Santa Baby

Santa Baby

Roslyn Hardy Holcomb

Santa Baby Copyright © December 2009 by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. eISBN 978-1-60737-466-4 Editor: Judith David Cover Artist: Croco Designs Printed in the United States of America

Published by Loose Id LLC 870 Market St, Suite 1201 San Francisco CA 94102-2907 www.loose-id.com This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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About this Title Genre: Erotic Contemporary Multicultural Having been burned by his father’s betrayal, real estate tycoon Trip Wakefield has no interest in love or relationships. Until he meets Arietta, a struggling, sultry, blues singer, in his favorite club. Seduced by the silken velvet of her voice, he pursues her with a single-minded purpose––Aria in his bed, at any cost. He offers her a deal: if she will be his mistress she can have anything she desires, except his heart. A woman who knows her own mind and goes for what she wants, Arietta decides that she wants him and his heart so she takes the ultimate gamble and agrees to become his mistress. But when the stock market crashes Trip loses everything. Knowing that he can’t keep up his end of their bargain he tells Arietta it’s over. Arietta takes another gamble and moves in with him and gives up everything she owns to help him rebuild his wealth. In a gift worthy of the Magi she, offers him unconditional love. Will he find it in his heart to give her the same? Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play, exhibitionism.

Chapter One Stanton ―Trip‖ Wakefield III stopped, transfixed as he watched the elegant woman who took her time crossing the small stage before she sat at the baby grand piano. He stared, trying not to salivate, unable to look away as her fingers stroked the keys. He could almost feel those long digits against his flesh. It wasn't until her voice rang out, saturating his senses with the pureness of the sound, that he realized he'd stopped breathing, that everything in the crowded room had ceased to exist except the two of them: he, the enthralled listener, and she, the enchantress. He closed his eyes in rapt anticipation as each note lingered as she held them, caressing and soothing them like a lover. Then they trembled on her lips, hesitating there as though loath to leave until she released them to shower over him with a sensuality that was almost tactile. He shivered as though under an erotic spell. When the last note wafted through the air, he finally opened his eyes to see the sorceress before him, her lithe body swaying from side to side like a reed on the river's edge. Then she opened her eyes and looked directly into his. Mesmerized by their velvety brown depths, he couldn't look away, thought and consciousness suspended. Just when he'd decided to approach her, someone placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. ―Phenomenal, isn't she? Now you see why I've been trying to get you down here for over a month.‖ Trip looked up into the face of Pink, proprietor of the eponymous blues club. When he glanced over at the singer again, he was annoyed to discover that she was no longer looking at him but had tilted her head to look down at the piano keys as she picked out the opening notes of ―Stormy Monday.‖ ―Hell, man, you didn't tell me you'd hired the most amazing singer ever. I've never heard anything like her. What the hell is she doing here?‖ he asked, his accompanying gesture encompassing the club's less-than-elegant interior.

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Pink placed the beer he was carrying on the table and took a seat across from his friend. ―Are you implying that my establishment is not fit for talented musicians? I've had plenty come through my door, and you goddamned well know it.‖ Trip nodded, never taking his eyes off the singer. ―I've been coming here for almost twenty years, Pink, and you've never had anyone like her. What's her name?‖ Pink sighed. ―I told you that in the dozens of voice mails I left for your ass.‖ Trip shrugged. ―I told you, I've been busy. Money doesn't make itself, you know.‖ He snagged Pink's beer and took a long sip before the other man could protest. Pink gave him an annoyed look, then signaled a passing waiter. ―You're paying, fucker. I hadn't even tasted it yet.‖ ―Her name, Pink. What's her name?‖ Trip asked his eyes still focused on the stage. ―Arietta, Arietta Hathaway. She just moved here from Alabama. You know, the usual story. Wants to make it big in the city.‖ ―So she's singing in a hole-in-the-wall in the Old Fourth Ward?‖ Trip gave him a disbelieving look. Pink bristled in defense of his club, a gesture made even more intimidating by his impressive height and bulk. ―I run a respectable joint, and I've got a good ear. You know the record companies send their artist and repertoire people through here to scout talent from time to time.‖ ―Hey, I didn't mean to insult you, but this is hardly the kind of place I'd expect to find a woman like her. Her stage presence is incredible; she has everyone in here, including me, in the palm of her hand. She just oozes sophisticated elegance. This place is many things, but even you can't call it sophisticated.‖ ―I got plenty of classy clientele. You're not the only member of Atlanta's elite to hang out here.‖ Trip abandoned the argument as Arietta launched into another song, this time accompanied by a talented young trumpet player he'd seen before. She stood alone on the stage, her luminous almond-toned skin glowing in the illumination of a single spotlight. Unfamiliar with the tune, Trip listened to the tale of a woman who had gone off seeking fame and fortune and now only

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wanted to return to her man's loving arms. When she finished and turned to leave the stage, he looked at Pink again. ―I've got to meet her.‖ ―Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a pimp,‖ Pink said with a snide look. ―Yeah.‖ Trip picked up his stolen beer and took another long sip. ―Somehow I don't think your rap sheet would hold up under scrutiny. Anyway, what gave you the idea my interest was sexual?‖ Pink snorted under his breath. ―I've been around a minute, son. I know when a man's on point. Besides, I doubt there's a heterosexual man alive who's heard that voice and not wanted to hear it in his bed. She's been here for a few months, you know.‖ Trip sat up, giving Pink his undivided attention. ―Other guys have been meeting her?‖ Pink spread hands the size of catchers' mitts in a gesture of supplication. ―Some have tried. She's not interested.‖ He rolled his eyes at Trip's crestfallen expression. ―No, she's not into chicks, though I'd pay money to see that.‖ Trip refused to acknowledge that he would too. Pink shrugged. ―Word is from Gabriel. You know, the trumpet player?‖ Trip nodded. ―She's a small-town girl who's wary of these big-city macks. I doubt she'd be interested in you, even though you are one of Buckhead's finest.‖ Trip gestured toward the stage, where Gabriel was now playing a solo set. ―Look, I'm not trying to get into the girl's knickers.‖ ―Yeah right,‖ Pink said. ―Okay, I'm not only trying to get her in bed. She's a beautiful woman, but she's an amazing musician. I would like to meet her. Get to know her.‖ Pink apparently decided to take pity on him. ―Look, she'll be singing another set tonight.‖ He glanced at his watch. ―In about thirty minutes. After that I'll introduce you, but no fucking around, man. I mean it. She's a real moneymaker, and I plan to keep her that way. You fuck with her head and she's liable to run back to Alabama, and then where would I be?‖ ―Nice to know you've got your priorities in order, old man.‖ ―Goddamned straight.‖

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Trip narrowed his eyes. ―You know I'm not a player, never have been.‖ Pink returned his glare, then nodded before heaving his bulk up from the table. ―I'll see you after she finishes singing.‖

***** Trip watched as Arietta sang her last song. It was another unfamiliar tune, and he wondered if she'd written it. She wore her hair in a sleek pixie cut cropped to her elegantly shaped head. With her head tilted toward the piano, the nape of her long, graceful neck looked vulnerable and inviting. From time to time, she would close her huge, doelike eyes as though caught up in the emotion of the music she was making. It was then that he couldn't help but notice the succulent lips forming the words that sent shivers down his spine. When her eyes were open, they so dominated the delicate lines of her face, it was almost impossible to notice anything else. Studying her mouth, he felt an instant surge of lust as he imagined the voluptuous contours of her lips against his, the gazelle-like lengths of her arms and legs entwined with his, their rich darkness outlined on his pure white Egyptian cotton sheets. He was so caught up in the fantasy, it took a moment to realize that she'd opened her eyes once again and was staring directly at him. He smiled, and her lips curved upward in response; then she looked over at Gabriel, the trumpet player who had accompanied her earlier. She began an encore, accompanied by the muted wails of the instrument. When she finished this time, Trip stood with the rest of the standing-room-only crowd to give her a much-deserved standing ovation. She and Gabriel gave a series of bows, and then she spoke her thanks into the microphone and introduced her accompanist. Her speaking voice was deeper and somehow even richer than her singing voice, Trip noted. When the house lights came up, he signaled to the waiter for another drink, then stared in shock as Arietta approached his table. He'd always known Pink could get things done when he wanted to, but this was quick even by his standards. He wondered when his friend had had a chance to talk to her. ―Hello, I'm Arietta,‖ she said, extending her right hand. He took her hand, enveloping its fine-boned softness in his own. ―Hello, Arietta. I'm Stanton, but everyone calls me Trip.‖ ―What did you think of the show, Trip?‖

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―Like everyone else in here, I thought it was brilliant. Can I buy you a drink while I tell you all about it?‖ he said smoothly. She nodded her assent and took the seat Pink had abandoned earlier. She requested water from the hovering waiter. Just then Pink bustled over to their table. ―Wow, man, you're a fast worker,‖ he said cheerfully as he approached. ―Actually she came over to me,‖ Trip said. Pink gave Arietta a puzzled look. ―Really? That's surprising.‖ ―What's surprising about a singer approaching a record-label rep?‖ Arietta asked. ―I'm not from a record label,‖ Trip said with a puzzled frown. ―You mean you're not the A-and-R guy from Blue Note?‖ she squeaked. ―Uh, no. I'm in real estate,‖ Trip replied. He'd never in his life wished more fervently that he were an A&R man—or anything else she wanted him to be. Arietta stood up, almost knocking over her chair in her haste. ―Oh my God. I'm so embarrassed. Pink said I'd gotten some label buzz, that someone might be here tonight, and you're the only person I didn't recognize here tonight. I thought you must be the guy. You must have thought I was crazy just coming over to you like that.‖ Her words tumbled out of her mouth as though suddenly released from captivity, her embarrassment making the task of forming sentences almost impossible. ―Actually I thought I was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. Sorry I'm not who you thought I was. Won't you at least finish your drink? You must be thirsty. It's never a good idea to parch the instrument.‖ He nodded as the waiter placed her drink on the table. He continued in a stage whisper. ―You know the money-gouging bastard who runs this place does a helluva markup. I'm probably paying ten bucks for that bottle of Fiji.‖ ―Five fifty,‖ Pink grumbled at him. ―I'd think you would be able to mack a pretty girl without insulting me.‖ Arietta laughed and visibly relaxed. Trip realized that she probably felt more comfortable with her boss there. He gave Pink a pointed look as she returned to her seat. Pink lifted his empty glass to indicate that there was a price for his continued cooperation. Trip groaned inwardly as the waiter returned and took Pink's order for a very expensive boutique bourbon. Bastard.

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Arietta took a thankful sip of her drink. Much as she appreciated the work—and she really did, considering that she had been only a few days from eviction when Pink hired her—the long sets he required were hard as the dickens on her throat. As Trip continued bantering with Pink, she took the opportunity to study him undetected. He was somewhat taller than her five-nine, which put him at six feet or a bit over. Of course, Pink was half a head taller and probably a hundred pounds heavier, which made it more difficult to judge the man's size. Next to Pink, everyone looked tiny. Trip was long and lean; she was pretty sure that was no optical illusion. He looked healthy and in shape but not bulky. Although the conservative lines of his suit would indicate otherwise, she could tell he didn't spend all his time behind a desk. He was either a runner or a swimmer, though she supposed he might have been a tennis player as well if his lightly tanned skin was anything to go by. Despite his gunmetal gray hair, she guessed he was younger than forty. There was something youthful about him, though she couldn't pinpoint what it was. Everything about him, from the perfectly tailored navy blue suit on his back to the Italian loafers on his feet, said money in the discreet way that old money did. The lines of his patrician face were kept from being perfectly classical by a nose that was just a bit too large and by the sensuality of his lower lip. Just when she drifted into speculating how that lip would feel against her skin, she realized that he had been covertly watching her the whole time. He smiled as though he'd read her mind, and she couldn't help but smile in return. When he excused himself to use the facilities, she immediately turned on Pink. ―What on earth is going on? Did I hear you say that Trip wanted to meet me?‖ ―He did. He asked me to introduce you. I was going to do it, but then you—‖ ―Made an ass of myself.‖ She frowned. ―Why did he want to meet me? I thought he said he's in real estate.‖ Pink gave her a chiding look. ―Why does every heterosexual male who comes through those doors want to meet you? I know you're from a small town, but presumably they have mirrors even in East Bumfuck, Alabama.‖ Arietta waved her hands dismissively at his exaggeration. ―Come on, Pink. Even I can tell that guy is some type of real-estate tycoon. Why would he be interested in meeting me? I hope you told him—‖

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―That you're not that type of girl? Sure did. If this were any other bloke, I'd be concerned, but Trip's always been a straight shooter. He's never tried to hit on any of the singers before. I've known him for a long time, and I'm pretty sure he's not a player.‖ Arietta refused to succumb to a sigh of relief. So he didn't make a habit of hitting on the singers in this club. Who knew how many clubs the guy hung out in? After all, despite his reputation, Pink couldn't know everything about the man. Besides, she wasn't interested in the guy… Okay, she refused to lie to herself. Of course she was interested, but nothing could come of it. Arietta frowned at her boss, deliberately distracting herself. Not for the first time she noted that, though he had the accent and demeanor of a Southern good old boy, something about the man was slightly off. Well, something besides the incongruity of a man the size of an oil tanker going by the name Pink. Certainly his appearance, including a shaved head, bulging biceps, and numerous tattoos, seemed straight out of central casting. The hubcap-sized Confederate battle flag belt buckle pretty much ended any speculation to the contrary, but every now and then his accent changed to something more Artful Dodger than Billy Bob. This was especially true when he used words like bloke. All in all, it left her wondering just who he was. Trip returned to the table and resumed his seat. ―I'm a big blues fan, but I hadn't heard some of the songs you sang tonight. Are they original compositions?‖ Arietta nodded. ―Yes, I've written a lot of songs over the years. I try a few out in each set. I'm trying to put a demo tape together.‖ ―Over the years? How long have you been singing?‖ ―I've been singing professionally for more than twenty years.‖ ―This is unpardonably rude, and my saintly mother would be appalled, but either you're considerably older than you look or you began singing when you were still in diapers,‖ Trip said. ―Darn near. I come from a large family of gospel singers. I started singing with them when I was five. I'm thirty now.‖ His brows shot up. ―Gospel?‖ He looked around the club's less-than-sacred confines. ―You're a long way from home.‖ You don't know the half of it. ―Yeah, I'm the black sheep of the family.‖ Might as well make it a joke.

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―You, the black sheep? I can't imagine you doing anything scandalous,‖ he said, but the look he gave her was an open invitation to do just that. She couldn't help but respond to his flirtatious tone, and the frankly male appreciation in his cobalt blue eyes. ―I'm a good girl, and I try to stay out of trouble,‖ she said with a coy glance from beneath her lashes that would have done Princess Di proud. ―Hmmm, maybe you should tell that to whoever wrote those songs you were singing, because some of them were decidedly…naughty.‖ The soft way he purred the word sent a pool of moisture directly to her panties. ―Well, you know the blues. Naughtiness is par for the course, but you shouldn't believe everything you hear.‖ ―I don't make a habit of doing that, and somehow I don't think I'd be disappointed,‖ Trip said. Pink stood up and gave both of them a disgusted look. ―You two need to get a room,‖ he said as he walked away. Trip threw back his head on a bark of laughter, and Arietta couldn't restrain a giggle as well. ―Look, I'm not usually this direct, but you throw me off my game.‖ ―I do?‖ Arietta said. ―Yeah. I'm hoping you'll have dinner with me.‖ ―When?‖ Arietta asked, trying to give herself time to recover from the shock. ―I want to say tonight,‖ he said with a derisive twist of his lips. She glanced down at her watch. ―It's nearly midnight. If I start eating this late, I'll need a new wardrobe.‖ He gave the formfitting black sequined gown an appreciative look. ―That would be a tragedy. If you insist, tomorrow.‖ ―I suppose that's okay. You have Pink's stamp of approval.‖ He raised his brows. ―Oh really?‖ ―You seem surprised.‖

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―You work for the man. You know how contrary he can be. I'm not exactly easygoing myself.‖ ―Is it wise to tell me that right before a date?‖ ―Full disclosure is the only way to go. So can I get your number?‖ She pulled a business card out of her purse and passed it to him across the table. He studied the plain white card in the dim light of the club. ―You teach?‖ ―Yes, piano and voice. I have a degree in music and my teacher certification. I taught back home, but most schools are canceling arts programs. I'm lucky Gabe hooked me up with an agency, and I've been able to pick up lots of private clients since I got here. Mainly kids, but most of my voice students are adults. I'm hoping that an adjunct position as a local community college will open up this fall.‖ He secreted the card into his inside jacket pocket. ―Hey, Arietta, you ready to go?‖ Arietta looked up and smiled at Gabriel. ―Sure.‖ She stood, watching as Trip did the same. ―Trip, this is Gabriel. Gabriel this is Trip.‖ She watched as they sized one another up. She didn't know why she felt compelled, but found herself explaining. ―This neighborhood can be a little rough. Gabriel always walks me to my car.‖ Trip inclined his head. ―Of course. I'll walk out with you.‖ He moved back to let her pass, then deftly moved between her and Gabriel to follow her out. She paused, surprised by the alacrity of his move, but there wasn't anything she could do about it without making a big deal of it in the crowded room, so she continued walking. The crowd was gradually dispersing, but there were still quite a few people milling about in the club's tiny space, eliminating any chance of a quit getaway. Several stopped with an appreciative word or a desire to chat about her performance. This was a common occurrence, which was why she usually left through the stage entrance. Finally they emerged into the sultry evening air. Even at this late hour the temperature was hovering in the low eighties with matching humidity. Such a heat wave was unusual during the spring, even in Atlanta, and she wondered grimly if the weather would break before she was forced to dry-clean her stage clothes after each wearing. That would put a considerable dent in her already one-meal-a-day-tight budget. The short walk across the small parking lot was nearly

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unbearable in her slim-fitting evening dress. She glanced back at the nondescript red-brick, building that housed the nightclub. There was not even a sign to indicate there was entertainment to be found there. Pink developed his clientele strictly by word of mouth. When they reached her car, she turned to her two escorts with a smile. From Gabriel's smirk, she knew she'd never hear the end of this. ―Thanks, guys,‖ she said, opening the door of her ancient Corolla. She'd had it since college and wouldn't be replacing it anytime soon. ―I'll call you later today about our date,‖ Trip said with a pointed look at Gabriel. Arietta gave Trip an exasperated glance. Much more of this and they'd be sniffing each other's asses. Gabriel, troublemaker that he was, said, ―What's your morning like? Want to do breakfast?‖ Damn him. He had no interest in her that way; he just wanted to get her goat. ―I'm teaching almost all day tomorrow,‖ she said sharply, annoyed by his troublemaking, but he was a good friend, if a bit twisted, so she relented. ―But if you want to go by the Flying Biscuit and pick up a scramble and coffee around seven, I won't kick you out.‖ Gabriel grinned at her; then apparently deciding he'd pushed his luck as far as he could, he took his leave of them, strolling over to his own vehicle parked just a few feet away. She always appreciated the way his decrepit Honda somehow made her car look almost showroom new. Arietta resisted the urge to explain that there was nothing between her and Gabriel. She'd just met Trip; she didn't owe him any explanations. ―I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow, and I'm bushed. It was nice meeting you.‖ ―Nice meeting you too. See you later.‖ He stood in the brightly lit parking lot, his arms crossed over his chest as she started the car and backed out. She wondered if he did it out of chivalry or for fear that her car wouldn't start. She sighed in relief when it started, though she knew the ancient air conditioner wouldn't kick in until long after she reached her apartment a few blocks away. She forced herself to give him a casual wave, which he returned with a smile. Somehow she had a feeling her life was going to be a lot more interesting, and that was probably not a good thing.

