“Here it is, home sweet home,” he says as he lets me into his apartment.

“This is handy for work,” I comment, glancing about and noticing that I can see a slither of the harbour in between the tall buildings that surround us.

“The big selling point. I can walk to work.”

Taking in the apartment, I look around as we walk through the living area. It’s clean and very man-like, with dark furniture and little decorative flair. He leads me into the beautifully appointed kitchen, kissing me softly and lifting me onto the large stainless steel benchtop, offering me wine as he sets about preparing our dessert.

I watch him, admiring his skill, admiring the man, telling myself that this is right, this is what I want. And I drink. I drink nervously.

“Taste this,” he says, offering me a wafer thin biscuit topped with a mixture of something that tastes like the lightest cheesecake filling imaginable.

“Wow,” I say, smacking my lips together in pleasure. “This is amazing.”

“I’m thinking of adding it to the menu. It will have a strawberry coulis with it, but I remember that you’re not a fan, so I have raspberry here if you’d prefer.”

“I like raspberry,” I respond quietly, and he prepares another biscuit and adds the coulis, holding it up to my lips.

With my eyes locked with his, I take it in my mouth and close my eyes, savouring the richness of the flavour with a light moan.

“I love the way you enjoy food,” he whispers, cupping the side of my face as his fingers slide into my hair.

“It’s the only way I’ll keep these curves,” I return, readying myself, knowing that he’s about to kiss me.

“Well, I really like your curves. I dreamt about them quite a few times while I was away.” His lips are just a breath away from mine, and I seem to stop breathing, suddenly nervous about what it is I know we’re supposed to do here.

When his mouth touches mine, I hesitate slightly, feeling unsure before I manage to respond and move my lips with his and feel the enjoyment that comes when a man’s hand slides down your side and he pulls you against him.

I even let out a gasp when his mouth moves down and his lips gently press on my neck and my collarbone, his hand moving to brush against my breast.

I whimper when his mouth returns to mine and he pulls me tighter to him, his hands moving to lift my blouse and brush against my skin.

It all feels right, and I’m responding the right way, but at the same time it feels… wrong.

“Stop,” I gasp against his mouth, placing my hand on his chest to hold him back. “Please, stop.”

He pulls away, a slight look of confusion as he checks that I’m okay. “Are you alright?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I just…” I slide off the bench and head for the door, talking nervously and tripping over my words as I speak. I just need to get out of here. “I have to go,” I manage. “I’m sorry.”

Then I open the door and race down the stairs and out to the street, breathing in deeply when I hit the open air, trying to fill my lungs and calm down.

“Sandra,” Brad calls out, and I look up seeing him leaning over his balcony a few floors up. “Wait there, I’ll drive you home.”

“I’m sorry,” I call up. “I’m really am sorry.” Then I turn and run down the street, bypassing other city dwellers who look at me in confusion or concern, and when I can’t run anymore, when my head and my body is as weary as it can be, I pull out my phone.

“Please. I need you. Will you come and get me?”

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Jonathan asks quickly as he pulls up outside the cafe where I told him I’d wait.

Getting in the car next to him, I shake my head. “No. I’m not hurt. I’m just…” I can’t say the words because I don’t know what I am. “Can we just go, please?”

“Sure. Where do you want to go?”

Hugging my bag to my chest, I look out the window. “I don’t care. Anywhere. Just go. Please.”

Setting the car in motion, we don’t speak as he navigates the darkened streets, and takes me out of the city and towards the exclusive harbour side suburb of Pyrmont, where he drives into an underground security car park, manoeuvring into a parking spot then cutting the engine.

“Are you coming inside?” he asks, as he switches off the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Is this where you live?” I ask, my brow furrowed, and my throat thick. I don’t know why I am feeling the way I am, and I do know why at the same time. There’s a war going on inside my body between my heart and my mind, and I’m afraid my heart is winning.

“It was the closest. Come on,” he says softly, reaching over and pressing the button that unlatches my seatbelt. “I’ll get you a drink, and you tell me what’s got you so upset.”

Taking a deep breath, I nod and follow him out of the car park and up a small set of stairs and out into a quiet garden area that smells of sweet trees and sea breeze. To my right is a gate that leads directly to Regatta Wharf with views of Johnstons Bay and Anzac Bridge. It’s quiet, it’s peaceful–it’s beautiful.

A light breeze brushes through the garden, rustling the bushes and I pause, closing my eyes as I let the cool fingers of air caress my skin. It calms me, and while I was apprehensive about being here at first, now, I’m glad I’m here. It’s as if the world has stopped and despite being so close to the city, the sound isn’t here. It’s like this place is secret.

Jonathan’s hand reaches out and his fingers curl around mine. “Would you like to walk along the wharf?” he asks, and I nod, unable to form a sentence with my mind so mixed up. With our hands still entwined, I walk with him, noticing how a buzz flows through our connection and heats my body in a way I’ve never felt before. He leads me out the side gate and we walk slowly along the wharf toward the Anzac bridge.

