Authors: Clare Cole
We spent the flight talking about music, work and hopes and dreams for the future. Within an hour, we had landed in southern France and a tiny private airfield in the middle of nowhere. Another limousine was waiting to take us to our destination.
"Where are we?" I asked.
Rick slipped his hand around my waist and pulled me to him gently as we made our way to the car. I felt my heart beat that little bit faster, my nipples responding beneath my lacy, unpadded black bra.
"Well, I wasn't going to tell you. I was going to keep you completely in the dark, take you prisoner for the weekend in my little French hideaway. But then I realised, kidnapping isn't really my thing and the more I look at you, the more I want to tell you everything."
We paused and looked at each other. "I won't betray your trust. I promise."
He kissed me softly on the forehead. "I know. Let's get in the car and I'll whisper it to you."
As we slid into the back seat, Rick tapped his driver on the shoulder and spoke briefly in French.
"Another hidden talent. What was it you just said?"
I asked.
A black screen slid up between the front seats and ourselves. "I just told George here
that it was lovely to see him again, but since I have a complete babe in the back could we have a little privacy. As you can see, he obliged." As the car started to move away, I turned to look at Rick and, without a moment's hesitation, we began to kiss. His hand gently moved to the side of my face, stroking delicately at my cheek, his warm, soft lips leaving long, lingering messages of intent on mine. Whatever he wanted, wherever this was leading, I responded in kind. This wasn't the moment to have doubts; in fact, I was never more sure of anything. The taste of his lips on mine, our tongues gently and softly exploring each other's mouths, felt more right than anything I had ever felt before.
"Open your eyes, Amy," he smiled
and gestured out the window. We were surrounded by huge, rolling mountains, a single road leading towards a medieval town in the distance.
"That's Minèrve," he said. "This is where I come to forget about being a rock star."
The car dropped us at our final destination, a beautiful stone house that looked hundreds of years old. It was huge, but not extravagant – the opposite of the LA living Rick was famous for.
"This is it," he smiled. "Welcome to where the magic happens."
"You have a one track mind," I giggled.
"I didn't mean that," he laughed. "Although I'm willing to oblige in that
department, too. No, this is where I come to write and record. It's where I do my best work. And, Amy, it's where you're going to get some photos of me finishing my new album."
The little town was fantastic, everything you would expect a beautiful French hideaway to be. We made our way down dimly lit cobbled streets, passing stone houses that dripped with history. A river ran on both sides of the town, hinting at its defences during medieval times when rocks were catapulted across the ravine. I
soon realised why Rick came here – it was anonymous, hidden. A high bridge was the only way to access the town itself and this wasn't the sort of place that the paparazzi would even know existed, let alone make the effort to come to. If it wasn't for the luxury of a private jet, this place really would have been virtually inaccessible.
"It's the middle of nowhere,” Rick had commented. "And the centre of perfect."
I had taken some amazing photos of Rick that afternoon, doing what he did best – making music. We had laughed and kissed and drunk champagne; all the while, he gave me an insight into what his world was really like. His creative process was fascinating – just as one song seemed finished, he would tweak a simple chord arrangement or change the tempo slightly. A good song was suddenly transformed into something great. He was right. When people heard this album, Beautiful Losers were finished. He didn't need them any more.
Rick took us to a gorgeous little restaurant for dinner, a converted chapel with cows out back and fresh herbs surrounding the building. There was no menu – you simply ate what was available that evening, all of it sublime and wonderfully simple. "I hope you're not thinking of beef, Amy," he joked, "or Daisy in the field
out there is for the chop."
He spoke in his best French, which wasn't very good at all but substantially better than mine since I knew none, to the people who ran
the restaurant – a lovely couple in their fifties and their daughter who served as the only waitress.
"Everybody seems to know you,"
I observed.
"Not quite. Everybody knows everybody in this village. There's only about 25 people living here and I'm something of a curiosity. They don't have a clue who I am and if they did, they wouldn't care anyway. Life happens differently here. It's in slow motion and sometimes it's better that way."
I sipped at my Cabernet Sauvignon and touched his hand across the table. "You couldn't live here all the time though, surely. You've lived your life at a hundred miles an hour for most of the last decade."
"And that, dear Amy," he replied, chinking his glass against mine, "is why I need to slow down from time to time. But you're right, I couldn't live at this pace all the time – but right now, there's nothing else I'd rather be doing than being here with you."
Was this what they call a whirlwind romance? Was I being simply ridiculous to expect that Rick would have any interest in me after this weekend was over? He had told me earlier that his favourite song of all time was "Life on Mars?" By David Bowie. Neither of us were even born when that song was released, yet its message seemed particularly potent at this time. "Bowie used to cut up scraps of paper with words on and put them back together randomly to create his lyrics," he had said. "So there's lots of surreal imagery and general weirdness going on in there, which I love. But the central message, the chorus, is all about dreaming of a better life. What is there away from this? Is there 'Life on Mars'?"
"You're quiet, Amy," Rick smiled, a hint of concern in his voice. "Is everything okay?"
I nodded. "Absolutely. I was just thinking about how perfect this is, this 'Life on Mars' world that you've exposed me to. Now I wonder what I have to go back to."
"And what is that exactly?"
"Well, I've told you about some of it. A job that is so uncertain that I may as well quit and go freelance. A salary that doesn't even cover all my bills each month. Hell, I don't even know if the electricity will be cut off when I get back. When did life get so tough, Rick? When did working hard and trying your best result in so much disappointment?"