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Chapter Two ―You are such a jerk,‖ Arietta said before taking another bite of her breakfast. ―Who? Me?‖ Gabriel asked, his face a portrait of innocence personified. ―Yes, you. Why did you give Trip the impression that we're lovers?‖ ―The same reason I do anything—it was fun. You just met the guy, and he looked like he wanted to hit me.‖ He shook his head at her as she continued eating. ―I don't know how the hell you eat collard greens for breakfast.‖ ―Southern girl, born and bred. I would eat collards three meals a day if I could,‖ she said, finishing the last bite of her Southern scramble. ―Look at you. Eating fish for breakfast.‖ ―What can I say? Salmon is heart healthy. You know I'm always on the lookout for omegathrees.‖ Arietta smirked at him. The man rarely ate anything that wasn't loaded with butter or cheese. ―Are you really going to go out with that rich guy?‖ ―I gave him my number, but I doubt he'll call. He was probably just playing around or just trying to get into my drawers,‖ Arietta said with a casualness she didn't feel. She'd never admit it, especially not to Gabe, but she'd felt a real connection with Trip. Now how silly was that? Gabriel shook his head forcefully. ―That old boy was not playing,‖ he said, his soft, musical voice rich with a deep Southern accent. ―That's why I let him get between us last night. If he'd been behind me, he probably would've shanked me.‖ ―Pink says he's good people.‖ Gabriel nodded. ―He's been around for a minute. Everybody says he's cool.‖ He took a long swig of coffee. ―But you still need to be careful. He's rich and probably powerful. They call him the King of Buckhead.‖ Arietta raised her brows. ―Wow.‖ ―Wow, indeed.‖

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―Then that almost guarantees I'll never hear from him again.‖ ―I wouldn't bet on it. You'd better expect that call at any moment, probably before he even gets out of bed. He wants to beat my time, so he'll be on the horn first thing.‖ He raised his wrist in a dramatic fashion, studying his watch. ―In fact, he'll be calling in ten, nine, eight…‖ Ignoring her friend's countdown, Arietta stood up to clear the table. When the phone rang, she frowned at the unfamiliar number before answering. ―And what did I tell you?‖ Gabriel asked with a smirk.

―What do you think of street festivals?‖ Arietta recognized Trip's voice, though he sounded a bit distracted. ―I'm not sure. If they have live music and good food, I like them.‖ ―Great, the Inman Park Festival is this weekend. They have a parade, food, and live music, and of course, the freak show from hell. Want to check it out?‖ ―Freak show, huh? Better than Little Five Points?‖ ―Yep. L-Five-P probably has more freaks per square mile than anywhere else in the city, but this festival is still good. Besides, there's a parade.‖ Arietta shook her head, though of course he couldn't see her. This was hardly what she'd expected from the sophisticated man-about-town. Then again, it was a public place; she could hardly get into trouble at a street festival. She smiled, though he couldn't see that either. Gabriel could, damn him, and she knew he'd ride her back until hell froze over about it. ―I can't do an allday thing, but it sounds like fun.‖ ―How about I pick you up around nine? We have to get there early; otherwise it gets crazy crowded. They've got some great Victorian architecture down there. I think you'll like it. Dress casually; we'll be doing lots of walking.‖ He rang off, and she sat staring at the phone in bemusement. ―What is it, chica?‖ Gabriel asked with raised brows. ―Oh nothing. I'm going to a street festival with Trip tomorrow.‖ ―Street festival.‖ Gabriel mused. ―Hmmm, the subtle approach. It's like I should be taking notes at my elder's knee. Clearly the old cat is a pro.‖ He continued in a dead-on David

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Attenborough impression. ―And that is our primer on the predatory mating habits of the male Homo sapiens sapiens. Stay tuned for additional updates as we school the blues singer.‖ Arietta just shook her head at him.

***** The Inman Park Festival was just as Trip had said—bright, colorful and loads of fun. Arietta could barely contain her excitement as they walked from one enchanting Victorian home to another. ―Okay, this one is definitely my absolute favorite,‖ she said. Trip, chin in hand, gave her an inquiring look. ―Are you sure? You said the same thing three houses ago and five houses ago and seven houses ago.‖ She punched him lightly in the shoulder. ―Stop. Okay, I know, but just look at it.‖ She gestured toward the mint green two-story Victorian home. This one had a lot less decorative gingerbread than some of the others. According to Trip, it was in the Queen Anne style, stately rather than ornate. ―The tower is absolutely unbelievable, don't you think?‖ ―Unbelievable, and it adds at least one zero to the value of the house.‖ She gave him an exasperated look. ―Do you ever think about anything besides money?‖ Trip pursed his lips and gave her a knowing look over his sunglasses. ―I've been known to occasionally think of other things.‖ Arietta threw back her head and laughed. ―All right. I walked right into that one. Victorians are just so—I don't know—they're just romantic. When I see them. I think of gaslight and foggy evenings.‖ ―Not to mention crazed serial killers stalking prostitutes in London. Besides, retrofitting all those gaslights to electric would definitely put a damper on the romance. And redoing the plumbing and electrical would be enough to bankrupt Warren Buffett.‖ ―Trip!‖ Arietta gave him an irritated glance. ―I'm just saying. I'm an expert on these things, you know.‖ ―Well, it's not like I'll be buying an old Victorian house anytime soon,‖ she said.

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―Don't be so sure about that,‖ he said in a voice so low, she wasn't sure she heard him. Then he quickly changed the subject. ―Hey, the bands are starting to tune up. Want to grab something to eat and check them out?‖

***** Arietta and Trip stood swaying together to the music of the jazz quartet. The warm, latespring sun touched their skin, intensifying the awareness that already shimmered on their nerve endings. The music vibrated through them; their muscles and tendons and cords stretched and undulated in response to the sensual beat. The quartet was good, and they knew it. The saxophonist in particular had a propensity for improvisation that absolutely sizzled. After one long riff that had him and the trumpet player challenging each other note for note, Arietta grabbed Trip's hand in excitement. It wasn't until the last sound died away that she realized what she'd done. She looked down at their linked hands and then looked up at him. He raised her hand to his lips and gave it a brief kiss, but he didn't release it, and Arietta was pretty sure she didn't want him to.

***** Arietta knew something was wrong before they even made it up the stairs to her apartment. They had stayed at the festival much later than they had originally intended. As it was now late evening, and darkness had long since fallen, Trip was escorting her to the door. She could feel his presence behind her as they climbed the stairs to her apartment; awareness of him flickered over her skin, but it did nothing to relieve her unease. She lived on the second floor of a building that had been divided into four microscopic apartments. The exterior doors all faced into an interior courtyard. She'd always felt reasonably safe with the other apartments in such close proximity. Now, looking at her apartment with the door standing crookedly in the jamb, she realized perhaps she had been overly optimistic. Trip came up the stairs behind her. ―What the fuck?‖ He studied the door for a moment, then grabbed her arm and tugged her until she, too numb to object, followed him back down the stairs. ―We need to go back to call the police. They could still be in your house.‖ She blinked at him uncomprehendingly, still shocked that someone had broken into her apartment. He calmly seated her in the passenger side of the car and walked around to take the

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driver's seat. She listened as he placed the call. After giving the operator the pertinent information, he put the phone back into his pocket and turned to her again. ―Are you okay?‖ Arietta nodded her head, but something in her expression must have said otherwise, because he took her hand in his, pulling her into his embrace. She took a deep, shuddering breath and sank into his side, burying her face in the softness of his polo shirt. ―I can't believe this happened.‖ ―Poor baby. It's going to be okay. The cops will be here soon, but you can't stay here. This neighborhood isn't safe.‖ ―I'm sure they even have robberies in Buckhead, Trip. Besides, I've already paid this month's rent. I can't afford to go anywhere else. The money simply isn't there.‖ ―You know I'll—‖ ―Don't you dare,‖ she said as she pulled away from him, reluctant to leave the security of his arms but determined to assert herself. ―I barely know you, and I'm definitely not taking your money. I just want the cops to get here. I need to find out what they've taken.‖ Under the harsh glow of the streetlight, she could see a vein throbbing in his forehead as he stared down at her in frustration. He ground his teeth, clearly struggling to contain himself, but didn't say anything further. Arietta resisted the urge to smooth his furrowed brow and soothe him. He'd probably get the wrong idea and think she was giving in. They sat there side by side, the tense silence stretching on endlessly. Fortunately the police arrived with surprising speed, and she wondered if it was Trip's name or simply a slow night that accounted for their unaccustomed promptness. After the police checked the apartment and found it empty, she and Trip followed them inside. Not surprisingly, all her electronic equipment, including her keyboard and sound system, had been taken. Dammit. Both had been purchased before she relocated to Atlanta, so they were top-notch. Her father was an absolute nut about electronics and would tolerate nothing less than the best. Replacing them would cost a bundle, but Arietta didn't really lose it until she realized that the thieves had also taken her CDs, including her demo tapes. The demo tapes she'd spent a fortune having made at a local studio. ―Why would they take CDs?‖ she cried out in frustration.

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One of the two police officers, who had already finished their investigation and were simply waiting for her to finish inventorying the place, spoke up. ―Taking CDs is pretty commonplace. There's a strong market for them. You've probably seen people selling them in beauty salons or barbershops,‖ said the female officer. Petite with a wiry frame, there was a toughness about her that indicated a level of experience the male officer lacked. She had also explained that they wouldn't call crime-scene investigators out to take fingerprints for a simple robbery. Without anything to compare them to, fingerprints were pretty much useless. Trip glared at the woman, but all Arietta could do was gasp at the ramifications. Her exposure to law enforcement was limited to crime shows on television. She'd never even had a speeding ticket, but their cavalier attitude was shocking. Clearly she'd been watching too much CSI. The male officer tried to soften the blow. ―They probably won't come back, since they've pretty much taken everything you've got.‖ Arietta was still too shell-shocked to respond to much of anything. She struggled to maintain her composure. How was she going to stay here after this? The feeling of having been violated overwhelmed her, and she wanted nothing more than to leave her apartment as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, as she'd told Trip, she simply didn't have the money to pay for a hotel stay. Her breath caught as she thought briefly of returning home. Her parents would welcome her with open arms, but she'd only be confirming what they'd thought all along. She was a spoiled baby, unable to take care of herself. No. She wouldn't go back with her tail between her legs. God. What if the thieves had still been in the apartment and she'd been by herself? She took a deep, calming breath. No point in thinking about that. Trip had been there. But he couldn't be there all the time, and what if they came back? Braking those thoughts was incredibly difficult. There wasn't anything she could do about it; she had nowhere else to go. Finally she completed the inventory list and gave it to the officers, who left shortly thereafter. Arietta sank onto the small sofa, which, aside from a coffee table and credenza, was the only piece of furniture in the room. Trip took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through it. ―I'm calling a locksmith.‖ Before she could object, he growled in a voice that made it clear that he was at least as freaked as she was. ―Look, either you stay in a hotel or I get somebody to secure this goddamned place. No way in hell are you staying here like this.‖

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It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine him tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her out of the apartment. Suddenly too tired to argue with him, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Apparently she dozed off, because when she opened her eyes again, the locksmith was just arriving. No doubt about it, the man had enough clout to make people move when he wanted them to. The locksmith strolled into the apartment. A lean, lanky man, he stood several inches taller than Trip and spoke as he apparently did everything, in a slow, purposeful manner. He removed the broken lock and dead bolt and replaced them with devices that looked as though they belonged on Fort Knox. Fortunately neither the door nor the jamb was damaged, though the locksmith recommended reinforcing them with steel plating. When she shook her head at him, he and Trip exchanged a look, but he said nothing further. Arietta went into the kitchen for some water, and when she returned, the locksmith was gone. Trip had taken up residence on her sofa and sat staring at the now-empty credenza. ―Are you going to have time tomorrow to go replace all your stuff?‖ Arietta sat down on the arm of the sofa. ―Time? Sure. Money? Not so much. Besides, I don't really need any of it. I hope the engineer at the studio kept duplicates of my tapes and can make copies.‖ No doubt he'd charge a substantial fee. Where the hell would she get the extra money? No macaroni and cheese this month. She sighed inwardly. I'll definitely be visiting Top Ramenville for a while. ―Don't you need your keyboard to teach?‖ ―Most of my piano students have their own. I mainly use it to compose and for my voice students.‖ She shrugged. ―If I absolutely have to, I can probably dig enough out of savings to buy another, or maybe Gabe will lend me his. He has a piano.‖ Trip frowned at her, and she suspected that he wanted to offer to replace it but knew she'd refuse. ―Well, if you won't let me buy you a keyboard, surely you'll let me lend you a sound system.‖ ―I don't need—‖ ―You're a musician; of course you need it. Promise you I won't think of it as an obligation, okay? And let me know if they give you any grief about your tapes.‖

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God, he was trying to take care of her. Suddenly the effort to keep it together was too much, and tears leaked from her tightly closed eyes. ―I'm sorry,‖ she said on a sob. Trip was beside her in an instant, and she found herself snuggled against the broad expanse of his chest again. Safe and secure, as she hadn't felt since she'd left home. Heaven help her, but she didn't want to move. He rubbed her back in a consoling manner. ―What are you apologizing for, sweets? It's hardly your fault your apartment was broken into.‖ The tears kept coming in a steady stream. Arietta could hardly believe it. She'd never been the crying type. Finally she concluded that it wasn't just the break-in but the continual struggle of trying to make it in these alien surroundings. She'd been working nonstop since her arrival. The stress of living such a hand-to-mouth existence was finally catching up with her. To her relief, the tears finally dried up. Trip pulled a handkerchief out of his inside breast pocket. She gratefully used it to mop her wet face. ―Tell you what. Why don't I stay here tonight? I think you'd feel better, and I know I sure as hell would.‖ ―But where would you sleep? I only have one bed.‖ ―Won't be the first time I've bunked on a sofa.‖ Arietta shook her head vigorously. ―I slept on this thing before my bed arrived from back home. It's miserable. My bed is queen-size. I think it'll accommodate both of us.‖ Trip looked down at her with a frown. ―I usually just sleep in my jocks.‖ Arietta refused to even think about the visual of him so scantily clothed. ―I snagged some of my brother's pajama bottoms before I left home. They should fit you. If you're going to stay, you have to sleep in the bed. I won't be responsible for crippling you.‖ Trip gave her a rueful smile. ―As I've said before, I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive.‖

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Chapter Three Trip woke up with a start. For a moment he wondered where he was, but Arietta's distinctive scent rose to his nose, and he immediately felt centered and focused. He always woke at the same time each day, right before six o'clock, but this was the first time he'd awakened with such a delicious, vanilla-scented armful sprawled all over him. When they went to bed the previous evening, he could tell that despite her insistence that he stay, she was nervous about sharing a bed. He'd been determined to remain on his side, and since she was practically cantilevered over the edge of her side, he hadn't expected any contact. Before long, though, apparently unaccustomed to sharing a bed, she had gradually crept over to his side, until she spread over him like the world's sexiest blanket. He smiled as she snuggled closer, her knee coming perilously close to his crotch. Given the condition of his morning wood, there was great risk of her unmanning him one way or another. He turned, wanting nothing more than to grind his hips against her soft form. The way they fit together sent his imagination into wondering what it would be like to feel her silken walls against his throbbing cock. She groaned against his neck and shifted again, the V of her legs now cuddled against his penis like a shortstop's mitt holding on to the ball after a line drive. Trip inhaled deeply, immersing himself in the rich aroma of her hair and skin. He pressed his mouth again the soft curls of her hair, enjoying their silken texture under his lips. Her scent intrigued him: definitely vanilla—a warm, womanly aroma that mingled with his. He relished the way their aromas combined as though they'd already made love. Damn, if he didn't stop thinking about sex soon, he'd be humping her leg like a dog. He forced himself to think about something else, like the asshole that had broken into her apartment. Trip knew there was little chance he'd be caught, and that pissed him off even more. He thought about the tears that had glistened on her cheeks when she finally couldn't handle it anymore, and he wanted to rip the thieves' throats out with his teeth. He didn't care what she said; this place wasn't safe at all. She was a soft, delicate little thing, not tough enough for this

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neighborhood. He wondered what the hell her family was thinking to let her to come alone to Atlanta. Of course, he knew how stubborn she could be, so they might not have had much of a choice in the matter. The hell with that. He thought about his fifteen-year-old sister, Emily. No way in hell would she be going off by herself anytime soon. Trip expected a repairman that morning to replace the door and jamb, but nothing would do until he got her the hell out of this place. He looked down as she sighed again in her sleep, moving until she was practically on top of him. Unable to resist, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead, followed by another one on the soft contours of her rose pink lips. Her mouth opened beneath his, and he deepened the kiss, sucking gently on her tongue. Her eyes sprang open, and she looked directly into his. She looked startled for a moment; then she closed her eyes again and focused on the kiss. Her tongue became a stroke of velvet sensuality against his, pushing him to even-greater arousal. He slid his hands down over the lush contours of her ass and pulled her on top of him. He groaned at the feel of her right where he'd wanted her from the beginning. He ground his pelvis against her, delighting in the feel of his erection pressed against her softness even through their thin cotton pajama pants. More than anything, he wanted to flip her onto her back and slam his cock into her ready pussy with all his might, but he knew intuitively that would be the wrong move. He moved away but almost lost it when she eagerly followed him. He gritted his teeth and started doing amortization schedules in his head, until he could speak without begging like a horny schoolboy. ―What do you want for breakfast?‖ he asked, wincing at the lingering hoarseness that indicated that food was the last thing on his mind. ―Hmmm,‖ she murmured without opening her eyes, sounding so goddamned sexy that he had to remove himself from the bed before he totally lost his mind. He walked into the bathroom, which was the nearest avenue of retreat. It was a Spartan room, painted a stark white, with few of the feminine fripperies he'd come to expect from women. After he used the facilities and washed his face and hands, he checked the drawers in her vanity for a toothbrush and was happy to find one still in the package. He took his time brushing his teeth. Now under fairly reasonable control, he walked back into the bedroom. Arietta, looking only half awake, was sitting up and leaning against the padded headboard. Clearly she was not a morning person. The soft pink of her pajamas accentuated her glowing skin tone. Still warm and delightfully rumpled from sleep, she was almost unbearably desirable. She gave him a sleepy smile.

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―Do you want to go out for breakfast? I hear you really like the Flying Biscuit. Or do you want to stay in? Do you have any breakfast food? Arietta yawned hugely, looking like a tawny feline awakened too early from her nap. ―I went to the market yesterday, so yeah, I've got eggs and stuff. I don't usually do a cooked breakfast until much later in the day. I'm not fit to be around an oven until I've had a couple cups of coffee.‖ Trip nodded. ―Why don't you hop into the shower while I pull some breakfast together?‖ Arietta's only response was to scoot off the bed and start walking toward the bathroom. He watched her, unable to look away from her tantalizing form. He sighed when she closed the door. If he survived this day, it would be a goddamned miracle.