“It’s beautiful here,” I say quietly, looking out at the ocean and admiring all the different coloured lights of the buildings across from us as they reflect off the moving water.

“I like it,” he smiles, and it’s now that I actually turn and look at him properly. I’d been too caught up in my own mind to see, but now I realise that he’s wearing a very expensive looking suit, although he’s removed the jacket and his tie hangs loosely around his neck with the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

“Oh no. You were at a premiere tonight, weren’t you? Holy shit, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have called you to come and get me. I was being ridiculous. I should have just caught a cab.”

He stops walking and releases my hand, as he turns to face me, brushing the backs of his fingers against the curve of my cheeks. An ache I can’t ignore courses through my body as he places his palms against my skin and holds me so I’m looking up at him.

“If you need me. No matter where I am in this world. I will come to you.”

The sincerity of his words causes my emotions to push their way to the surface, as I wonder, why me? And why him? What is it about the two of us that seems so wrong but so right at the same time? I have never connected to another person the way I do with Jonathan, and to be honest, it scares me. Not because of who he is, but because of how he makes me feel. He makes me feel as though I’m lost and that I need him to find my way. I don’t want to need him. I don’t want to feel this way for a man who might not be capable of staying.

“How can I believe that?” I whisper, as my struggle with my emotions is lost and a tear escapes my eye anyway, running down my cheek where Jonathan captures it with his thumb.

“Because it’s true,” he assures me, his eyes open and honest and begging me to believe. Begging me to trust.

My eyes close, spilling more salt-water confusion on my cheeks as my breath hitches and my thoughts wage a war in my mind.

“Why are you crying? What happened tonight?”

More tears fall and I drop my chin, making him release his hold as I step away and shake my head, unable to trust myself to speak without losing it completely.

“OK,” he says quietly, taking me by the hand again and walking with me back to his apartment. Once we’ve made it inside, I look around, surprised that while it is lovely inside, it isn’t at all what I expected. I was expecting it to be one of those white, black and chrome, ultramodern designs. Instead, he lives in an apartment that looks, for want of a better word–normal. The walls and floors are neutral earth tones, his sofa is over stuffed and brown with mismatched cushions on it, his dining table is made of distressed wood, surrounded by mismatched chairs, and his surfaces contain clutter. It’s not messy, there’s just stacks of books, magazines, and mail. And on a desk in a study alcove, is a pile of what I’m assuming are scripts. I can also see one that has been left open and face down on the couch.

I drop his hand and walk around his apartment, finding my calm in the distance between us as I stop by the couch to pick up the script. “Is this for a new project?” I ask, keeping my thumb between the pages so I don’t lose his spot as I flip it closed to see the title. “
Trials of Love and Failure–
is this one of those ‘romantical’ movies?”

I glance up at him, a small smile playing on my lips as I attempt a joke to lighten the mood from before. Then I watch him walk toward me with a glass of white wine in his hand, his expression calm as he reaches out and takes the script from my hands, replacing it with the glass.

“It’s a project I’m thinking of accepting. But that means travel, and I’m not sure I’m ready to leave home again just yet.” He flips the script closed and tosses it so it lands on the table with a thud then walks around the couch and once again takes my hand, pulling me down with him so we’re both sitting, his arm across the back of the couch so it’s around me, but not quite touching me.

“Now, talk to me, Red. Tell me what’s going on with you. What happened tonight?”

My smile fades as I lift my eyes to the ceiling, trying to keep those pesky emotional drops inside. “Nothing bad. Brad didn’t do anything wrong. We ate, talked, pretended to watch the movie, and it was great. Then he…” I swallow because I feel strange admitting how far things went to Jonathan. And I feel strange that I’m here with Jonathan when I was supposed to be with Brad. And I feel strange that I’m here with a man who was once engaged to my best friend. But I can’t help how I feel, and what I feel is drawn to him. I feel as though I need him in my life, or at least my life needs him in it. We just…we fit.

“He what?” he asks, a tinge of demand and concern to his voice when I still haven’t continued. I turn to face him, shaking my head in Brad’s defence.

“He was a complete gentleman, it was all me. Things got heated, and I panicked and…”

“You ran.”

“I ran. I couldn’t go through with it. Which really sucks because Brad is a good guy. He wouldn’t hurt me, not intentionally anyway.”

His fingers move to brush through my hair. “I wouldn’t hurt you either.” 

“Yes. You would. You might not mean to. But you would.”

“Then I will prove to you, with time, that I won’t. You feel what’s between us, Red. You can’t deny it. What we have–it’s real.”

“I’m not denying it, I’m just…god. I’m a mess,” I sulk, as a fresh tear spills from my eye. I wipe it away quickly, sniffing back before I take a sip of the wine to help calm me again. “This is all your fault, you know. You shouldn’t have kissed me like you did. You shouldn’t have made me feel what you did.”