"When governments and bankers decided to squander billions over the last decade, that's when. Do you know how much I pay in taxes alone, Amy?"
I shook my head.
"Neither do I. My accountant won't tell me in case I throw something at him. But it's a lot and I
resent most of it. I don't mind paying for things that are essential, that make people's lives better. But bailing out banks that have destroyed peoples lives like your parents? Give me a break."
I felt myself start to well up and quickly wiped my tears away.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"No, you didn't. I'm not upset, I'm angry. I'm
furious at the mess we're in and the chaos we're leaving for future generations. It makes me sick to my stomach. But that all changes today."
"How so, Amy?"
I stamped my fist on the table in mock indignation. "I'm going to go back and do what you said. I'm going to rethink what I'm doing with my life. In the last 24 hours I've seen more excitement and opportunity than I've dreamt about in the last 10 years."
"That's the spirit!" Rick laughed. "You've got to take a leap of faith sometimes to land in a river of wealth. And now you have an internationally famous, devilishly handsome and unashamedly confident rock star boyfriend by your side… The world is your lobster, baby."
My jaw dropped. "Are… Are you my boyfriend now? After one day?"
"I don't have time to mess around. What are we going to do? Date for several weeks, decide we seriously are into each other after all – which we already know anyway – and then after many months decide we should have just gone with our gut all along and announce it to the world?
I'm all in, Amy. What's a guy like me supposed to do to meet people? Join a dating agency?"
To say this was moving fast was the understatement of the decade. Yet, strangely, I felt like I had known Rick for so long and suddenly I wanted him to know everything about me. "I… I guess so. So am I officially your girlfriend now?"
"Well, if you want to give it the official title we can. I suggest a press release, Twitter announcement and Facebook update immediately. Or maybe in the next 24 hours. That will give you time to come to your senses and change your mind. On second thoughts, scratch that. Let's call the press now. I want you locked in."
"There's no phone signal here," I giggled. "The announcement will have to wait."
"Damn it. Another well constructed plan scuppered. I'm going to have to resort to keeping you interested through flattery for the next day, then. Did I tell you how beautiful your eyes were?"
I leaned forward and placed both my hands on the top of his. "Yes, at least four thousand times."
"What about your hair? Did I mention how your beautiful red locks cascade like crimson waves down your delicate, perfect shoulders?"
"Yup. Not impressing me anymore. Where's this leading?"
Rick leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Well, I'm all out of romantic soliloquies. I'm just going to have to tell you what a fantastic ass you've got, aren't I?"
I rolled my eyes. "You told me that to
o, Rick. Don't you remember?" I said in mock annoyance.
"Well, that only leaves me one place to go and we both know where that is." He glanced down at my cleavage, an alluring valley of generous flesh visible from the plunging neckline of my little black dress.
"Oh, you don't need to tell me," I grinned. "I already know."
He looked at me lovingly. "You're absolutely fucking beautiful, Amy. If nothing else happens between us, if you decide that I'm not the one for you, then I just want you to know that. People don't tell other people how beautiful they are enough. So there, I'm saying it. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met."
I was completely taken aback. His joking and showboating had suddenly stopped. He wasn't trying to impress me anymore – not that he needed to anyway. His face looked calm, his eyes sparkling under the low lights of the dimly lit restaurant. He was genuine. The real deal.
"Rick… I think I'd like you to take me back now."
His face momentarily dropped, thinking he had gone too far.
"Back to your house. Take me to your bedroom. I want you to make love to me."
I gasped as the zipper of my little black dress gradually made its way downwards. Cold air hit the back of my body, causing me to shiver
slightly.
"Are you okay?" Rick asked as he kissed my shoulders from behind.
It had been a long time since I had been naked in front of another man. I wasn't conscious of my body, just a little nervous about a guy touching me again. Before moving to London, my last serious relationship had been with a wonderful guy who simply couldn't match my ambition at the time. I wanted to pursue my career while he wanted me to stay at home and have children. That wasn't for me, not at twenty-three years of age at least.
Now, six years on, I had become tired of the odd blind date set up by my friends out of pity and had thrown myself into my work. Sex-wise, my partner for the last few years had needed batteries. It looked like that was about to change.
My dress slid down my body and pooled at my feet. I felt my nipples go rock hard beneath my lacy black bra and Rick slowly brought his hands around to my breasts, pausing to stroke the sides of them gently with his thumbs before cupping them in his hands and pulling my body back onto him. My skin pressed against the hard muscles of his chest and his lips peppered my neck with delicate kisses, working his way up teasingly to my ear lobe. I closed my eyes and enjoyed every second of what, to most people, was only the stuff of fantasies. I reached back, unclasping his belt, and pushed his jeans downward with my thumbs hooked through his front belt loops.
"You turn me on so much," he whispered, aware of the bulge in his tight black boxer shorts
that pressed against my buttocks. "I'm on the ropes here."
"Brace yourself," I giggled. "I'm going to knock you out."
I spun around and threw my arms around him, my hands exploring his bare back and shoulders. Warm, wet kisses lingered and sent tiny shockwaves through my body, the wetness between my legs becoming more and more impossible to contain. I slid a high heel up the side of his body and he hooked a hand underneath my thigh, holding me to him. My breasts were crushed against his hard pectoral muscles, my nipples so erect and sensitive they threatened to tear through the thin lace of my bra. Our tongues explored each other's mouths as the bulge between his legs slipped against the gusset of my soaking wet panties.