***** ―How do you feel about French?‖ Arietta paused before answering Trip's question. He'd been calling every night since their first date to try to set up another one. She enjoyed their conversations, even when they lingered long into the night. There was something so soothing and arousing about lying in bed with his voice in her ear. It made her feel safe and protected to know that he was also checking to make sure she was okay. Unfortunately her schedule was murderous. He'd brought her a lovely sound system, which she suspected was brand-new despite his denials, but she was determined to give it back as soon as she could buy another one. Gabe had lent her his keyboard. And she'd managed to pick up some extra clients, so her finances weren't as bad as she'd initially thought they would be. Which was a good thing, because the fee the engineer charged to replace her tapes was nothing short of extortionate. ―Are you talking about the language or the food? My mastery of the language is limited to classes in college and a few operas I memorized phonetically. My love of the food, on the other hand, is legendary.‖ Trip paused on the other end of the line and laughed. ―Definitely the food. Anis is my favorite restaurant. I've been going there for years, and I think you'll like it. I know you've got a heavy schedule. How does seven Friday night sound?‖

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Arietta smiled to herself, delighted that he'd remembered that from their conversation the previous evening. ―Can you make it more like ten? I know that's very late. We'll save time if you pick me up at the club.‖ ―Okay, I'll pick you up Friday night.‖

***** Arietta stood on the stage, singing the last song of her set. Before she saw Trip arrive, she felt him with the same awareness that had been present from their first meeting. He stood in the back of the club in his usual conservative suit. She couldn't tell the color in the low light, but it was dark, providing a perfect foil for the silvery tones of his hair, which glowed like a beacon in the dimness of the club lighting. Their eyes locked, and suddenly all those late-night conversations, the hours that she'd wanted and needed to be with him, seared through her. The connection between them scorched with its intensity. The thin silk of her rich red evening dress grazed her body in a way that she wanted him to replicate. She wanted this man, and her body responded to her needs as though it had a mind of its own quite separate from her control. Arching her back, she thrust her leg out of the thigh-high slit. His eyes narrowed in appreciation for her display, and she pursed her lips, knowing that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She couldn't keep those emotions out of her voice, out of the seductive movement of her body, or out of the motion of her hands. She beckoned her lover to her, and he approached the stage as though drawn by an invisible force pulling him forward. When she finished the last note with a dreamy sigh, he took her hand and pulled her into his torrid embrace. The shudders racing through his body amplified the heat that left her shaking with need as well. The audience applauded, apparently thinking this was part of the show, but this was no act. She opened her eyes and looked into the blazing blue intensity of his gaze. ―Wait here, I'll be right back,‖ she said, so turned on that for a moment she didn't think she'd be able to speak. He nodded, but instead of releasing her, he held her hand tighter. She had no choice but to lead him to her dressing room behind the stage. He was following so closely behind her that she barely managed to close the door before he pushed her up against the wall. ―I need you. Now.‖

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His words seared through her brain, scorched her with their intensity. Before she had a chance to respond, he'd taken her mouth under his and thrust his tongue inside as though compelled by a force outside of him. She could feel him all the way down her body, his thick erection pressing against the apex of her thighs. He grabbed the bottom of her dress and pushed it up to her waist, exposing her lower body clad only in a pair of four-inch heels and a very skimpy lipstick red thong. ―If I'd known this was all you had on, we never would have made it off that stage.‖ He ripped the panties in two with one sharp motion and slid his fingers against her soaking-wet pussy. It seemed she'd been waiting for this forever, and he didn't hesitate. He quickly fumbled with his zipper and freed his thick cock from the confines of his pants. She silently thanked God when he pulled a condom out of his pocket. He ripped it open with his teeth and sheathed his penis with a speed that indicated some experience with the technique. He palmed her bottom and raised her up to the proper height. He draped her legs over his arms as he pressed them as far apart as possible, leaving her open and exposed—but only for a moment, because suddenly he was there. All of him. Balls-deep in one thrust. For a second Arietta didn't think she could handle it. His girth stretched the walls of her pussy to their limits, pressed her clit firmly against his pubic bone. Each time he slammed into her, she literally saw stars from the incredible stimulation. More than anything, she wanted to scream, to cry out, he felt so good, but she knew that probably everybody in Pink knew exactly what they were doing. He slammed into her again and again. She slid against the wall, and with each thrust, it seemed he went deeper and deeper. ―Bite me,‖ he said, his words barely discernible. Arietta raised her face from the curve of his neck, where she'd placed it to muffle her screams. ―What?‖ She blinked up at him, her mind foggy and in thrall to her impending orgasm. ―Bite me,‖ he said again, and then he bit her neck at the sensitive spot where it met her shoulder, setting off waves of release through her body. Totally under his control, she reciprocated, pulling his soft cotton dress shirt down far enough to sink her teeth into the flesh of his chest. It was as though she'd released an inferno. A thundering groan rose from his chest, and suddenly he was jackhammering into her. The muscles of his arms and stomach twitched. Then,

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with a groan, he slammed into her one last time, and she felt his cock enlarge even more as he ejaculated.

Trip collapsed against her, his body shaking almost as much as hers was. She looked down at the back of his head as he pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder. He seemed so…vulnerable. She ran her fingers through the thick waves of his hair, loving the contrast of its cool, silken texture against her overheated flesh. ―Are you okay?‖ he whispered, raising his head. Arietta nodded, though she really wasn't even sure what planet she was on at the moment. ―Yeah.‖ He looked down, shaking his head as though in a daze. He slowly pulled out of her, wincing as though loath to do so. She tentatively lowered her legs, not altogether certain they would support her. He gestured toward a door on the other side of the room. ―Is that the bathroom?‖ She nodded, and he excused himself, leaving her still leaning against the wall, stunned at her outrageous behavior. Everyone in Pink tonight knew what they'd just done. At the time she hadn't cared, but now… She heard the toilet flush and water running, and after another long moment, Trip came back into the room. He shook his head at her. ―I can't believe it. It seems like I've wanted you forever, but I thought I'd have more couth than to nail you to the wall.‖ ―I thought I had more couth than to let you.‖ He grinned at her, and just like that it was okay. No shame or embarrassment; just two people who had enjoyed the hell out of each other. She smiled back at him. ―I need to freshen up,‖ she said, picking up her garment bag draped across the chair. She slipped into the bathroom that he'd just vacated.

Still shaking from the aftermath of making love to Arietta, Trip leaned his head against the cool plaster of the wall. He'd never felt anything like that in his life. She'd looked stunned, and he couldn't blame her, as he was feeling more than a bit shell-shocked himself. The weeks of wanting her, the desire gnawing at him like a live beast, had suddenly exploded over him, and he couldn't wait another second to have her. Tonight, when he'd watched her in that red dress

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beckoning to him, her body promising an ecstasy he couldn't even comprehend, he'd just lost it. He had to have her right then, and he was actually amazed they'd made it to the dressing room. When she came out of the bathroom, she'd changed into a black wrap dress, but she still wore the black satin stiletto heels she'd worn onstage. He'd never cared about a woman's shoes before, but he couldn't shake the visual of those incredibly long legs draped over his arms and the feel of those sexy heels pressed against his back. He'd already decided he never wanted her to wear anything else. And that thong. He shut down that line of thought immediately, amazed at her ability to turn him on again so easily. It was obvious that she'd washed up, but she still looked freshly fucked, and he took great satisfaction in that. Unfortunately she also still looked dazed and shook-up. He walked over to her and placed a soft kiss on her mouth. ―I missed you, sweets.‖ She smiled at this bit of silliness, so he continued in the same vein. ―I can't imagine why, but suddenly I'm absolutely ravenous—for food this time. Are you hungry too?‖ Arietta nodded mutely. ―Shall we adjourn to dinner?‖ he asked, extending his elbow as though they were entering a state dinner.

Arietta looked up from her delicious salad. Yes, Trip was still staring at her. Heat seared over her skin. He all but telegraphed his thoughts to her, and they were totally in sync with hers. The encounter in her dressing room had been so intense, they probably should be checked for chromosomal damage. She would never have thought she had any exhibitionist tendencies, but apparently she was wrong. Somehow knowing that other people knew had added to the excitement. They knew that he'd wanted her so much, he couldn't control himself, and it was an incredible turn-on. Forcing herself to think of something else, she gestured toward his nearly untouched plate. ―You could probably eat more if you stopped staring at me.‖ He gave her a rueful grin but apparently decided to play along. ―Sorry for being so rude. My saintly mother would be appalled. Are you still singing weekends?‖ ―Yeah, I was very lucky Pink put me on weekends right from the start.‖ ―Luck had nothing to do with it. Pink knows a moneymaker when he hears one. To have only been here for a few months, you sure are popular. It's gotten to where it's standing room only nearly every night. That old boy's making a mint.‖

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―I'm very fortunate that so many people want to hear my music, but it can be a bit of a double-edged sword.‖ ―What do you mean?‖ ―I love singing, and people can be very kind, but they can also be…I dunno, a bit demanding. It's like they think that paying to hear me sing gives them rights of ownership or something. Like they're entitled to something more than entertainment. That can be kind of scary, because to be a good musician, you have to be vulnerable, exposed. You have to be willing to let others see your soft underbelly. It's a huge risk, but you have to take it, because otherwise you're not really making music.‖ She smiled at him. ―But you know that.‖ Trip finished a bite of his salad. ―How would I know?‖ ―You're a pianist, Trip. Probably a damned good one.‖ He gave her a surprised look. ―How did you know?‖ ―The expression on your face while I was playing. You were watching me with such a…hunger.‖ ―You think? I've hardly kept that a secret. I took one look at you and lost my mind, couldn't wait to get you to the nearest horizontal surface. Apparently I decided vertical would do,‖ he said with a self-derisive smile. And just like that they were right back in that dressing room. Flags of color appeared on his cheekbones, and she felt the heat under her skin intensify. So much for keeping the conversation in neutral territory. But just looking at him was enough to set off those thoughts. Fearing that in another minute they'd be humping in the middle of one of Atlanta's finest restaurants, she tried desperately to hold on to the thread of the conversation. ―That too, but you also looked hungry to play. How long has it been?‖ ―Since I've played in public?‖ She nodded. ―Ten, fifteen years.‖ ―What happened?‖ she asked. ―Life happened. You can only live without money for so long. Baby needs a new pair of shoes, you know.‖ Arietta nodded. ―Ain't that the truth? There's only so much you can do with Top Ramen.‖ He smiled at her. ―I still play, but I don't perform. What are you trying to do?‖

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She shrugged. ―Gospel music is the family business, but I've always been drawn to jazz and to the blues. It appeals to something in me.‖ ―Your music is so…sensual. I can't imagine it in church.‖ Arietta took a deep breath; the way he said the word sensual did crazy things to her nervous system. He had been an absolute gentleman since they arrived at the restaurant, and somehow that just increased the sexual tension. Knowing that he was restraining himself made her pulse rate skitter along double-time. When he'd pulled out her chair to seat her, she'd accidentally brushed against him. Even over her accelerated heartbeat, she'd heard his gasp and felt him shiver against her. He'd stood there for just a beat too long after pushing her chair back into place, and he'd lowered his head and inhaled deeply before returning to his place. The pull toward him was getting stronger as the evening wore on. When she'd accepted the dinner invitation, she hadn't expected this, and now… ―It's not on purpose. My daddy used to get on me all the time about that. It's not like I'm onstage dropping it like it's hot,‖ she said with a chuckle. ―Actually if I did, I'd have a better chance of getting a record deal.‖ His face brightened. ―And, uh, when do I get to see that?‖ ―The twelfth of never.‖ His face fell. ―That's what I thought. Do you think you can get a deal?‖ ―If I didn't, I wouldn't be here.‖ ―Good point, but since your family is so big in the industry…‖ ―My parents wouldn't raise a finger to help me make 'the devil's music.' And I wouldn't ask them to support something so outside their religious beliefs. They believe it's a sin, and I respect that.‖ She smiled briefly before continuing. ―They love me and say that I'm spoiled because I'm the youngest of six. They figure when things get hard, I'll come running back home and forget all about this.‖ ―So are you doing this because you love the music or because you have something to prove?‖ His insight made her uncomfortable, so Arietta paused to take a few bites of her monkfish. The restaurant was small but charmingly appointed. Trip assured her that it was authentically

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Provençal from the decor to the humblest item on the menu. She looked across the table to see that he was still looking at her, apparently waiting for an answer to his question. ―Probably a little of both,‖ she replied. ―My parents are gospel-music legends, and all my siblings followed along in their footsteps. Almost all of them have gold and platinum records. Several of them have Grammys. There's nothing for me to do there. But the blues, the blues speak to me. I can chart my own path here, not follow in anyone else's footsteps.‖ Trip nodded. ―It's obvious when you sing. I've heard a lot of music over the years, but I've never heard anything like your voice. It's only a matter of time before you'll have a contract.‖ ―From your mouth to God's ears,‖ Arietta said with a smile. The rest of the meal passed in a similar fashion. Before she knew it, a couple of hours had passed, and it was time to leave. He slipped behind her once again to help her from the table. His warm, musky scent enveloped her, and more than anything, she wanted to turn into his embrace. When she looked up to meet his bright blue gaze, she could tell he was thinking the same thing. She quickly lowered her eyes. This was so not the right time or place, and definitely not even the right man.

When Trip pulled his car up to the small apartment building where she lived, Arietta had a brief moment of embarrassment. Her apartment wasn't in the hood, but it certainly wasn't up to the very expensive German luxury sedan he drove. Knowing that she had a busy schedule the next day, Arietta moved to exit the car but was stayed when he grabbed her wrist. ―What's your schedule like the rest of the weekend? When am I going to see you again?‖ Arietta inhaled sharply. The sexual awareness that had been simmering between them all evening suddenly ignited. She paused, looked up at him, and found his eyes fixed on her mouth. Even before she could formulate the thought of how much she wanted him to kiss her, his mouth descended down to hers. The first contact was soft, tentative, as though he was seeking her permission; then a groan erupted from his throat, and he gathered her closer. Their tongues parried and thrust in a way so carnal that Arietta knew she'd be embarrassed to think about it the next day. Somehow he pulled her over the console between the seats and into his lap. She could feel his heavy erection pressing against the curve of her buttocks. She squirmed against him,

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squeezing her thighs together as her pussy throbbed in response to his clear need, loving the feel of his maleness against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him more tightly to meet her mouth again; he moved to take a gentle bite out of the side of her neck. Arietta cried out; the sharp pain of his maneuver sent a zing of pleasure through her whole body. When his hand came up to push her skirt up, she didn't hesitate. She parted her legs and gave him access to her throbbing pussy, which was still exquisitely sensitive from their previous encounter, but the pressure of his hand against her mound brought her to her senses. In another minute they'd be sexing in a parking lot! Obviously they'd both lost their minds. She had a bit of a struggle to get out of Trip's grasp. Finally he looked down at her through dazed eyes as she slipped back into the passenger seat. Once again she moved to get out of the car. Just being around the man was dangerous; they couldn't keep their hands off each other. ―Wait,‖ he said, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the steering wheel. He took a few deep breaths before he spoke again. ―I'm sorry. I know I came on too strong. You go to my head.‖ Arietta sat in the seat, watching him as he ran his hands over his thick hair a couple of times in an obvious effort to calm down. When he raised his head, the heightened color on his cheekbones and a smudge of her lipstick on the collar of his formerly pristine shirt were the only indicators of the intimacies they'd shared. Trip took another deep breath and exhaled slowly before he spoke again. ―Let me put my cards on the table, okay?‖ Arietta nodded at him, still too dazed to have any clue as to what he was talking about. ―I'm a wealthy man—‖ He laughed at her expression as she raised a brow and gave him a no-shit look. ―I want you. Probably more than I've ever wanted anything. One time was not nearly enough. I can take care of you. Help you get your career off the ground. Pretty much give you anything you want.‖ Arietta continued to stare at him, his words finally penetrating the sensual fog she'd been in. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Trip continued, apparently having decided to cut to the chase. ―I can give you anything you want or need, if you'll just be with me.‖ ―Are you asking me to be your…mistress?‖ Arietta asked in a breathless whisper.

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―You don't have to call it that. Look, I'm never getting married. I don't do relationships, because eventually women expect marriage, and that's hardly fair. This way there are no expectations.‖ For a long while she was totally incapable of forming words. The pain was simply too crushing to deal with, so she focused on her anger. When she could finally speak, it was all she could do not to scream at him. ―I don't think I've ever been so insulted in my life. Let me be clear. I have no interest in being any man's whore no matter what. I'm not that type of girl.‖ ―So what was that earlier this evening?‖ ―Is that what you think? You think because I had sex with you that I'm a whore?‖ Arietta said, stunned to find her eyes welling up with tears. Her throat had tightened so much, she struggled to get the words out. Dammit! She wasn't hurt; she was angry. She refused to let this arrogant asshole hurt her. She should've known better. He was too rich to be anything else. This time she successfully fumbled her way out of the car. He jumped out the driver's-side door after her and followed her as she climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment. When they reached the landing in front of her door, she turned to look at him, her eyes still burning with tears that she kept from falling by sheer force of will. ―What are you doing?‖ ―No matter what a jerk you think I am, I would never let you walk up to your apartment alone.‖ She turned the key, unlocked the door, and stepped into her apartment. ―Fine. I'm in now. Please just…go.‖ After she closed the door, Arietta leaned her head against it, the tears she'd held back flowing down her face in an unstoppable deluge. For a long moment she didn't hear anything on the other side of the door; then there was a sharp bang, as though he'd slammed his hand against the door frame. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard him say, ―Goddammit.‖ It was a long time before she finally heard his footsteps echoing down the brittle metal stairs.

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Chapter Four ―Yeah, he's out there again.‖ Gabriel leaned against the doorway of the tiny dressing room. ―You might as well talk to him. He's not going to go away until you do.‖ Arietta studied her reflection in the dingy mirror that reflected the all-too-depressing confines of a dressing room that looked like something out of a 1930s speakeasy. The fact that it was currently filled with enough flowers to adorn a mobster's funeral served only to emphasize its lost-in-time aura. Pink believed in investing his money in the parts of the club that could be seen by patrons. Backstage received minimal, if any, attention. She shook her head at Gabriel. ―I told you what he said. Why on earth would I talk to him?‖ Gabriel came into the room and leaned back with his hips propped against her dressing table. Unless he was playing, Gabriel could almost always be found leaning against something or actually supine. She'd often wondered if he used up all his energy onstage, leaving none for the less-important duty of holding his body upright. ―Okay, I'll admit he's not the most diplomatic cat I've ever heard of.‖ Arietta gave him an arch look. ―Okay, okay,‖ he conceded. ―He sounds like a jerk trying to score some tail. Either he's stupid beyond belief—and I don't buy that; Pink's got money invested with him, and you know how Pink feels about his money—or he's the most honest man alive. I mean, let's face it, most guys want commitment-free trim. He's the only one I've ever heard of who admits it. After he'd already sexed you, no less. Damn, dude's got brass balls all right.‖ Arietta sighed. She really wished she hadn't told Gabe what had happened, but he'd been in the house that night; there was no way she could tell him otherwise. ―Honest? Did I mention he tried to buy me?‖ Gabriel shrugged. ―Yeah, but look at it this way. It's been weeks since your date, and he's been here every night—‖

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―Yeah, I need to talk to Pink about changing my schedule.‖ ―Are you nuts? Go off weekends? You know you need the money. Studio time is expensive, and those session musicians are killing you. Besides, it's not like he can't find out your new schedule.‖ Arietta sighed and lowered her head to the dressing-room table, something she would never have done had she been thinking clearly. All the artists who performed there used the room, and the cleaning schedule could at best be called erratic. ―So you think I should stop working here?‖ ―Why the hell would you want to do that? And how would you pay rent if you did? Your other gigs don't pay nearly as well. Talk to the man. Maybe he only wants to say he's sorry.‖ Arietta raised her head from the table and made a wild gesture that encompassed the flower-filled room. The note on each said only two words: I'm sorry. ―He's apologized to the point of emptying every florist within a twenty-five-mile radius.‖ When Gabriel simply crossed his arms and continued to stare at her, she stood up. ―Fine,‖ she said as she stalked across the room. ―I'll talk to him after the show tonight.‖

***** Arietta glanced over at the table where Trip was once again taking up residence. He'd been there so regularly in the past couple of weeks, the staff had started calling it his table. Fortunately for them, he was a very generous tipper. She sighed inwardly; they'd definitely be loath to see him go. She launched into the first song on her set list, a melancholy ballad she called ―Wondering‖; it suited her mood tonight. Focusing on playing the music correctly, she was determined not to look at him again. She could feel the pull of his steady gaze, and she faltered once, then again, improvising over missed notes. Finally she finished the song, noting changes she wanted to make to the bridge. Still struggling to maintain her composure, she glanced at her list to begin the next song. Jesus, what had she been thinking when she wrote the damned thing? No way could she sing ―Comfort of a Man‖ with Trip there burning a hole through her with sensual awareness. She winced at the confusion on Gabriel's face as he walked onstage to join her, only to realize she was playing the intro to the wrong song. True to his nature, he laughed at her discomfiture but joined in to help her cover the mistake.