“I didn’t make you feel anything that wasn’t already there.”

Placing my wine on the table near the script, I turn to face him. “But everything was working between us. Why couldn’t you have just been my friend?”

“Because I want more than that,” he whispers, his blue eyes boring into mine. “I want everything with you, Red.”

“I don’t want to fall for you. You will hurt me and I will
never
recover.”

“Doesn’t it already hurt, Red? This not being together–it hurts, don’t you think?”

Then, pressing my lips together, I nod, my eyes watering as I whisper, “I’m scared.”

“So am I, Red. I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”

This is the moment when I give in. I close my eyes and for the first time, I choose to let his lips touch mine. And as if understanding how momentous this is for me, he kisses me softly, gently. A slow movement that breaks down my emotional barriers and becomes more passionate as I allow myself to feel everything I’ve been fighting since that first night I met him. I push out all the reasons we won’t work and all the reasons we shouldn’t be, and I just . give. in.

Slowly, the kiss builds to a passion that seems greater than the both of us, and my body seems to take on a life of its own as my hands move to pull his tie off his shirt and drop it on the floor before I work on the buttons of his dress shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with a desire to feel the warmth of his chest beneath my palms. Gripping my hips, he drags me across his body so I’m straddling his waist, the stretch fabric of my dress sliding up to bare my thighs.

His hands slide down the skin of my legs, causing a rash of goose bumps to raise in the wake of his touch, then he moves his hands back up, sliding beneath the material of my dress where he pauses when he reaches my buttocks, his hands resting on my curved flesh on the outside of my panties.

My hands slide around his neck and I press myself against him, feeling his arousal through his suit pants, hard against my core. I rock over it slightly, my body needing to feel him where it throbs.

He lets out a soft groan, his fingers digging into my flesh as he obviously restrains himself and lets me take the lead. And feeling out of my mind with desire, I continue to kiss and rock, his hard shaft hitting me exactly where it’s needed.

Between us, there is only the thin cotton of my now soaked panties, and the fabric of his pants. As I move, the gentle friction causes a build up of energy inside me, coiling within my body and desperate to burst out. His fingers bite into my flesh and his tongue delves hungrily in my mouth, and I rub myself over him, unable to stop until my eyes roll back and my body shudders as I come undone on top of him.

“Oh god,” I moan, throwing my head back in ecstasy as his hands leave my arse and his arms wrap around my middle, hugging me against him as I shudder over him, tiny moans continuing to leave my throat as he presses gentle kisses to my neck and my chest until he moves up my jaw. I lift my head, my body languid as he once again brings his lips to mine, returning our kiss to its gentle beginnings, keeping every movement slow, like we’re both savouring this moment in case it will never happen again.

“You’re so beautiful when you come. I could watch you do that all night,” he whispers when I pull away for breath. I smile, my hands moving over the smooth skin of his chest, heading downward as I feel ready for more.

He stops my hands with his. “And I want to, Red. I really do. But I think I should take you home.”

I pull my head backward, looking at him with a frown as that cloud of desire quickly dissipates, and I’m left feeling emotionally exposed and very foolish. “You…you want to take me home?” I repeat, in case I didn’t hear that right.

“I think we need to slow this down a little.”

Feeling slightly embarrassed at my wonton display, I slide off him and quickly straighten my dress, then run my hands over my face and smooth down my hair. “Alright,” I say quickly, sliding my feet back into my ballet flats that had fallen off while I was acting like a lust crazed teenager and rubbing myself over the shirtless movie star. My eyes close for a moment as I process the image of what I must have looked like, writhing away, still completely clothed, then
coming–
oh god, how embarrassing. I came before we even really did anything. I feel like the premature ejaculator of women.

“You’re upset,” he states, reaching out to touch my shoulder in comfort.

“I’m fine. I get it. It’s fine,” I tell him, moving away because I don’t want his comfort. I stand up and take the still full wine glass to the kitchen and pick up my bag from beside the door. “Can you just call me a cab? I don’t want you to go to any trouble. I’d do it myself but I don’t know your address.”

He moves to stand in front of me. “I’m going to drive you.”

“It’s fine,” I smile, even though I’m struggling not to cry. Again. Oh hell, I’m a complete mess around this man.

“It’s not fine. You have to stop doing this. Talk to me. What’s happened that has you so upset. Is it because I’m not going to sleep with you?”

I shift nervously in front of him out of embarrassment. “God. When you put it like that, it makes me sound so childish. I’m just embarrassed. I lost complete control. I don’t normally act like that around men.”

He takes my face in his hands, and I close my eyes, turning away, not wanting to face him. “What you did just now was the hottest thing I have ever seen in my life,” he says. “Don’t ever be embarrassed for how you feel.”