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Unable to resist, she glanced at Trip again. He was still watching her, his eyes slightly out of focus, a dreamy expression on his face. As though of their own volition, her fingers began picking out the notes of a song she'd been working on for a while. Gabriel followed her lead, punctuating her notes and improvising some smoky jazz riffs of his own. This time when she looked at Trip, his eyes were closed, his color heightened by arousal. Even with his eyes shuttered, the connection between them remained as intense as ever. As she purred out the last note of the song, his eyes opened, and a flash of cobalt electricity flared between them, sizzling over her skin in a sensuous caress. She glanced at Gabriel and nodded, then lowered the piano cover and rose to her feet. They did several joint bows, their arms casually entwined around each other's waists, to a standing ovation. Two encores later she was finally able to return to the dressing room. She didn't have to wait long; she barely had time to change into her street clothes, as the knock on the door came almost immediately. Apparently Gabriel hadn't wasted any time directing Trip to her dressing room. He stood in the doorway, looking so devastatingly attractive in a conservative navy blue suit that her first instinct was to close the door and run. Unfortunately the dressing room only had one door, so there was no escaping without passing him. He cleared his throat. Was he nervous? ―May I come in?‖ ―Of course. Of course,‖ Arietta said. She walked over to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of water. He declined the bottle she offered him and stood in the middle of the room, staring in bemusement at the over-the-top floral display. He pursed his lips and gave her a considering look. ―I guess I overdid it, huh?‖ he said with a sheepish grin. Arietta reached out to touch the delicate white petals of a peony. The bouquet had arrived just that day and was her favorite. Despite her complaints earlier, she secretly enjoyed the floral display and had carefully watered and maintained each bouquet over the past couple of weeks. She forced herself to face him. ―I understand that you wanted to see me.‖ Trip nodded, moving his hands restlessly. ―I wanted to apologize—‖ Arietta gestured toward the room. If anyone had ever made a more-spectacular apology, she hoped never to see it.

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He nodded with a small smile. ―Well, I guess I thought you deserved an explanation.‖ Yet another conflict. Why wasn't anything ever simple with this guy? Of course she wanted to hear his explanation, but really it would be far more dignified to decline. After all, what could he say to excuse his behavior? ―Okay, I guess we should sit down.‖ She gestured toward the only other seat in the room while she perched on the swivel chair that sat in front of the ancient makeup mirror. Trip sat in the chair. His limbs seemed overlong for its delicate confines, yet he didn't look nearly as silly as he should have. Somehow he always managed to look like he belonged, no matter what environment he found himself in. She suspected that he wouldn't look out of place in the Star Wars cantina. ―I told you I had no interest in getting married.‖ Arietta smirked at him. ―Don't you think you flatter yourself to imagine that I'd want to marry you? Especially after only two dates?‖ ―That's a good point, but the attraction between us is so strong… Did I misunderstand? You're not feeling me?‖ Arietta blinked at the dichotomy of his appearance in yet another conservative suit, and his use of street vernacular. But she couldn't lie; she just wished she felt him a little less. ―I think I've already made that clear. I'm definitely feeling you.‖ Trip laughed at her gently mocking tone. ―Sorry, I spend a lot of time around musicians. Over the years I've picked up a bit of slang here or there. I thought my CFO was going to have a stroke when I told my board members to 'be easy' the other day.‖ Arietta laughed with him as he recounted the story. Then he continued. ―Right. Well, always before when I'd start dating a woman, no matter how many times I told her I didn't want to get married, eventually she expected it. And the last one—‖ He shook his head as if to clear a distasteful memory. ―Suffice it to say, it ended with a terribly ugly scene. I thought if I was direct and up front from the beginning, there would be no expectations.‖ Arietta studied Trip for a long moment. The man didn't understand women at all. Any woman worth her Cinderella slippers would see his reluctance to marry as a challenge, not as a disclaimer. She frowned. ―But what about family, children? You don't want a family?‖ The

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concept was anathema to her. Much as it pained her to admit it, she loved her large, obnoxious family and couldn't imagine not having one of her own someday. The laughter that was his response lacked any discernible humor. ―I inherited my mother, two brothers, and a sister when my father decided to run away with my fiancée.‖ ―What?‖ His statement wiped every other thought out of her head. ―Shocking, isn't it? My old man was never one for propriety.‖ Despite his light mocking tone, the accompanying smile was a travesty that conveyed no humor. ―But—‖ Arietta frowned in consternation. This might be the most horrible thing she'd ever heard. Trip waved a dismissive hand. ―It was a long time ago. Marriage is something I definitely don't need.‖ Feeling intensely unsophisticated, Arietta stared at him. But she had to ask. ―What about love?‖ ―Love? Love is for fools and children. It certainly hasn't done my mother any good. She's nothing but a shell of the woman she once was.‖ Arietta stood and walked over to the closet. She picked up the gold sequined evening gown that she'd draped over the ironing board when she changed into her street clothes. After placing it carefully on a padded hanger, she slipped it back into its protective bag. Evening wear was prohibitively expensive; it was crucial to treat it with care. Finally, when she couldn't delay any longer, she turned to face Trip again, only to find that he'd stood up and was closer than she'd initially thought. ―I'm sorry those things happened to you, but no way am I going to become any man's whore,‖ she said flatly. Trip ran both hands through his thick, wavy hair, leaving it attractively rumpled as though he'd just gotten out of bed…or made love. Memories of its silkiness under her hands were an almost-irresistible lure. Every time she saw him with it combed so neatly in place, she just wanted to play with it. Arietta forced her mind away from such prurient thoughts. ―Look, I might have jumped the gun a bit,‖ he said in his usual direct manner. ―A bit?‖ She raised a brow in inquiry.

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―I just…I just didn't want to screw things up.‖ ―And you did such a great job too.‖ He gave her a frustrated look, and she reined in her inner smart-ass, at least for the moment. ―How about this? How about we start over? Take it easy. See where it goes.‖ An engaging grin lit up his face. ―Who knows? We might not even like each other.‖ The man did know how to negotiate. It probably explained why he was such a successful businessman. He stood before her, his body totally still, his expression so guileless that even she found it hard to believe that he was the same man who'd made that outrageous proposition just a couple of weeks before. She should graciously decline; she really should. It was the only choice that made sense. ―Okay. Okay, that would be nice.‖ So much for common sense. She felt rather than heard his sigh of relief as he reached out with both hands toward her, then stopped as though he had planned to touch her and thought better of it. He dropped his hands with a self-conscious shrug. Arietta stepped over to him, close enough to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. He exhaled again, but his arms remained at his sides. ―So are you on your way home? Is it okay if I escort you?‖ Arietta laughed. ―I'm sure Gabe won't mind.‖ She was pretty sure she heard him murmur, ―Damned straight,‖ under his breath as he followed her out the dressing-room door.

***** Inviting him in for a drink was a bad idea. Actually she knew without so much as a molecule of doubt that it was probably the worst idea she'd had in a long time. The attraction between them was practically thermonuclear, and neither of them had demonstrated any ability to resist it. But the past two weeks had been horrible; she'd missed him in ways she'd never thought possible. Seeing him in the club but not talking to him had taken all the willpower she possessed. Surely they could manage to keep their hands to themselves long enough to share a drink?

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Flustered by his presence, she fumbled a bit unlocking the door, then opened it to let him follow her in. Seeing her apartment through his eyes was a bit disconcerting. Back home she'd had a really nice place, but now she could only afford the bare necessities. It wasn't exactly a dump, but obviously it didn't measure up to what he was probably accustomed to. The standard apartment white walls did nothing for the sparse furnishings in the room. A small, tan-colored sofa faced a dark walnut credenza, which held the stereo she'd borrowed from him. A small coffee table occupied the space between the two pieces of furniture. The electronic keyboard she'd borrowed from Gabriel was perched on a folding table. Other than a couple of floor lamps, the room was bare. She hadn't even had an opportunity to hang any art or photographs. After seating him on the sofa, she went into the kitchen for iced tea, then joined him. ―Did you have any problems getting copies of your demo tapes?‖ Trip asked, taking a glass from her as she sat down beside him. ―No, the engineer still had the masters.‖ She didn't mention the exorbitant fee the man had charged her. She had a feeling Trip would wind up speaking with him about it. ―I've only got a few more songs to record. The A-and-R guy still hasn't shown up. I've been trying to get into some parties or events, but thus far I haven't had any luck.‖ She watched with interest as he opened his mouth as though to speak but apparently thought better of it. He'd mentioned helping her before. She wondered if he had been about to suggest it again. ―I'd really like to hear what you've got. Will you play them for me?‖ She stood up, then paused, feeling unaccountably self-conscious. After all, she played for a few hundred people several nights a week, but somehow letting him hear her demos in her home was far more intimate. Taking a deep breath, she began fiddling with the stereo equipment. ―I haven't really played them for anyone. No one's heard them but Gabe.‖ ―I've heard you in the club. I know what you sound like,‖ he said with a bemused smile. After a few moments the music started, and Arietta joined him on the sofa. They listened in silence. She watched him with rapt attention as he closed his eyes and became utterly still during the third song. When it was finished, he picked up the remote and played it again. ―Did you write that?‖ Arietta nodded. ―Yeah. Gabriel helped me some on the intro; he's a great composer. I wrote all the lyrics, though. He's not much into words.‖

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―You know that's a hit, don't you?‖ Her heart leaped with excitement. ―Do you really think so?‖ ―You're an amazing singer. I don't think I have to tell you that—please don't take this the wrong way—but your songwriting is actually better than your singing.‖ Arietta stared at him for a long moment, her mind reeling from what he'd just said. He had no idea what a gift he'd just given her. More than anything, she wanted to excel at writing. Her singing voice was a given, something she'd more or less been born with. But writing was something she had to work at. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done, but the struggle made it uniquely her own. None of her siblings were lyricists; even her parents used songs written by others. She was the only family member who'd ever aspired to be a songwriter. Trip not only knew music; he was also passionate about it. He wouldn't say she was good if she weren't. Joy streaked through her body like the first rays of spring after a long winter. Before she really even thought about it, she launched herself into his arms. His mouth fell open under hers, and just that quickly, what should've been a brief thank-you turned into something carnal, something so primal, it couldn't be denied. Trip reached up and grabbed the back of her head, holding her in place while he feasted on her mouth. Again and again he returned, sucking on her tongue as though it were an addictive nectar he could never get enough of. Arietta sprawled atop him, clinging to his muscular form. This was what she'd wanted when she invited him in. She could at least admit it to herself. The feel of him, the taste of him, saturated her senses, leaving her desperate and hungry for more. His hands left her head and moved down to her hips, holding her in place while he ground his pelvis against her. Her legs parted, her thighs on either side of his. The pressure of his heavy erection against her engorged clitoris started a chain reaction of pleasure. She pressed her face into the curve of his neck and felt the groan that rose from his throat as she rubbed against him frantically. Suddenly it wasn't enough. She pushed his shirt up from the waistband of his trousers. His skin was fiery hot, searing her desire and making her crave more. She wanted him. It had been two weeks, and she had hardly thought of anything else but making love to him again. More than anything, she wanted to feel him thrusting deeply inside.

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Apparently he felt the same way, because with a sudden growl he pressed his lips against her throat, and almost instantly she felt the sharp bite against the tendons of her neck. No one had ever bitten her during lovemaking before. The primitive gesture and pain somehow transformed into piercing pleasure, triggering an orgasm so intense that she screamed as the waves crashed over her. When the door crashed into the wall, Trip reacted instantly. He pushed her down to the floor, where she lay in stunned silence while he vaulted over the back of the sofa to face the intruder. The man paused in the doorway for a brief instant, as though startled to realize that the apartment was occupied. Then he turned, and she heard the echo of his footsteps thundering down the rickety metal stairs. ―Stay here,‖ Trip barked at her before he ran after the man. Arietta lay there for another second, still held in thrall to the lingering effects of her orgasm. Finally it penetrated her consciousness that Trip was chasing an unknown criminal, and she sprang to her feet. She only considered following Trip's order for a moment before she ran to the kitchen for a knife and then followed him. Was he crazy? That guy could have a gun or anything. By the time she made it down the stairs, Trip was running across the parking lot, still in pursuit of the man. Following him, she almost ran into him when he abruptly stopped, staring in mute frustration as the man darted behind some houses across the street. Arietta silently thanked God that Trip had enough sense not to try to follow the man any farther, and placed her hand on his arm. ―Are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he?‖ Trip looked down at her. ―No, I think he just wanted to get away. Come on. We've got to get the hell out of here.‖

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Chapter Five ―Where's your luggage?‖ Trip asked as they reentered her apartment. Every movement of his body broadcast his anger. Arietta watched him warily as he stood in the middle of her living room, his entire body vibrating with barely contained rage. ―What? Why do I need luggage?‖ she asked, still shocked that someone had broken into her apartment again so soon. She placed the knife that she barely remembered picking up on the coffee table . Trip turned to face her, the ferocity on his face so intense that she took a few steps back. His bright blue eyes stood out starkly against the vivid color of his flushed face. They glittered with something almost predatory. ―If you think you're staying in this place for another goddamned second, you have clearly lost your motherfucking mind. I'll drag you out of here kicking and screaming if need be,‖ he said, biting off each word as though it had personally offended him. ―Now where are your bags?‖ he asked, striding toward her bedroom door. ―You wait one minute, buddy. How dare you talk to me like that? How dare you use that kind of language? Just because we've had sex doesn't mean you can talk to me any kind of way,‖ she said, her fear rapidly morphing into anger. ―Arietta!‖ he shouted. Then something in her face must have alerted him, because he stopped and closed his eyes. She watched as he visibly relaxed his shoulders and unclenched his fists. He was usually so civilized that seeing this side of him was scary…and sexy. After taking several deep breaths, clearly trying to calm himself, he said her name again, his voice raw and hoarse with emotion. ―I want—no, I need—to have you safe. Sweets, I can't—‖ He broke off, as though words had failed him. Another deep breath. ―You don't understand. The thought of what could have happened if I hadn't been here tonight scares the living hell out of me. What if you'd been alone? You could've been raped or killed.‖ His hands clenched into fists again. ―I've got to have you safe,‖ he said again, emotion making his voice even thicker. ―Will you please just do

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this one thing for me? I promise I won't think of you as my whore or anything else. No strings attached. If you don't want to see me, that's okay too, but you can't stay here.‖ He opened his eyes, and Arietta could see that raw emotion had darkened them to an almost navy hue. She stared into their depths. It was hard to breathe; the simple action of taking air into her lungs was suddenly almost impossible. If she let him put her up someplace, she'd be his kept woman. The thought of doing such a thing was almost impossible, but it wasn't like it would be permanent. It wouldn't take long to save up a deposit on a new place. If she were really careful and got lucky, it would only take a month or two. Arietta studied the grim lines of determination on his face, but she saw something else too: a tenderness, a concern for her well-being that she couldn't resist. His fear on her behalf was almost tangible, and she didn't doubt that he'd follow through on his threat and carry her out of there if necessary. She nodded and walked past him to her bedroom. She opened her closet and took down her luggage. ―You don't have to pack everything. Just bring enough for the next few days,‖ he said, taking out his phone. ―I've got some people who can pack up your stuff.‖ ―Good grief, Trip. Do you have people to do everything?‖ He grinned at her in obvious relief. ―Yeah, pretty much. I have to make my contribution to the economy.‖

***** Arietta looked down at Trip's sleeping face. Most of the lines that lent so much character and animation to his countenance when he was awake all but disappeared while he slumbered, giving him an almost-angelic appearance. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were still there, however. Submitting to temptation, Arietta stroked back the lock of gunmetal gray hair that flopped down over his forehead. He nuzzled closer to her in response to her touch. After sleeping with him just a couple of nights, she had realized that Trip was a cuddler. It was impossible to get away from him in bed—not that she wanted to—but it was an interesting aspect of his character, showing a softer side that no one would suspect. He was sleeping well past his usual rising at dawn's early light. The events of the previous evening must have worn him out. She sighed, still petting him as he snuggled against her side.

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A light snack was all they'd been interested in when they checked into one of Midtown Atlanta's finest hotels. Now her stomach reminded her that her last full meal had been lunch the previous day. Careful not to disturb her still-slumbering lover, she slipped out of bed and padded into the living room of their palatial suite. The room had a desk, sofa, and a bar; there was also an adjoining kitchenette. It only took her a moment to find the room-service menu. By the time their breakfast was served, Trip had joined her in the living room. To her surprise, they fell immediately into a level of comfortable accord she'd never anticipated. It was as though they'd been sharing breakfasts for years. With their meal finished, they curled up on the sofa to enjoy a second cup of coffee and the morning paper. They chatted about the various news stories quite affably. After a while Trip fell silent, and she looked up to find him staring into space. ―I'd offer you a penny for them, but you'd probably invest it and make a fortune.‖ He gave her a confused look and then a smile. ―Surely with inflation they're worth more than that.‖ ―You drive a hard bargain. A nickel, but you have to add a kiss as well.‖ ―That's no hardship at all.‖ He pulled her into his arms and gave her a soft, probing kiss. Just when it started to get interesting, though, he pulled away. ―I was just thinking about a condo I just bought.‖ ―Oh for crying out loud, Trip. I can't believe you're thinking about work,‖ she said, punching him in the shoulder. He feigned a mortal wound and pulled away with a laugh. ―No. No. I was actually thinking about this whole situation, but I really need you to hear me out.‖ ―Why don't I like the sound of that?‖ Arietta asked with a raised brow. ―The condo is in one of the hottest buildings in Midtown. It's an older building—at least by Atlanta standards—fifteen years or so, and the couple who owned it have retired and are moving to Florida.‖ ―Well, it is the law. My parents have talked about doing it for years, but they're not going anywhere.‖

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Trip laughed at her joke, but she could tell he was distracted. ―Your parents have been married for a long time?‖ She nodded. ―Fifty years. They met at church when they sang in the choir. Neither of them has ever dated anyone else.‖ ―Wow.‖ ―I know, but I think it's kind of sweet.‖ He smiled but directed the conversation back to the initial subject. Not surprising. Marriage was hardly one of his favorite subjects. ―Anyway, I got a steal on the condo.‖ Arietta frowned. ―I'm not following what this has to do with me.‖ ―I want you to move into it.‖ ―What?‖ Arietta screeched, exhibiting her entire two-octave range. ―Hear me out. You promised to hear me out.‖ Arietta was sure she'd promised no such thing, but didn't feel a need to quibble—at least not at the moment. He continued. ―I told you last night, I need to have you safe.‖ ―But, Trip—‖ ―I need to have you safe,‖ he repeated, as though it were some type of mantra. And maybe it was, because then he closed his eyes and his voice dropped to a raspy whisper. ―Please. Please baby, do this for me.‖ Arietta stared at him. The emotion clogging her throat made speech impossible so she lowered her head instead. She had to give it to him. He was really good. No wonder they called him the King of Buckhead. At this rate he'd be the King of Atlanta in no time. When he insisted she leave her apartment, she thought he'd put her up in a hotel for a few weeks until she got enough money to get a new place in a safer neighborhood. Now she could see that he had been planning this all along. She opened her mouth to rebuke him but hesitated. His expression didn't jibe with the conclusions she'd come to. Rather than his looking smug or clever, his face was drawn in lines of worry and anxiety. Of course, that could be feigned as well, but really why would he bother? He was a handsome successful man; surely he didn't have to go through all these changes merely to procure a mistress.

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He was asking her to be a kept woman, his mistress, but all she could think about was the way he'd charged after the man who'd broken into her apartment. He hadn't hesitated for a moment; he'd just done what was necessary to protect her. Of course, he wasn't being entirely altruistic; she wasn't gullible enough to believe that. He was still a sneaky bastard, but he was trying to protect her. He was her sneaky bastard. She thought about the young man who had been left holding the bag when his father bailed on his family. Trip took care of things. People. Places. That's what he did, and that was the way he showed how he felt. She wondered if he knew what he was telling her by his actions. His feelings for her were self-evident. The question was, would he ever admit it? Or would he continue to live under the shadow of his father's betrayal? God help her, she loved him, so she took another deep breath and rolled the dice on the biggest gamble of her life. ―I'll do it. I'll move into the condo.‖ Arietta knew from his expression that she'd made the right decision. His face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning, his body vibrating like a new puppy. As though he couldn't contain himself any longer, he tackled her, pinning her body beneath his on the luxurious sofa as he rained kisses on her face. ―Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I'll take care of you. You'll never want for anything, I promise. You won't regret it.‖ His words rang with the sincerity of a wedding vow as the kisses continued unabated. Arietta returned them, suddenly wanting him with even-greater intensity. He took her mouth, sucking and biting her lips until she was left gasping for air. Then he was gone. Arietta stared up at him in owlish confusion. ―This time I'm going to have you in a bed,‖ Trip said as he stood up. He took her hand and tugged her into the bedroom after him. A brief detour into the bathroom produced a shiny strip of condoms. Arietta eyed them dubiously. ―You're a bit optimistic, aren't you?‖ Trip grinned as he joined her on the bed. ―I'm pretty sure I'll have to run down to the gift shop to buy more.‖ Arietta shook her head. ―No, I have my own stash.‖ He bore down on her, his mouth seeking hers. ―Have to love a lady who carries her own stash. I want you so goddamned much.‖

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Arietta sighed into his mouth, her body immediately responding to his touch. Desperate to feel his flesh again, she reached for the bottom of his T-shirt, only to be thwarted when he grabbed her hands and pinned them to her sides. ―No,‖ he said, following the word with a quick bite to her neck. The brief pain shot through her like an arrow, and her clit throbbed against the soft fabric of her pajamas. ―I want to take my time. I want to immerse myself in you and bathe in your essence. I want to make you scream, and if I get naked, it'll be over too soon.‖ Before she knew what had happened, he'd stripped her of her pajama bottoms and the camisole she wore with them. The cool, conditioned air wafted over her, but instead of cooling her, it served to inflame her senses. She looked into his fevered gaze, suddenly leery of what he intended. With her thighs pressed together, she squirmed on the rumpled bed. No matter what he had in mind, she was ready for it and more.

Trip knelt at the foot of the bed, looking down at Arietta sprawled against the luxurious sheets like a pagan sacrifice. Her long, graceful limbs stood out in high relief against the white linens, and he stared at her, gorging himself on her beauty. He raised one of her delicately arched feet to his mouth and rubbed it against his face—and then again. After a moment, he took one of her toes between his lips and sucked on it gently. He watched as her eyes slowly closed, her hips moving ever so softly against the bed. Increasing the pressure, he took ta toe into his mouth, then moved down to take a delicate nip out of the arch of her foot, smiling when he heard a soft, involuntary cry fall from her lips. Taking his time, he focused on the sensual beauty of one body part at a time, knowing that if he didn't, he would lose control. Her calves looked enticing, and he moved farther up her legs. He took one calf in hand and kneaded it gently before doing the same to the other. Wanting to explore further, he turned her over onto her stomach, leaving her body open to him like a sumptuous buffet. He nipped gently at the back of her knees, and her hips moved with increasing speed. He wasn't sure, but he thought she might be purring. Her perfectly round thighs lay before him like pillars guarding a temple of Aphrodite. He stroked his hands up and down them, luxuriating in the silken skin. Her legs parted, inviting him to bury himself in the erotic ecstasy

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to be found there. Looking up, he saw the bubble-gum pink hue of her swollen pussy lips standing out in vivid contrast to the tight, dark curls covering them. Suddenly it was almost too much. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth to keep a tenuous hold on his control. His cock was raging within the confines of his loose pajama bottoms, but he wasn't finished yet. Driven by a primal need to mark her as his, to give her so much pleasure she could never think of another man, he leaned down and took a nip out of one luscious ass cheek. Her hips arched off the bed as she cried out. He could see her pussy juices glistening against her richly toned skin, begging him to taste. Unable to resist, he leaned forward and licked her, the flat of his tongue abrading her flesh from her clit to her pussy opening. Again and again his tongue followed her slit as she squirmed beneath him, her body arching off the bed, begging for more. He placed his hand on the small of her back to hold her in place as he thrust his tongue deep inside her, explored the walls of her pussy, sought each sensitive centimeter, determined to make her lose her mind with pleasure. He probed the tight confines of her anus with a finger, loving the feel of her muscles tightening around him. His tongue and finger plunged in concert until she was practically vibrating with pleasure. He could feel her teetering on the verge of an orgasm, and he took her clit between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed gently. With that, her juices flooded his mouth as she came; her body arched as she cried out in ecstasy. The scent of her arousal rose to tantalize his senses, and her skin glowed with a sheen from her exertions. For a moment he tried to resist, to continue his exploration, but Arietta looked up at him over her shoulder. ―Trip, please fuck me.‖ With those few words she set off an inferno that he couldn't deny any longer. Trip stood up on the side of the bed and pulled off his pajamas. He grabbed his cock with one hand and stroked from tip to base, his movement thoroughly lubricated with precum. He did it again, shivering from the pleasure of jacking himself while she lay there, one hand stroking her parted labia as she watched him avidly. Unable to bear even another second without burying himself deep in her honeyed depths, he picked up the condoms he'd left on the bedside table and tore one off. Arietta sat up on the side of the bed and took the foil packet from his unresisting hands. She tore it open and removed the latex sheath; then, in a move that would've done any porn star proud, she rolled it over his cock so slowly that he was convinced he'd die from pleasure before she finished. Her eyes met his, and she gave him a shy smile.

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Trip slid his lips over hers and parted them with his tongue in a silken preview of what was to come. Then she got up on all fours, a blatant invitation to what he so desperately needed. He stood behind her, palming the globes of her ass and loving the firm roundness under his hands. Then he began slowly sliding the head of his cock into her pussy, inch by tantalizing inch. She squirmed, trembling beneath him as though in unbearable pleasure. Finally unable to delay his gratification any longer, he slammed into her as deeply as he could, their voices harmonized as they cried out their pleasure. He was no longer capable of thinking, only feeling, as she received him and gave him ecstasy in return. Again and again he plunged her depth. The guttural cries forced from his throat were barely human. When his orgasm finally crashed over him, his neck arched back involuntarily, and then he collapsed against Arietta's back, his muscles having lost the ability to support him. He lay there, her body pinned beneath his, and knew he never wanted to be anywhere else.

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Chapter Six The condominium was as fabulous as she'd anticipated. Arietta stood in the doorway, all but speechless as she tried to absorb the splendor of the most opulent living space this side of Versailles. She finally dared to take a delicate step into the marble foyer. The totally marble foyer. Floor and walls were covered in Italian marble in a chocolate-and-cream harlequin pattern that sparkled under the light emitted by a chandelier that seemed to be made entirely of incredibly delicate glass bubbles. As she looked up at it, Arietta found herself holding her breath for fear of shattering them. Bubbles of all sizes dispersed the light in a voluptuous counterpoint to the linear pattern in the marble. She continued down the foyer into the living room to the right, where she stood shaking her head in amazement at the vision before her. ―Who's your interior decorator? Tiffany's?‖ she asked, trying to take in the leather, chrome, and crystal array before her. Dark walnut, wide-plank flooring contrasted with the creamy white leather sectional that sat on a fluffy flokati rug that was one shade darker. The sofa faced a massive marble fireplace with a design that echoed the harlequin pattern from the foyer. The contrasts in textures and colors were soothing and invited guests to relax in absolute comfort. Trip followed her into the room, laughing softly at her comment. ―My broker told me it was pretty awesome.‖ Arietta looked at him over her shoulder. ―Your broker told you? Please tell me you didn't buy something this expensive without seeing it first. You mean you have people to do this for you too?‖ He shrugged. ―Sweets, I'm an investor; if I know the broker and the property, as I did with this deal, I'll buy it sight unseen. There are no bad apartments in this development. It's five-star all the way. But here's the money shot.‖ He walked over to the wall of windows that took up one whole side of the room and pulled a cord. The panels, which had been opaque, now became

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translucent as they revealed an astonishing view. Piedmont Park, in all its verdant glory, sprawled before them forty floors below. ―Unbelievable,‖ she said. ―I've never seen anything like this. I can't believe they left all their furniture and everything.‖ ―They bought a beach house. These furnishings would hardly suit. Do you like it? We can have it redecorated, if you prefer.‖ Arietta looked at him askance. ―What's not to like? Everything is perfect. I wouldn't change a thing.‖ He smiled. It took her a moment to realize it, but he actually looked relieved. As though he really had been worried she wouldn't like the place. ―I'm glad you like it—‖ And that's when she saw it. It sat in pristine splendor directly across from the wall of windows. The cream-colored baby grand piano lured her like a siren's call. She touched it, unable to resist the lure of its sinuous lines, which curved almost like a seashell, like a wave coming to shore. ―Ohmigod, it's a Fazioli. I never thought I'd ever get to play one of these.‖ Trip's smile broadened to a grin. ―Odd how no one bothered to mention the piano.‖ ―Philistines,‖ Arietta muttered as she sat down on the bench. She looked down at the Fazioli's trademark fourth pedal, which lowered the keyboard closer to the strings inside the piano. She immediately put the instrument through its paces, going from triple pianissimo to triple fortissimo in a flurry of keys. ―Ohmigod, it's unbelievable.‖ ―So are you going to play ―Misty‖ for me?‖ Trip placed his hands on her shoulders. Arietta leaned back against his chest and shivered as she remembered their lovemaking from the day before. She stood up and turned to face him in his loose embrace. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips against his. ―No, I'm going to wait until you play it for me.‖ He deepened the kiss for a moment, and it wasn't long before his shivers matched hers. ―And what will be my reward?‖ ―It depends on how good your pedagogy is.‖ ―Oh, you've seen my pedagogy.‖ ―Are you resting on your laurels already?‖ Arietta teased.

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He took the seat she'd vacated, but before he could start playing, his phone began to vibrate. He hesitated, as though he intended to ignore the call, but then he sighed and pulled the offending gadget out of his inside breast pocket. He glanced at the Caller ID and answered the phone. Arietta drifted into the kitchen to give him some privacy and was again amazed by the luxury. Candy-apple red countertops and an array of professional-grade stainless-steel appliances stood out against the exotic lines of zebrawood cabinets. Trip came into the kitchen, the handsome lines of his face marred by a frown. ―Sweets, I've got to go.‖ Arietta walked over to him and smoothed the frown lines with a light touch. ―I thought as much. A real-estate mogul's work is never done,‖ she said with a lightness she didn't feel. She'd looked forward to having the rest of the day with him. The smile he gave her in return was vague; his mind was already a million miles away. Or was that a million dollars? ―All your things have already been moved in. I had them put away, but you can always call the housekeeper if you need anything moved.‖ ―Housekeeper? Trip, I think I'm capable of moving a few things around, if necessary, but your people have been incredibly capable thus far. I'm sure I'll be happy with whatever they've done.‖ Trip nodded, then leaned down to give her a brief kiss. Before it could get interesting, he was gone. Arietta stood in the middle of the opulent living room after his departure, feeling incredibly pampered but lonelier than she had in her entire life.

***** Arietta slammed her hand against the dashboard of her car, then automatically patted it in mute apology. It wasn't the car's fault; she'd been driving it since high school. Besides, Sister Girl Corolla was quite sensitive and might not ever start again if her feelings were hurt. In a practiced move, Arietta pumped the accelerator in a vain attempt to start the car, but she knew from the engine's total nonresponse that it was the alternator. She raised her eyes heavenward. When it rained… Her dinner date with Trip was supposed to start more than a quarter hour ago. He'd been trying to buy her a new car for weeks, nagging her about the danger of being out at night in an

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unreliable car. She knew he was right, but she'd already let him do too much for her. Giving in to frustration, she turned the key in the ignition one more time. There was no way out of it. She was going to have to call him.

***** ―I hesitate to ask, but what is this?‖ ―I know you were a music major, sweets, but I would've thought you'd recognize a motor vehicle.‖ ―That's a Range Rover.‖ Arietta looked around their building's underground parking garage. The dark taupe SUV was in her assigned slot next to his BMW. ―What did you do with my car?‖ ―I hesitate to call that collection of duct tape and kite string a car—‖ ―The duct tape is only on my rear bumper. Somebody backed into me and didn't leave their contact information the first week I was here.‖ Trip shook his head as if the notion of body repair with duct tape was too horrific to contemplate. ―Anyway, your vehicle is in the shop being overhauled. My first instinct was to get rid of it, but I knew that wouldn't go over well. Do you like the car?‖ ―A Range Rover, Trip? Those things cost a mint. I can't take that from you.‖ ―It's just a car. I told you to go to the dealership last week and pick one out. I would've done it, but I've been too busy. If you don't like it, you can get something else. I just want you to have something safe and reliable. You're all over the place teaching. This is no town to be running around in a hoopty, and you know that. It's just a car. A thing. Are you going to fight with me over a thing? You need it, and I have the means to give it to you.‖ Arietta giggled. ―Did you really say hoopty?‖ Trip gave her a grim look. ―Were you listening to me?‖ ―I pretty much missed everything after hoopty.‖ He didn't smile. Arietta sighed. He was right. Her car situation was pretty desperate. And she couldn't help but smile when she thought of the way he'd dismissed such an expensive vehicle as a thing, though she knew that was the way he thought of it. She had a problem, and he had the means to fix it. If she hadn't loved him

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before, she would now. Warmth bloomed through her chest as she stood on tiptoe to give him an appreciative kiss. ―Thank you, Trip. It was a very thoughtful thing for you to do.‖ Trip gave her a sly grin. ―But you know…if you're still feeling obligated or guilty, I was thinking of an interesting way to christen it.‖ ―Trip!‖ ―I was just thinking it would help alleviate your conscience…and assorted other body parts.‖ ―I can't imagine anything I could do in that car that would be worth that kind of money,‖ Arietta said. ―Oh I can,‖ he said, giving her a lascivious grin. His hands smoothed over the thin fabric of her lightweight skirt. ―Besides, this is a public place, and there are cameras…‖ Arietta trailed off, heat rising in her face to match the inferno that suddenly blazed between her thighs. The thought of having Trip out here in the open where anyone could see them was… Oh God, it was such a turn-on. Trip pressed her back against the car. He had her, and he knew it. ―Hmmm, your face looks just a bit red. Don't be embarrassed, sweets. Your secret is safe with me.‖ One hand slid under the skirt to cup her mound. ―You like it when other people watch?‖ Arietta's breath hitched in her throat when he squeezed her ass gently. Then he moved to let one fingernail scrape oh so delicately right over her throbbing clit. She buried her overheated face against his chest. ―No, not watch. I mean, I want them to watch, but I don't want to see them. I just want them to know. Oh God, I'm not making sense.‖ ―Oh, baby,‖ Trip murmured, opening the passenger-side door, ―you're making perfectly good sense.‖ He slipped into the seat and pulled her in astride him. He closed the door with a soft thud. ―Thank God you wore a skirt today.‖ He pushed the garment up to her waist. He looked down at her black silk panties, which contrasted with her rich brown skin. ―Too bad it's not a thong, but that still looks hotter than hell,‖ he said, rubbing his hands over the slick moisture that had accumulated on her upper thighs. He licked the silken fluid off his fingers, then gave her a

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sample to taste. Then he slipped two fingers beneath the opening of her panties. ―Jesus, you're soaking wet.‖ Arietta took his face in her hands as her mouth descended to his. She sucked his tongue, loving the feel of its hot slickness in her mouth. He'd already freed his cock from his pants, and she took it between her hands. She stroked it, sliding the profuse precum from the head to the base as he shivered with need beneath her. He raised her hips from his briefly as he fished a condom out of his trouser pocket. ―Do you just have those things everywhere you go?‖ ―With you around, I'd be a fool not to,‖ he said as he unrolled the latex sheath over his penis. Still holding the base, he slid her back over him and shoved her panties to one side and slipped his cock into her pussy. His neck arched back as he gritted his teeth. Arietta watched transfixed as his body slid into hers. Every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation. He grabbed her hips between both hands, pulling her up and down with increasing force. Her body caught up in a wave of pleasure, she held his shoulders as tightly as she could to give her traction as she rode along on the tempest. She could feel it squeezing in her belly. The coil tightened and tightened and tightened with the promise of cataclysmic release. Then it snapped with gasping suddenness, leaving her limp in its wake. Trip didn't pause, just began grinding her hips down over his as though he couldn't get enough, couldn't get deep enough, and before she could catch her breath, another orgasm slammed into her. The hands on her hips were painful now; she would have some lovely bruises tomorrow. Trip's back arched beneath her as he cried out in ecstasy. It seemed to go on forever, his face contorted into what looked like agony. But she knew better. Finally he collapsed beneath her. She rested her forehead against his, their panting breath in perfect sync as their racing pulses gradually slowed. The scent of their lovemaking mixed with the new-car and leather scents of the car. That aroma would always be an aphrodisiac. ―You're a bad influence, Miss Hathaway. What would my saintly mother say?‖

***** ―Nice digs. They say pimping ain't easy, but it sure is profitable.‖ ―Pimping?‖ Arietta gave Gabriel an exasperated look as he stood gaping at her living room. ―Surely at the most I'm guilty of whoring. Seriously, Gabe, with friends like these…‖

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―Hey, I'm not knocking your hustle, old girl. Swear to God.‖ He stooped as though compelled to run his fingers over the downy texture of the flokati on the living-room floor. ―Well, it's not sable, but this thing's unbelievable, makes me want to curl up in the fetal position right on top of it.‖ He gave her an arch look. ―Of course, I haven't looked in your closet yet. It could be full of sables and decorations bought at Tiffany's.‖ Arietta rolled her eyes at him. ―Do you think I would accept such things?‖ she asked, wondering if this entire conversation would consist solely of ―Santa Baby‖ references. Goodness knows Gabe was capable of considerably worse. ―Why not? You've already got the duplex. If you could call this place—‖ He stopped midsentence, a look of awe transforming the classic lines of his face. ―Oh my fucking God, you really do have a Fazioli.‖ He approached the instrument with a reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts. He stroked it, caressed it, and cooed to it as though it were a beautiful woman or an adored child. He continued for so long that finally Arietta lost patience. ―For God's sake, Gabe, stop dry humping the piano and listen to me!‖ The reverence was replaced by anguish. ―You are going to let me play it, aren't you?‖ ―Of course you can play it. I've done little else for the past three days. The sound is so sweet, it'll give you cavities, but you're supposed to accompany me on this new record, remember? Do you think I'm doing the right thing?‖ ―Recording the charity CD for WJAZ? Of course it's the right thing. You'll get tons of exposure, and they sell those at Christmas—‖ ―Not the CD, idiot. Do you think I'm doing the right thing moving in here? Letting Trip take care of me?‖ ―For the love of God, he gave you a Fazioli. It's not a platinum mine, but I'll take it.‖ ―It's not my piano; the previous owners sold it with the condo. It didn't suit their new beach house.‖ ―And what else did they leave? A Stradivarius in the broom closet? Do you have any idea who I would fuck for a Fazioli?‖ His face crinkled in a frown of concentration. ―Actually I can't think of anyone I wouldn't fuck to get my hands on this baby.‖ ―Gabe!‖ she yelled, trying to get him back on topic. He always talked as though he lacked principles or ethics, but she'd never seen any evidence of it.

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―Look, sweetheart. From where I sit, Trip comes across as a righteous brother. Saw that his woman was in danger and immediately put her somewhere safe. What's the problem? What did you expect a rich cat like him to do? He's got the motive and the means. Why would he do otherwise? Hell, if I weren't practically a squatter, I would've moved you out my damned self. So can you tell me what's the problem?‖ Gabe's living arrangements were always more than a bit murky. Arietta thought it better not to inquire too deeply. ―He's keeping me, Gabe,‖ Arietta said in a soft whisper. ―Let's see, you're sleeping with the guy, and everyone in the twenty-two-county metro area knows that's not going to stop anytime soon.‖ After their performance at Pink, she could hardly deny it, so she didn't say anything. ―Near as I can tell, your problem is that you're sleeping with him in a condo he paid for. Presumably, at some point, you would've been sleeping with him at his place anyway. What's the diff?‖ ―I just feel like a whore.‖ Gabe stroked the two days' worth of stubble on his chin. She'd told him before that he was one of the few men who didn't wear the look well. His swarthy skin and full features looked better clean shaven. The stubble made him look as though he'd come off a three-day bender. ―Really?‖ he asked, still rubbing his chin. ―What makes you feel like a whore? Sleeping with the man you love?‖ He paused and gave her a sardonic look when she gasped. ―Everybody knows you two are nuts for each other. So you're sleeping with the man you love in a lavish condo, and nobody's bleeding or dying. Tell me the problem again.‖ ―You know the problem. I wasn't raised to do this sort of thing.‖ ―You weren't raised to be a lady singing the blues either, but you sure as hell are doing it, aren't you?‖ ―Now that's a point.‖ ―Listen, chica—and let me point out that time spent talking nonsense with you is time I could be playing the most incredible piano I've ever seen, so I'll keep this pithy—you're sleeping with the cat you love. You're doing it in his house, which you probably would've eventually been doing anyway. Stop acting like you're the biggest whore in Atlanta. I happen to know her, and

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she'd be pissed to the back teeth if she heard a rank amateur like you trying to claim her crown. Look, a man takes care of his woman. He keeps her safe. Whether it's atop the Four Seasons or a squat in Buttermilk Bottoms. That's what a man does, and if he doesn't, he's not a man and not worthy of respect.‖ ―Did you say Buttermilk Bottoms? Where on earth is that?‖ Arietta asked, shocked into forgetting that she really didn't want to know where Gabe lived. Gabriel just shook his head. ―Are you going to let me play this manifestation of fine Italian craftsmanship, or are you going to just whine all fucking night?‖

As Arietta expected, their practice session went very well. Once Gabriel got past his love affair with the piano, he helped her develop an arrangement for the old standard ―Santa Baby.‖ She still found it hard to believe that she'd been asked to record a song on this Christmas CD. WJAZ was the city's most popular station, and the proceeds from the sales went to sickle-cell anemia research. They always used local talent, and competition for the slots was cutthroat. Musicians went to great lengths to be included. Even though there was no money to be made, the exposure was positively priceless. She hadn't even been in town for a year, and while she had a very loyal following, she suspected that Trip had pulled some strings to get her one of the coveted invitations. Not really wanting to know the answer, she hadn't asked him about it. ―So do you think this arrangement will work?‖ she asked Gabe. ―Yeah, I think this one is good. Are you going with 'Mercedes convertible'?‖ ―I think so. 'BMW' has too many syllables. I'm still not sure about 'Come and trim my Christmas tree,' though. Eartha purred it—‖ ―She purred everything.‖ ―So I don't want to do that. I want it to sound almost like a command.‖ She hummed a few notes, trying to get a feel for what she wanted, then sang the line full out. ―How about that?‖ Gabe nodded. ―I like that, but if you put the emphasis on 'trim' and go just a bit more staccato, I think it'll have the effect you want.‖ He sang the line to show what he meant. Gabe's was a pitch-perfect tenor, but he would never be a singer. Arietta nodded. ―Okay. I think you're right.‖ She sang again, slowing down and enunciating the words as Gabe had done. ―Oh that's great. I like that.‖

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―Yeah, I think that's the right vibe. Are you sure you want to go with minor keys, though? It makes it sound really dark. What made you pick that song anyway?‖ he asked. ―It's always been one of my favorite Christmas songs.‖ ―Hmmm, you sure it's not a Freudian thing?‖ ―For God's sake, Gabe, sometimes a Christmas song is just a Christmas song. I'm nothing like that character. I wanted to pick something no one else would be doing. Eartha Kitt was absolutely phenomenal. I think it would be a sacrilege to try to remake it, though. I think it's better to do my own thing with it.‖ ―It's definitely different. You sound a bit like Billie Holiday—if Billie Holiday were a dominatrix.‖ Arietta shook her head. ―That's outright sacrilege. I'm seriously starting to wonder why I keep you around.‖ Gabe launched into an improv on the arrangement they'd just completed. As extraordinary as he was on the trumpet, she thought he was actually a better pianist. She'd never tell him that, though. He loved that horn as though it were a body part.

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Chapter Seven The distinctive buzz of the security monitor interrupted Arietta in the midst of getting undressed. She'd just finished with her last student of the day and was in no mood for guests. Fortunately Gabe, who was the only person she could imagine visiting her, would understand. She pressed the Response button and started a bit when she saw the concierge, resplendent in his Klingon Halloween costume, but she almost swallowed her tongue when she recognized her sister Lyric. What in the name of all living hell was she doing here? For a moment Arietta considered ignoring the concierge, but she knew her sister well enough to know she wouldn't leave until Arietta let her in, and Lyric was not beyond making an awful scene to get her way. If only she hadn't given them her new address, but moving without letting her family know was out of the question. It had never occurred to her that anyone would come visit. They had all been as angry as her parents when she left. Fortunately none of them was familiar enough with the city to recognize the ritzy address. Apparently she'd miscalculated their enmity. Her mind whirled as she tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for her grand accommodations. When she opened the door to Lyric, her sister's tearstained face drove every other thought from her head. ―What's going on? Did something happen to Mama and Daddy?‖ Even as she asked the question, Arietta realized that made no sense. Surely if her parents were sick, someone would simply have called. She frowned in confusion at her sister. Lyric shook her head vigorously and barely managed to get out the word ―James‖ before she collapsed sobbing on her sister's shoulder. Arietta's frown deepened. James was Lyric's husband. They had married right out of high school and had been together for more than fifteen years. She and Lyric were of similar height and build, but the unexpected deadweight almost took Arietta off her feet. She led Lyric over to the sofa and sat with her until the flow of tears finally

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slowed. She stepped briefly into the hall bathroom and returned with a box of tissues. Removing several from the box, she helped her sister wipe her wet face. ―What happened to James?‖ Arietta asked. ―He…he…he doesn't love me anymore,‖ Lyric wailed. She was the only person in the family with a greater range than Arietta's, and her pitch made Arietta grateful she didn't own any crystal. ―What? James has been in love with you since y'all used to throw pinecones at each other over the back fence.‖ ―There's someone else. He's got another woman.‖ Arietta closed her eyes briefly, thanking God that Trip was working late and wouldn't be coming by that evening. She stood and walked into the kitchen. ―Let me get you some water,‖ she said, buying herself some time to think. Her first thought was to call her mother, but Lyric had a tendency to fly off the handle with little provocation. This was probably just another one of her wild flights of fancy. Bringing their mother into it before she really knew what was going on, was a bad idea. Handing her sister the water glass, she continued. ―I don't believe this for a minute. You're the center of that man's universe. Remember when he used to bribe me with candy bars not to tell Mama y'all were out there kissing?‖ Lyric smiled through the tears. ―Butterfingers. You always loved Butterfingers.‖ The tears flowed anew. ―But we can't have kids.‖ ―I think Adagio is well over his quota.‖ Her remaining four siblings had eighteen children among them, with ten belonging to Adagio. Lyric and James were the only childless couple in at least three generations. The old family joke didn't get so much as a smile out of her sister. They had been trying to conceive from the day they married. Lyric had cried many bitter tears as a result. ―I know, but I thought y'all planned to adopt. Mama told me last week that you had registered with an agency.‖ Lyric nodded. ―Yes. He seemed so excited, but Val said Marjorie Peters told her.‖ Arietta couldn't help it; despite her best efforts, she couldn't keep her mouth closed. Marjorie was the biggest gossip in the tricounty area and as accurate as an atomic clock. Her confidence shaken, Arietta struggled to collect her thoughts. ―Did you ask James about this?‖

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―Of course not. What if he says it's true? Then what would I do?‖ she wailed, sounding like a petulant child. Arietta just barely held on to her patience. Even for Lyric, this was crazy. Why had she just taken off without even talking to the man? ―So what are you going to do—run away from home?‖ Her sister looked so pitiful that Arietta felt guilty and swallowed the rest of her words of recrimination. No matter what, they weren't going to make any progress tonight. ―Look, why don't I fix you some supper? It's too late to drive back to Maple Fork, so you can stay here. You need to tell James where you are. Tomorrow, after you've got some rest, you'll be thinking more clearly.‖ Or at least as clearly as Lyric ever thought. Lyric blew her nose and wiped her streaming eyes. ―Yeah. Yeah. I guess I am hungry,‖ she said, reaching for a piece of candy from the huge bowl of Halloween candy on the coffee table. Arietta sighed. Trip had insisted on buying the candy even though she couldn't imagine that there were any trick-or-treaters in the building. Now she was stuck trying to get rid of it. She made a mental note to send most of it home with Lyric, who had a notorious sweet tooth and never gained a pound. Lyric grabbed another couple of pieces of candy, then rose from the sofa to follow Arietta into the kitchen. ―This is a nice place.‖ Arietta paused in midstride. Okay, this is it. Here come the unanswerable questions. She and Lyric had always been close, and Arietta was tempted to simply tell her sister the truth. But Lyric had never been able to keep a secret, and Arietta wasn't ready to hear the fire-andbrimstone speech from her parents. When Lyric said nothing more, Arietta gave her quizzical look, then breathed a sigh of relief. How could she have forgotten how self-absorbed Lyric was? Had it been their oldest sister, Melody, who'd turned up unexpectedly, Arietta knew she would've been on the receiving end of an inquisition that would've put Ferdinand and Isabella to shame. Lyric, on the other hand, seldom noticed anything that didn't directly have an impact on her or James. Still, even for her this level of self-absorption was extraordinary.

***** The next morning Lyric was lot less distraught, though hardly less teary-eyed, but Arietta was pretty sure that when she got home and actually talked to her husband, it would just be a misunderstanding. At least she hoped so. There hadn't been any divorces in their family, but as

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much as Lyric loved James, Arietta couldn't imagine her sister tolerating infidelity. She considered warning Lyric not to tell the family about her condo, but it seemed Lyric hadn't noticed. It was probably best to let that sleeping dog lie. With any luck, by the time her parents came to town to check on her, she'd be back in a place of her own.

***** Arietta sang along with an Anita Baker CD as she added a dash of wine to the barbecue shrimp she had simmering on the cooktop. In the three months since she'd moved into the condo, she and Trip had had fallen into a comfortable pattern. Most days they had dinner at the condo, after which Trip would spend the night. If he had to work later or she was performing at Pink, they would have takeout or a late supper at a local restaurant. For the past week or so, though, she'd rarely seen him at all, and she'd begun to wonder about his absences. Trip came into the kitchen and stood behind her as she dished the meal into serving bowls. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed the back of her neck, sending a wave of pure lust through her. It hadn't taken her long to get accustomed to regular loving; a week without him, and her ―girlfriend‖ was in dire need of some attention. From the feel of his heavy erection against her bottom, she suspected that he'd missed her too. ―Sorry I'm late, sweets. It's been absolute pandemonium at the office lately. What's for dinner?‖ ―Barbecue shrimp, asparagus, and rice.‖ ―Sounds great.‖ He kissed the back of her neck again, then walked over to the refrigerator. ―Would you like some wine?‖ he asked, holding up a bottle of pinot grigio. Arietta nodded, and he poured two glasses before taking them into the dining room. Then he returned to help her with the serving dishes. ―You've had to work late a lot here lately. Is something wrong?‖ Trip grinned as he placed a double portion of shrimp onto his plate. It hadn't taken her long to discover his love of shrimp. Just in the time they'd been together, the man had single-handedly wiped out whole genetic lines of the little beasties. ―What's wrong, sweets? Have you missed me? I thought you'd be too busy working yourself to even notice.‖ A sip of wine helped Arietta gather her thoughts. She'd been very careful not to reveal her feelings for him; after all, he'd established very clear boundaries. On the other hand, she didn't

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see any point in lying either. ―Of course I've missed you. We wrapped on the CD two days ago. I swear, I think I saw you more often before I moved into this place.‖ ―How did the recording session go?‖ Trip asked without addressing her complaint. ―It went well. The producer was really thrilled and kept saying that this CD was going to sell bigger than any they've had before. He said he wanted me to do two songs, but he didn't want a riot on his hands. Of course, Gabe said he only said that to get into my drawers.‖ ―Oh really?‖ Trip said mildly. There was something about those words that was a bit menacing. ―I'm glad things went well,‖ he said and then took a huge bite of shrimp. Arietta waited until he'd completed his meal, then returned to the topic at hand. ―Trip?‖ ―Hmmm?‖ he murmured, sopping up sauce with a bit of crusty bread. ―You never answered my question. Is everything okay?‖ Trip raised his head, and for a brief instant his face was marked with despair and…fear. Fear? Before that moment she would've sworn that Trip feared nothing less devastating than nuclear winter. The expression was so fleeting that she finally decided she had imagined it. ―Everything is fine. Why do you ask?‖ He popped the last bit of bread into his mouth, washing it down with a sip of wine; then he propped his elbows up on the back of the chair. He'd shed the jacket to his charcoal gray pin-striped suit when he came home. Now his relaxed pose pulled the fabric of his cobalt blue shirt against his chest, showing off the hard-earned muscles there to their best advantage. Trip almost always wore some shade of blue to emphasize the already-intense color of his eyes. ―You've got to be kidding? I watch the news, and it seems like every day the economy gets scarier.‖ She stood up and began clearing the table. After a moment's hesitation, Trip joined her. They cleaned up the kitchen fairly quickly, and Trip poured each of them another glass of wine before they went into the living room. Trip sat down at the piano and started picking out notes with his left hand, while he kept his wineglass in his right. Arietta used the remote to turn on the gas-powered fireplace. It wasn't really cold enough for a fire, but she still found it relaxing, even when they had to turn on the air-conditioning with it. She sat down on the rug in front of the fire, staring into the flames. Before long she recognized the tune he was playing and began humming along to ―Desperado.‖ With some difficulty, she resisted the urge to point out the irony of the song's central theme—a man who

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won't love—but Trip was in a contemplative mood, and she knew from experience that sometimes the songs just came with no thought from the musician. Then he shocked her for a second time that evening when he began singing the song. His rich baritone was remarkably smooth and pitch-perfect. Arietta stared at him in astonishment but couldn't resist joining in. Harmonizing with him was incredibly easy, and when he transitioned into ―You Were Always on My Mind,‖ she continued with him. Willie Nelson was one of her favorite composers, and she enjoying singing his songs, though she didn't often get a chance to do so in public. Most people were too obsessed with music genres to appreciate the wide variety of music that she did. After a while, Trip apparently tired of playing music, because he joined her on the rug in front of the fire, placing her between his spread legs. She leaned into him, totally surrounded by his potent masculinity. They sat for a while simply staring at the fire, and then he spoke up. ―You know I'll always take care of you?‖ ―Trip—‖ ―Just answer me. You know that, right?‖ His arms tightened around her. Arietta closed her eyes. ―Yes. I know.‖ Something was wrong. Very wrong. ―Trip—‖ She began speaking, only to have him cut her off with a kiss. She returned it, wanting to comfort and soothe him. He took what she offered and then sucked on her mouth like a desperate man. She returned the kiss, her hunger intensified in response to his. She followed the strong lines of his neck with her mouth, sucking and then biting gently on the tendons there. Impatiently unbuttoning his shirt, she continued loving his torso with her mouth and tongue; then she pressed him down until he was supine on the rug. When she took one of his nipples between her teeth, a groan escaped from his mouth, urging her on. Normally she would have taken her time, but it had been too long. She needed to taste him, feel his essence on her tongue. She made short work of unfastening his trousers and slipped her hand inside to free his erect cock. Without preamble, she took him between her lips, sliding them over the deep purple head. Her tongue circled the tip over and over. The salty taste of his precum was an aphrodisiac, urging her on until she took his entire length into her mouth. Trip screamed out his pleasure. His body arched until only his shoulders and heels remained in contact with the floor. Arietta murmured her own pleasure, her voice vibrating against his penis.

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She breathed in deeply to inhale his intensely masculine scent, then wrapped her hand around the shaft of his penis. It seemed to swell and grow even harder beneath her hand, the thick veining throbbing at an ever-increasing rate. She lowered her head farther to delicately lick him from the base to the tip, as though enjoying an ice-cream cone. With his groans egging her on, she did it again and then again. Then she took in his cockhead, sucking it gently against the roof of her mouth while she swirled it with her tongue. She slipped out her tongue to give it a single lick along the cleft at the bottom of the head. His hips jerked slightly, and she felt an answering surge of excitement. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled her lips back and ran her tongue around the edge of his cockhead again. She licked and kissed her way down the shaft, all the way to the base, then did the same back up the other side. She licked all around the head, wetting it with her saliva. Her hand slid up from the shaft to tighten on the head and give a light twist. She squeezed it and began to pump up and down. His pleased moans and heavy breathing let her know how much he enjoyed her actions. Arietta took her hand off the head of his cock and cupped his balls. She gently rolled them in her palm. Then she leaned forward and took a long, wet lick around the head of his cock, licking up the copious precum that leaked out. ―I love the taste of your cock,‖ she said, looking up at him with a smile. She took his whole cock into her mouth again and continued with greater intensity. No longer teasing, she wanted nothing more than to feel him erupt in her mouth. She pumped her hand rapidly up and down his shaft. It slid easily with the coating of his juices and her saliva. Her strokes were becoming shallow as her lips worked farther down. She still rolled his balls in her hand and lightly massaged them. To give him a little shock, she gave his scrotum a small squeeze as she raked her teeth across his head. Trip jerked at the sharp sensation, but his cock also stiffened as his heart rate flared. He let out a throaty growl through clenched teeth. The combination of the gentle pressure and the velvety softness of her tongue seemed to drive him mad. He grabbed her head while he arched his hips, pushing her into even-closer contact. Deep pleasure began throbbing in Arietta's clit from having him at her mercy this way. He was totally in her thrall. Only she could give him the release, the intense pleasure, he so desperately sought. He began to pull her head down so that she would take in more of his cock. Arietta moved her hands to his thighs so she could take him deeper into her consuming mouth. She took him all the way in, until her nose was pressed into his trim pubic hair. Her lips were wrapped around him

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again in a crushing stranglehold as her head bobbed up and down his shaft. Her soft tongue pressed against his cock and rubbed hard against it as her mouth rose and sank on his cock. He hardly needed to guide her head with his hand as she eagerly worked him. Arietta groaned in pleasure as she took his penis as deeply as she could into her mouth. Her excitement intensified by his responsive moans, she repeatedly circled his cockhead with her tongue. Her hand latched back onto his shaft to pump hard for even-more sensation. This added intensity seemed to push him to the edge at light speed. His breathing grew faster and his groans more primal. Sensing that he was about to come, she tightened her lips around the head of his penis and sucked harder. With her hand, she jacked along his shaft as quickly as she could. Her lips locked tight around the head, and she began to suck hard. He shook as he found release at last.

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Chapter Eight Trip looked up as his mother paused in the arched doorway of the dining room of his family home. ―So lovely of you to join us for breakfast this morning, Stanton. I don't think any of us have seen you in months. There's a rumor that you'd actually run away from home. Not that I would blame you, but it would seem bad form for a man your age.‖ Trip took a sip of coffee. ―Good morning, Mother. I thought I'd join you for the conference at Emily's school this morning. Is she still being difficult?‖ Carol Wakefield strolled into the room. Before taking a seat at the stately walnut dining table, she gave Trip a warm kiss and a hug. ―You know Emily. She thrives on being difficult.‖ She tilted her head and gave him an exasperated look. Carol favored soft pastel colors that flattered her trim form. Today she wore one of her countless cashmere sweater sets in a delicate rose pink. With the morning sun streaming through the bay window glinting attractively on her discreetly highlighted blonde bob, she looked considerably younger than her fifty-eight years. There was something in her eyes, though, an echo of pain, of suffering, that told the truth of her age and more. ―Well, if she gets kicked out this time, I'm enrolling her in public school,‖ Trip said. ―Dear God,‖ she said, raising her hands to her neck, ―that's precisely what that silly girl wants. Public school. No one in this family has ever attended public school.‖ She said the last two words as though they were something foul she couldn't wait to get out of her mouth. His mother reached to the center of the table, where the housekeeper had placed eggs, toast, and assorted breakfast meats. After retrieving a single slice of toast and a sparse spoonful of scrambled eggs, she poured a cup of coffee, which like the toast, she left plain. ―Campbell and Mason do go to Georgia Tech,‖ Trip pointed out.

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―Georgia Tech could hardly be considered a public school,‖ she said with a sniff. ―You're not going to believe what she called me last night.‖ Trip looked at her with a brow raised in inquiry. ―Bourgeoisie. She said I was oppressing and exploiting the proletariat. She accused me of oppressing Clementine. Clementine! If anyone's oppressed in our relationship, it's me!‖ Try as he might, Trip couldn't make his lips stop twitching. Clementine had been their housekeeper for as long as he could remember, and he couldn't imagine a less-oppressed human being. It was all he could do not to laugh out loud. Carol Campbell Stanton Wakefield was many things, but bourgeoisie wasn't one of them. ―Perish the thought. Did you correct her? How could she not recognize you as the aristocrat that you are? You'd think with the money we spend on that girl's education, she would have a better understanding of socialism.‖ ―Stanton! No one talks that communism nonsense with Emily but you. I just can't believe a child of mine would ever have such asinine ideas. I don't know why we're bothering to educate her anyway. She claims she's going to run off to Appalachia or some other godforsaken place to save the proletariat.‖ She said the last sentence as though Appalachia were an alien planet. Maybe to her mind it was. ―Hmmm, and what is the bourgeoisie doing to the proletariat in Appalachia?‖ Trip wondered if his mother even knew where Appalachia was, or that a large part of the region was only a couple of hours' drive from their home. ―Who knows? Something about mountaintop mining or some such foolishness.‖ Trip threw back his head and finally gave in to the laughter that had been strangling him throughout this conversation. Emily was without a doubt the joy of his life. Born shortly before his father left, the girl had been spoiled within an inch of her life and now was prone to taking off on wild tangents. ―I can't believe you're laughing about this. A socialist,‖ his mother said in total disgust. ―Mother, all fifteen-year-olds are socialists or whatever it takes to drive their families crazy. I doubt she'd survive a day in a public school.‖ She gave him a pointed look with a cobalt blue gaze that matched his own. ―Speaking of driving your family crazy…‖

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―Yes?‖ Trip dragged the word out, knowing she was about to start pecking at his business like the mother hen she could be. ―When are we going to meet this young lady you've been spending so much time with?‖ ―Mother—‖ ―Young man?‖ Trip raised his eyes heavenward. ―You know I'm not gay.‖ ―I didn't think so, but I just wanted to let you know I'm open-minded about these things. Marsha Clemons just found out her boy is gay and is absolutely beside herself. Of course, the man is nearly forty and has never had a girlfriend. What on earth was she thinking? Anyway‖— she waved a perfectly manicured hand—―when will we get a chance to meet her. Is she the one? I'd all but given up hope when you and Michelle had that horrible breakup. If you're thinking of proposing, we really should meet her beforehand.‖ Trip closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, hard, as though to erase the current conversation from his memory bank. ―Mother, I've told you before, I'm not getting married.‖ His mother gave him a sad look, then turned to pour coffee into both their cups with the precision of an ancient tea ceremony. She blotted a microscopic spill from the antique walnut table. Just when he thought—hoped—she would say nothing further, she continued. ―So you're going to let your father ruin your life too? He was hardly worth my life, and I was foolish enough to marry him.‖ Trip tried to laugh but found that he couldn't. ―Don't you think you're being a bit melodramatic? Not getting married is not going to ruin my life… It might even save it.‖ The last words were spoken in a barely perceptible whisper, but her expression made it clear that she'd heard every syllable. There was another long silence, and she placed her hand atop his. ―How are you doing, Stanton?‖ Trip looked up at her in surprise. ―I'm doing quite well, actually. Why do you ask?‖ ―You look a bit tired. I've always told you that with your father's complexion, you have to be sure to get your rest or you'll look like hell. You've got circles under your eyes. Hardly surprising with brokerage houses collapsing all over the place. It really was a house of cards, wasn't it? Are you doing okay? You're not worried about money, are you?‖

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Damn. He never could hide anything from his mother. ―Of course not. Everything is fine. Have you ever known me not to take care of things?‖ ―No, I haven't, son, and I think that's the problem.‖ Trip was relieved in the next instant when his sister came rushing into the dining room. He'd never been so glad to see her, even with her flaming red hair in cornrows and her narrow form adorned in typical young socialist attire: cargo pants, Doc Martens, and a T-shirt. ―What? No Che Guevara shirt? I'm really disappointed in you, Em,‖ Trip said. She rolled her eyes as only a teenage girl could. ―Of course not. Comrade Guevara's image has been co-opted and commercialized. They even used his picture to sell liquor, the opiate of the people.‖ Trip gave her a considering look. ―Really? I thought religion was the opiate of the people.‖ Emily pulled the bottom of the oversize shirt so he could see the image more closely. ―This is Patrice Lumumba. Slaughtered by the forces of capitalist imperialism.‖ ―Oh, how very bourgeoisie of me not to recognize him,‖ Trip said mildly. ―But in the interest of maintaining your placement in yet another school that won't refund your tuition when they kick you out, can we tone it down a bit? Maybe Mao or Chiang Kai-shek?‖ ―I don't have any of those,‖ she said with a sad look. ―Lizzie just gave me this one yesterday. She told me my Che shirt was lame.‖ ―Really?‖ He rose from the table and walked over to her. ―Well, you know what they say: rebelling ain't easy.‖ He smiled at his own joke and reached out to pat her head. ―Anyway, let's try to save our political statements for places that don't cost twenty thousand dollars a year. New shirt, Emily, and get a wiggle on or we'll be late.‖ Emily hesitated, but he lowered his brow and gave her a threatening glare, so she turned and flounced out of the room. ―You're a capitalist tool, Trip.‖ ―High praise coming from a trust-fund anarchist,‖ he said with a smile. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard her hiss at him from the stairs.

***** Arietta looked out into the audience, alert as always to Trip's arrival. It had been a rough week, and she looked forward to a relaxing dinner and an early night. She finished the last song

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and returned to the dressing room without doing any encores. Before too long, his knock sounded on the door, and she answered it. ―Hey, baby,‖ she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He pulled her close in an almostpunishing embrace. Arietta paused, enjoying the closeness of his embrace. ―Hey, caveman,‖ she said, pulling back. ―I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but the sequins on this dress are digging into some of the strangest places.‖ For a moment he didn't release her, and she gave him a questioning look. In the dim light of the dressing room, she could see he looked even worse than he had the previous evening. ―Did your meeting at Emily's school go that badly? They didn't kick her out, did they?‖ ―No. No. That's fine,‖ he said absently, as though not really paying attention. That had been happening a lot lately. Of course, she knew that the economy was bad news for pretty much everyone, but when she asked him about it, he always changed the subject. ―What is it, Trip? Are you getting sick?‖ She put a hand to his forehead. Trip shook his head. ―I'm fine. I told you, I'm fine. I just need to talk to you for a moment. Have a seat.‖ He gestured toward a chair. Arietta leaned forward, her anxiety growing as she studied the harsh lines in his face that hadn't been there the previous week. ―What is it? What's going on? You've been acting strange all week.‖ Trip nodded. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then, as though he couldn't get the words out, he closed his eyes and his mouth and ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated movement. ―Okay. No sense in belaboring the point. I'm broke.‖ Arietta couldn't help it. She gasped. Simple common sense would indicate that he'd have some losses, but totally broke? ―What? My God, Trip, what happened?‖ ―Same thing that happened to everyone else. I overextended myself, and now I'm overleveraged. Real estate runs on credit. What with the mortgage meltdown, there is no credit to be had. I have no short-term liquidity, can't get any money to cover my margins. My long-term investments are pretty much fucked too. Oh, the kids will be okay. I've paid their tuition, and the house has been in the family for years, so I'm not homeless, but I'm going to have to liquidate like crazy to cover my puts so I can get back in the game. I just can't believe I've got to do this again.‖

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The horror in his voice penetrated Arietta's confusion. ―Again?‖ He looked at her as though surprised by what he'd said. ―Yeah. When my dad left, he took everything we had. I had to get it all back.‖ ―Well, how did you do it then? Can't you just do that?‖ she asked. ―Metals. Nonferrous and strategic metals. That's where all the money's going to be. Nobody's going to trust anything else.‖ He sighed again, then gave her a broken smile. ―Look, sweets, here's the thing. I can't uphold my end of our deal.‖ He pulled some papers of the breast pocket of his pewter suit. ―The condo…the condo is yours.‖ Arietta gasped. He held up a hand before she could speak. ―It's the least I can do, considering I'm not following through on what I promised.‖ He held the papers out to her, and she took them from his hand; then he stood and walked over to her. Taking her shoulders in his hands, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. His lips lingered against her skin for a brief instant; then he turned and walked out the door. Arietta sat in stunned silence, unable to believe what had just happened. Did he really think she was with him for the money? That hardheaded idiot. How could he not know that she loved him? Or for that matter, that he loved her. Stubborn. Stubborn, proud jackass. Her first impulse was to follow him and give him a piece of her mind, but she knew he'd never listen. Somehow he'd gotten the idea that he was infallible, and he would always have the last word. She stood and began pacing the room. He was doing it again. Taking care of everyone else. Who had ever taken care of him? She thought about the way he'd had his whole family dumped on him when he was only twenty-three. He'd given up his dreams to save his family. Had anyone ever helped him? Knowing Trip, the question was, had he ever let anyone help him? She looked down at the deed she still held in her hand. Thinking about a conversation she'd had last week with a neighbor, the germ of an idea formed in her mind. No matter what, this time Trip was going to be the one being taken care of.

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Chapter Nine Arietta paused outside the distinctive chrome-and-steel office building. Only five stories high, the dark-tinted glass and midcentury-modern exterior conveyed wealth and power without being ostentatious. The discreet sign said STANTON WAKEFIELD REALTORS, though she knew that Trip was involved in far more than real estate. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Her steps were muffled by a luxurious wool carpet as she approached the well-coiffed receptionist. Although she'd never visited his office, Trip must have put her on a special list or something, because when she gave her name, the receptionist immediately called Trip and then escorted her to the double doors of his office. He rose and walked around his desk as she entered, though he stopped a few feet short and just stood in the middle of the room. Arietta barely entered the room before stopping to stand with her back against the door. It had been more than a month since she'd seen him last. An agonizing month of loneliness, frustration, and more than just a bit of anger. He honestly thought she was only with him for what he could do for her; well, she'd show him. She couldn't get enough of looking at him. He'd lost a few pounds, and his face was drawn in stark lines. Even so, seeing him again was doing crazy things to her senses. More than anything she wanted to hold him, comfort him, tell him everything would be all right. Maybe even sing him a lullaby. Lack of sleep told its tale in red-rimmed eyes and sallow skin. He looked as though he hadn't slept in ages. Neither of them spoke. Arietta just drank him in, and it seemed he was doing the same. Eventually good manners overcame the shock of seeing one another again, and Trip cleared his throat. ―Hello, Arietta. You're looking good.‖ That was true. She'd deliberately worn her black wrap dress and the stiletto heels he liked so much. She'd lost a little weight as well. Events of the past month had kept her too busy to eat,

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but she knew she still looked good. She had too much pride to come here looking less than her best, no matter how miserable she'd been without him. Let him see what he'd given up and eat his heart out. Her mother would be so proud. He continued. ―Would you have a seat? Can I get you something to drink?‖ He gestured toward the dark cherry credenza that sat behind his matching desk and housed a mini bar and a small refrigerator. Arietta shook her head and walked toward him. She stopped when she was less than a foot away. It took all her willpower to resist her need to touch him, especially when he was vulnerable this way. ―No. No. I won't be here long. I just came to give you this.‖ She pulled the cashier's check out of her handbag and handed it to him. He looked down at it and frowned. ―What the hell? Where on earth did you get almost a million dollars and a half dollars—and why are you giving it to me?‖ ―I sold the condo.‖ He stared at her, visibly shaken by her words. Then he walked back over to his desk and dropped into his chair, as though suddenly unable to support his body weight. ―Why did you sell the condo, and why are you giving me the money? I meant for you to have it. The security—‖ ―It was your condo—‖ ―But I gave it to you.‖ ―I know, and it was a lovely gesture, and I really appreciate it, but right now you need money, right? You're going to do that commodities thing again, and you need money to do that.‖ ―I'm not totally without resources, Arietta. I'm liquidating assets and real estate—‖ ―Yeah, but how much are you getting in this market?‖ she asked. He ran his fingers through his hair and didn't answer her question. ―How much did you get for the condo?‖ Arietta wanted to smile. No matter what, Trip would always be a real-estate man. ―One million two,‖ she said proudly. He whistled between his teeth and leaned back in his chair as though pushed by a strong force. ―Damn. I should've had you working for me. Where did you get the rest?‖ he asked, but

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comprehension quickly dawned. ―Please don't tell me you sold our Love Machine? But we christened it.‖ Arietta rolled her eyes. ―I hardly ever drove it, Trip. Sister Girl Corolla was in great shape once you had her refurbished. What on earth do I need with a Range Rover?‖ Trip's expression was blank, and he was obviously still counting in his head. ―Oh damn, you sold the Fazioli? You're absolutely ruthless. You loved that piano.‖ ―I know,‖ she said with a sympathetic sigh. ―So did I, and Gabe openly wept, but I got nearly a quarter of a million for it. You can always buy another one when you're rich again.‖ Trip closed his eyes briefly. ―When I'm rich again. You say that as if you don't have any doubt.‖ ―I don't. Do you?‖ He didn't answer her. ―I can't believe you sold everything on a bet.‖ ―It's not the first time I've bet on you. You haven't let me down yet.‖ Trip opened his mouth, then closed it, as though he'd changed his mind. When he spoke again, it was back on their original subject. ―Who did you sell it to? They must have been desperate to pay that price.‖ ―Remember the Chamberses down the hall?‖ He nodded. ―They'd always wanted a corner unit with that park view. You got the drop on them last time, and they didn't want to miss out again. They didn't bat a lash at the price. Anyway, I've got to go now—‖ ―Please, Arietta, just have a seat. You can't just drop something like this on me and leave. Did you get an apartment? Where are you living?‖ Arietta took a seat in the visitor's chair across from his desk. ―Actually I'm going home.‖ ―What?‖ ―Yeah. I've decided to go back to Alabama. My old teaching job is still available, and my dad wants me to cut a new album. Solo, this time. It'll be great.‖ Trip put his hands over his face. ―You can't do this. No. You can't do this. You can't give up your dreams to help me.‖ ―Why not? I need to know you're safe.‖ She deliberately used the words he'd used not so long ago. ―Are you saying that you're the only one who gets to help?‖

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―Of course not, but I don't need your help.‖ ―Yeah right. You're trying to build a huge fortune in a market that's gone straight to hell. You need as much capital as you can get. I've learned enough about finance from you to know that.‖ Trip couldn't argue that point and didn't try. ―Fine. I'll take the money, but you can't leave.‖ He stood and walked over to where she sat. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. ―This is the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me, and I don't have anything to give you in return.‖ Arietta paused and, inhaling a lungful of Trip-scented air, saturated her senses with the feel of his lips against her flesh once more. ―It's not a gift if anything is expected in return. You've been taking care of me since we met.‖ He took her hands in his and raised them to his mouth, kissing each one in turn. ―Arietta, will you marry me?‖ Now that came out of nowhere. Arietta gaped at him. ―What?‖ ―Marry me,‖ he said again. ―It's the perfect solution.‖ ―Solution?‖ Arietta asked as her hopes fell once again. ―That's an interesting way to put it. I thought you didn't believe in marriage.‖ ―I don't, but you do.‖ Then she understood. He was trying to pay her back for the gift. Poor man, it simply didn't work that way. ―I gave you the money because I want you to have it. I wouldn't think of marrying a man just because he felt obligated.‖ ―That's not the—‖ He broke off in midsentence, probably realizing that he was outright lying. ―Okay, but you can move in with me so you don't have to leave the city. You've got lots of buzz. Something's going to break soon. I can't let you miss it.‖ Arietta frowned. ―But you live with your family.‖ ―Yeah, but it's a huge mausoleum of a place. Paid for, thank God, though I thought at one point I might have to mortgage it. Now, thanks to you, I don't.‖ He stared off into nothingness, his gaze unfocused. ―I had to do that right after Dad left, and I've never been so frightened in my life. That house has been in the family for generations. I didn't want to be the one to lose it. I

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always swore I'd never do it again.‖ Neither of them spoke for a long moment, and then he visibly collected himself. ―Anyway, I've got my own entrance—my own wing actually—since my brothers live in the dorms at Tech. You don't have to see my family any more than you want to.‖ He held the check out to her. ―I'm not going to take this check if it means you have to go home. I won't let you give up everything.‖ Arietta took a breath as she thought about what he'd just said. Returning home was the only part of this plan she'd genuinely dreaded. Much as she loved the condo, she hadn't even blinked when she sold it. Moving in with Trip, she could continue to pursue her career and help him at the same time. She looked up at his mulish expression. Besides, she was pretty sure he meant it when he said he wouldn't take the check if she left. ―Okay, Trip, I'll do it. But what will you tell your folks?‖ He gave her a puzzled look. ―What do you mean?‖ ―You're going to move a woman into your mama's house. Don't you think you need to tell her something?‖ She could just imagine her mother's reaction to one of her brothers doing such a thing. He'd feel fortunate if he managed to retain his head. ―I don't usually tell my family anything. I'm the head of the family, and they generally do what I say.‖ He shrugged. ―It'll be evident that you're my girlfriend and that's that.‖ Arietta almost rolled her eyes. The man really was clueless. Of course they wouldn't say anything to him, but they sure as hell would put her to the third degree. Then again, she was accustomed to handling families. What with in-laws, nieces and nephews, and assorted cousins, hers seemed to double in size each year. As far as she knew, he only had three siblings and his mother. Comparatively speaking, it should be a cakewalk. Then something he'd said penetrated her thoughts. ―Wait. Doesn't your family know about your financial situation?‖ Now he looked astonished. ―Of course not. Why on earth would I put them through that hell again? It almost broke Mother. Emily was just a baby, and the boys were kids, but they knew something was wrong.‖ He shook his head. ―No, I'll take care of everything. There's no reason for them to know.‖ No reason but that you need help and support. God, the man was so thickheaded. She hesitated for a moment, but if she was going to be living in his house, it was crucial that she be

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open with him. ―Did it ever occur to you that you need to let someone take care of you for a change?‖ ―I'm a grown man. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.‖ ―Not for your sake, Trip, for theirs.‖ And with those words, she raised her eyes to meet his. For the first time, she let him see the feelings she'd kept carefully hidden from him.

Trip fell back against his desk. The force of her emotions struck him a sledgehammer blow. She loved him. He looked down at the check he still held in his hand. Of course she loves you, you dumb fuck. Why else would she do something so goddamned crazy? She'd given up everything for him, even her dreams. It was too much, but somehow it felt good and right. It made sense that he didn't want to lose it. When he'd realized he couldn't keep his promise to her, ending their relationship was the hardest thing he'd ever done—harder even than the nightmare of trying to rebuild the family fortune. Everything would be okay. She loved him. He pulled her out of her chair and into his arms. Every cell in his body cried out its pleasure. For the first time in weeks, he found peace.

***** ―So you're my brother's whore.‖ ―And you're his pain-in-the-butt little sister,‖ Arietta replied as the girl's mother exclaimed in dismay. ―Emily Campbell Wakefield, you will apologize this minute,‖ Carol said in a tone that brooked no argument. Arietta gave Emily a sympathetic look. She couldn't help but pity anyone subjected to the dreaded three naming. The poor girl was doomed. Trip didn't say anything, but apparently the deadly expression on his face was enough to still the girl's tongue. ―I'm sorry,‖ she said, looking down at the floor. Carol Wakefield glared at her daughter, but good manners overcame even the worst parental ire, and she quickly regained her composure. ―Shall we go in to dinner? It doesn't seem that my younger sons will be attending this evening after all.‖

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Arietta had met Carol the evening before, when she'd moved into Trip's wing of the estate. Now she was supposed to be having dinner with the whole family. So much for Trip's assertion that his family wouldn't have anything to say. And maybe she'd hear it after all that night, because just then Campbell and Mason, in matching Tech sweatshirts, burst into the sitting room. Trip had told her they were twins, but she hadn't realized they were identical or that their resemblance to their older brother was so striking. Their sable-dark hair hadn't gone silver like Trip's, but she suspected it was only a matter of time. Otherwise she felt as though she were seeing clones of Trip before he became embittered by his father's betrayal. Trip introduced her to his siblings, and the whole group moved into the dining room for their meal. Trip seated his mother at the head of the table, while Campbell seated Arietta in the chair to the right of the foot of the table and eagerly sat on her other side. After seating his mother, Trip took the chair to Arietta's left at the foot of the table. Campbell began talking to Arietta, and it didn't take long for her to realize that he was a shameless flirt. Mason distinguished himself by his more-introverted presence. ―Well, I can understand why the old man has been keeping you to himself.‖ ―Oh really?‖ Arietta smiled in return. ―Big Brother was deathly afraid that you'd succumb to the charms of a better-looking man.‖ ―That's interesting, since the three of you look more like triplets than anything.‖ ―You think so? I can guarantee I'm lots more fun,‖ he said easily with a radiant smile. ―If you're going to flirt with my lady, you could at least have enough respect to do it behind my back, Cam,‖ Trip said mildly. Arietta turned to face him, and he gave her a look so hot, she was surprised her hair didn't catch fire. His lips were fuller than usual, and his eyes had a slumberous look that set off waves of desire over her senses. Before she realized it, she had reached out toward him, unable to resist the need to touch him. ―Clementine really outdid herself this evening, did she not?‖ Carol said gently, reminding Arietta and Trip that they weren't alone. Arietta turned to face Carol Wakefield, and her

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complimentary murmurs joined those of the others at the table. Still, her body tingled with sensual awareness, and she could feel him over every inch of her flesh.

***** For the most part, that dinner set the pattern for living at the Wakefield estate. Typically she and Trip had breakfast together and then were out of the house before the rest of the family was up. Dinner was the only meal they shared with the family, and even then it was usually only his mother at the table. Emily generally had after-school activities or was with a friend. So Arietta was surprised to find Emily eating at the breakfast table one morning a couple of weeks later. The cornrows of their previous meeting were gone. Now her hair was cut off at the nape, leaving a choppy mess that somehow suited her personality. It even flattered the odd combination of clothing she favored. ―Good morning, Emily.‖ Arietta greeted the girl. Emily gave her a gloomy look but didn't return the greeting. Arietta prepared a bowl of cereal and sat down at the table across from Emily. They ate in silence, and then she got her second surprise of the morning when the girl spoke up. ―Did you go to public school?‖ Arietta paused, not as thrown by the odd choice of subject as she might have been. Trip had shared some of the difficulties they'd had keeping Emily enrolled in the city's elite private schools. ―Yeah, Emily, I did. Of course, I'm probably not the best spokesperson for the benefits of a public-school education, what with being a whore and all.‖ The flush that rose under the girl's white complexion clashed with her flaming hair. ―I'm sorry about that. I was just being a brat.‖ ―You don't say?‖ Arietta said, amused by the girl's discomfiture. The flush flared up again. ―I was mad at Trip. He was being a jerk again. He always does exactly what he wants to do, but everyone else had better toe the line or else. You wouldn't believe what he did to Mason when he got caught hacking into the school computer. He took his car away. Can you believe that?‖

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Arietta gave her a considering look. This really was none of her business, but what the girl had said was absolutely ridiculous. ―Do you really think Trip does what he wants?‖ Emily frowned as she processed Arietta words. ―Okay, you're right. He did give up music for us, but he can be such a pain.‖ ―I think that's just part of being a big brother,‖ Arietta said neutrally. As the youngest of six, she had dozens of nieces, nephews, and assorted cousins. Over time she'd gained vast experience in dealing with teens. She knew that if she just kept her comments to a minimum, the girl would wind up telling her everything. ―See, I really want to go to public school. That's why I've been acting out.‖ ―I'm surprised you'd want to attend a government institution,‖ Arietta said with a pointed look at the girl's anarchist T-shirt. Emily nodded. ―I hate to betray the cause, but I think my comrades would understand. And it's certainly better than the snobby school I go to now. But the real reason is, we can't afford it, and I have to go to school somewhere.‖ Arietta's silence was not a part of any strategy; she was literally incapable of speech. Fortunately Emily was too wrapped up in her own issues to notice. ―I don't know why Trip thinks we're so stupid. It's obvious what's been going on, and he knows the boys are computer geniuses. They can find out anything they want to know.‖ The boys. Campbell and Mason. ―Does your mother know?‖ ―No. No. Mace and Cam told me, but Mother shouldn't have to go through all of that again. It would kill her. The boys are moving out of the dorms and back into the house next semester. I think Mace already got a job. Cam won't have any trouble finding something too.‖ Her mind still whirling, Arietta asked the obvious question. ―Has anyone thought about discussing this with Trip?‖ Another vigorous shake of her macheted hair. ―No, we can't do that. Trip can't know that we know. He'd be devastated. He's always taken care of things, and he'll think that we think he can't do it anymore.‖ Oddly enough Arietta was able to follow that convoluted train of thought. If the circumstances weren't so dire, she would've succumbed to the fit of giggles that tickled her

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diaphragm. Trip was trying to protect them; they were trying to protect him—and nobody to talking to anybody else. ―Now you can see why I have to go to my school. I thought if I got kicked out of this one, Trip would make me go to public school. He's been threatening to send me forever, but they've lost so many students lately that short of setting the headmaster on fire, they're not going to expel me. You'll have to talk to him.‖ ―What exactly do you want me to say? You've been his sister a lot longer than I've known him, and if you can't discuss it with him, why do you think I can?‖ Arietta asked. This time Emily's eye rolling was accompanied by a melodramatic sigh. Arietta almost smiled for a moment. Emily looked like a young Drew Barrymore, or she would have if the actress ever dressed as though she planned a coup in a small Central American country. ―Trip is crazy about you. He hasn't bothered to bring anyone home in years. He's taking care of you. He'll listen to you.‖ ―Hmmm. Have you thought about telling him you know and want to withdraw from school to save money?‖ ―I told you he can't know.‖ A sly look crossed Emily's pretty face. ―I guess I could always set the headmaster on fire…‖ she mused. Clearly she'd learned her negotiation skills from her older brother. ―Put your matches away, Emily. I'll see what I can do.‖ The sound of a car horn disturbed their conversation, and the girl jumped up from the table. ―I've got to go. Mother will have a fit if I'm late again. See you later, and thanks!‖ She rushed out of the room in her customary fashion. Arietta shook her head. There was some comfort in knowing she wasn't the only one with a crazy family. Her family. She sucked in a deep breath. She hadn't even thought about their reaction to her latest move. If they ever found out she'd moved into Trip's house, they'd disown her. Of course, they'd probably do the same if they ever found out about the condo. She was pretty sure Lyric hadn't told them about it. After all, her mother hadn't mentioned it, but she wished she'd told Lyric not to tell.

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Chapter Ten Arietta played another set of scales; the repetitive notes calmed and relaxed her. She'd played them since childhood. The scales made a soothing connection between who she was at that moment and who she had been in the past. She'd done it for so long that she could play on autopilot, but that wasn't the point. The difficulty lay in focusing so that each note was as perfect as possible. Anyone could play by rote; a true musician felt the music even in something as rudimentary as scales. What with all the upheaval in her life recently, her technique had really gone south, and Gabe hadn't hesitated to tell her so after their last performance. She'd never let him know, but his comments stung, which was why she was in the woodshed today—back to basics working on her technique. Trip was at work, and Carol had taken Emily to school, then planned to run some errands as well. Arietta had the house to herself. The piano in the sitting room had a sweet tone that helped make the room her favorite in the cavernous house. There were windows on three of the four walls that let in lots of natural light. Despite its size, the house was far less ostentatious than she'd expected. To an untutored eye, the furnishings would almost appear plain, but there was something about the faded elegance of the antique rugs and the handrubbed sheen of furniture that had probably been around when the Declaration of Independence was signed that bespoke quiet wealth. She looked up in surprise as Carol Wakefield entered the room, an ever-present cup of coffee in her hand. Arietta had concluded that the woman lived on the stuff; she drank it night and day. ―Hello, Arietta, dear,‖ she said in that soft, finishing-school voice. ―Don't let me disturb you. I was going to do some errands but had to come back and pick up some things. Thought I'd have another cup before I start out again. I'm sure you already know this, but you play beautifully.‖ ―No. No. That's quite all right, Mrs. Wakefield. I was just practicing, doing scales really.‖

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―All my children play, but Stanton is the only one who had an affinity for it. He's brilliant, but he doesn't play all that much anymore. A pity. Did you know he'd planned on a musical career?‖ ―Yes, he told me.‖ Carol's brows rose in twin blonde arches. ―Really? I didn't know he had ever discussed it with anyone. I think he's pretty bitter about it. And well he should be. We let him down dreadfully.‖ ―We? I know that his father left, but what did you do?‖ Carol perched on the edge of the brocade settee that was set on the diagonal from the piano. ―That's just it. I didn't do anything. Wakefield left, and I just collapsed. Emily was practically a newborn, and I just dumped everything on Stanton, who was only a boy at the time.‖ ―I'm sure you didn't—‖ ―No excuses, Arietta.‖ She took a sip from her cup. ―I was humiliated and ashamed, and I just gave up. Stanton…Stanton did what he always does and took care of everything, but I let him down. I'm most blessed that he doesn't see it that way.‖ She gave Arietta a resolute look. For the first time, Arietta saw some resemblance to her son on the woman's face. ―But this time it'll be different.‖ Arietta scrambled to pull her thoughts together. This morning was proving to be quite revelatory. ―This time?‖ ―God, I don't know why everyone in this family thinks I'm such an idiot. Well, actually I do know, but there's really no excuse. I know we're in trouble financially. I've been economizing like crazy. I pretty much let all my help go except Clementine. She's been with us for so long that she's too old to find another position and will probably retire sometime next year. Besides, I'd have a hard time explaining her leaving to Stanton. Everyone else I could pretend to have had a problem with, but he knows I'm utterly devoted to Clementine.‖ ―How did you find out?‖ ―The same way I know anything that goes on in this family—Stanton's assistant. I knew when he gave you that condo and was practically living with you there. I also know you sold it and gave him the proceeds. I was absolutely astonished when you did that. It told me all I needed

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to know about you. I'm so grateful that this time Stanton's got you to help him. And I don't intend to fade away like a wilted flower either. He doesn't have to go it alone.‖ Arietta felt like she'd accidentally awakened in the movie Groundhog Day. ―But does he know that? Have you thought about telling him you know?‖ Carol's head shake was more dignified than her daughter's—but no less vigorous. ―I can't do that. Stanton has been taking care of us for years. I can't bear for him to think he's failed.‖ ―But he already thinks that.‖ Arietta pointed out. ―Yes, but he doesn't know that we know, so at least he doesn't think that we think he's failed.‖ Arietta let that thought spin around in her head for a moment; Carol's words were almost verbatim what her daughter had said. Hard to believe they hadn't discussed this. ―Yeah, but—‖ She closed her mouth at Carol's expression. Obviously the resemblance to Trip went further than skin-deep. Despite her retiring manner, this woman had a lot of steel in her character. When she didn't say anything further, Carol rewarded her with a brilliant smile. ―This time Stanton's got a woman who loves him to stand behind him.‖ Arietta took a deep breath. There was no point in denying it. Apparently everyone already knew. For a family that didn't do a lot of talking, they certainly were all up in one another's business. Carol rose from the settee. ―Well, I've taken up enough of your time today. I'm sure you need to finish your work.‖ After Carol left, Arietta resumed playing, but her mind kept wandering. She loved Trip and had no doubt that he had the talent to regain his fortune. Then what? What about his ability to love her? How long could she stand living with him when he couldn't even admit his feelings? The talk with his mother had been a revelation. Until then she hadn't realized just how totally alone he'd been through the last family crisis. Everyone had abandoned him; no one had his back. Even the people he loved—make that especially the people he loved—had been no-shows when the going got tough. No wonder he didn't believe in love. Arietta shook her head as she placed the sheet music for her latest composition on the music rack. It was the same song that had Gabe shaking his head at her the previous evening. According to him, she'd written something well above her talent level. Well, she'd show him.

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And maybe she'd show Trip too. No matter what, she would show him love was real and worth putting his trust in, if only he was willing to risk it.

***** Arietta crept down the back stairs, which were more utilitarian than the sweeping staircase in the front of the house. This wasn't the first time she'd awakened in the middle of the night to find Trip gone, but it was the first time she'd decided to see if she could help. He'd been working late into the night since she'd moved in. Usually he'd go to bed when she did, then get up later to work. They almost always made love, but it was becoming increasingly frantic, almost desperate, as though he couldn't escape his fears even in the ecstasy of her embrace. His office was to the left of the stairs, and she could see light under the door. After a slight moment of indecision, she elected to plate some of the cookies she'd baked earlier for him as a late-night snack. He responded immediately to her light knock, and she entered his study. He sat behind his desk wearing a navy blue corduroy robe over his pajamas. Presumably he wore pajamas for working, because he never wore them to bed. His reading glasses gave him a distinguished look. He'd apparently been reading the stacks of spreadsheets in front of him. He rose to his feet when she came in. ―Hello, sweets, what are you doing up? Is something wrong?‖ ―I couldn't go back to sleep after you left, so brought you some milk and cookies.‖ She placed them on the corner of his desk. ―As if I didn't eat enough of these after dinner,‖ he said, picking up one of the triplechocolate cookies. ―I'm glad you cooked tonight. I've missed your cooking.‖ Then he frowned. ―But don't wear yourself out. I know you're still teaching and singing at Pink.‖ ―I like cooking, and it was Clementine's day off. Besides, your mom and sister helped.‖ Arietta spoke absently as she studied the charts and graphs in front of him with interest. ―What are you working on?‖ ―Studying the patterns and trying to figure out where the market will go next.‖ ―You might be better off with a Ouija board and chicken blood. That's all anyone talks about on the news these days. But why do you have to do it in the middle of the night?‖

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―Because that's when London and Shanghai get up. They're the two major markets in nonferrous metals. Shanghai is almost ready to close, and it's been an absolutely brilliant day. I'm hoping that London will do the same.‖ ―Okay, I'm going to assume that nonferrous metals are the ones that have no iron in them. That's pretty much all I remember from the chemical element tables. Which metals are you into?‖ ―Lead and copper, for the most part. They've been crazy volatile of late. Then again, what hasn't been? But even with the recession, China isn't slowing down appreciably. For a while there, the price of lead was so high people were stealing it off the roofs of ancient churches in England, and it's hard to find copper wiring in any public park here.‖ ―Yeah, I heard about that on the news, but I thought prices went down when the economy tanked,‖ Arietta said. ―It did, but nothing that essential stays down for long. Everyone thought the boom was over, but I'm pretty certain it's not. In fact, I think it's going to double and then some.‖ ―Okay.‖ ―I've been hedging my bets. Making a little bit here and a little bit there, but from what I can tell‖—he tapped the stack of paper—―now's the time to go all in. People are freaking out, and when that happens, they always go back to metal.‖ ―So when London opens—‖ ―With any luck, I'll have doubled my investment.‖ Arietta knew that her eyes were all but bulging out of her head, but the thought of making that type of money overnight was mind-boggling. Of course, it really wasn't overnight. Trip's face showed the strain of working so hard and the cost of those sleepless nights. She walked over to his desk and stood behind him, then reached out to grasp his head in both her hands. She could see the tension and stress on his face and feel it in the taut muscles of his upper body. Over the years, she'd watched her mother give her father scalp massages, and Arietta knew that she could at least give Trip this relief. Under her hands, she could feel his tension melt away. She began at his temples, making slow circles along his hairline with gentle pressure. As she moved to the back of his head, the

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circles grew larger and she increased the pressure. He groaned and growled under her hands, his pleasure in her ministrations readily apparent. ―Is it possible to come from a scalp massage?‖ he said with a sigh. He rolled his head back against her breasts, which had swollen and pressed against her pajama top in response to his nearness. He whirled around in his desk chair and pulled her down into his lap. ―Oh, sweets, I don't know what I'd do without you,‖ he murmured against her mouth. There was something different about him. In the low light of his desk lamp, his tender expression made her catch her breath. She returned his kiss with vigor. He followed the contours of her face with his lips, kiss after kiss culminating in a return to her mouth. ―You are so beautiful,‖ he whispered. ―I can't be without you.‖ He stood and carried her over to the large sofa that sat perpendicular to the desk. He laid her down on the sofa and knelt beside her. Spreading her robe slowly, he revealed the short gown she wore. He rubbed his face against her midsection, inhaling deeply. Arietta raised her hips to get closer to him. He joined her on the sofa. They lay side by side, facing one another. As intense as the feelings were, she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. A sigh escaped her mouth as he pulled her leg up over his hip. There was only a brief moment of fumbling with their clothing, and then he was there, the heat of his erect cock pressed up the soft folds of her pussy. He took his time, parting the delicate folds with excruciating slowness. She wanted to see him as their bodies joined, as they drowned together in pure sensation. She guessed he felt the same way, as his eyes remained locked with hers even as his cock sank deeper into the slick wetness of her vagina. Slow. Slow. The rim of his penis slid against sensitive nerve endings, making her cry out in pleasure. It was as though a warm red glow blossomed beneath her heart and spread outward through her body—a warmth that she saw reflected in Trip's tender gaze. He took his time, their bodies gently gliding together in their own sweet, steady rock. It had never been like this before, and the closeness and tenderness of those moments were things she would treasure always. When they came, their climaxes didn't explode over them in a crash of pyrotechnics but washed over them gently like waves at low tide, gradually saturating their senses in ever-widening ripples of almost-unbearable pleasure. For the first time, Trip had been

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totally open to her, and she could see everything he felt, just as she was open to him. They simply held on and rode the crests until they subsided. Even after it was over, they remained joined together. Trip had pulled Arietta's leg up high on his hip to hold them together as long as possible. When she could finally think clearly, Arietta looked up at the clock on the opposite wall. ―Ohmigod, London's been up for nearly an hour.‖ Trip grinned in response. ―So have I.‖ Arietta gave him an exasperated look. ―You're so nasty.‖ When he made no move to get up from the sofa, she gave him a quizzical look. ―Aren't you going to check the London opening?‖ He closed his eyes briefly, but not before she saw the stark terror that darkened them. ―What if I'm wrong?‖ he whispered. ―What if I made a mistake?‖ ―Oh, Trip. You know what you're doing. We have all the faith in the world in you.‖ ―We?‖ For a moment she considered telling him what she'd discovered about his family earlier that day, but in some ways she thought they were right. It would probably be better if he didn't know that they knew. He certainly didn't need any additional pressure. She hadn't promised to keep their secrets, but they had shared their confidences, and she'd have to find a way to help Emily. ―I guess I was speaking in a royal sense. I meant me, of course. You've done this before, and you're the smartest money guy I know.‖ ―I hope I'm the only money guy you know. But things have changed so much in the past fifteen years. I made some terrible mistakes. What if I'm still making them? I could be totally off.‖ ―Yeah, but it wasn't just you. Mortgage-backed securities were supposed to be safe. Who knew prices would go down? They never had before. Who knew brokerage houses had filled them full of garbage?‖ Trip smiled at her. ―You've become a regular financial expert, haven't you?‖ ―I've got a million reasons to bone up on the subject.‖

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He nodded. ―I should've known.‖ He kissed the tip of her nose, then separated their bodies. He sat up to pull on his pajama bottoms. ―I have to be right. There's no margin for error.‖ He walked up to his desk, a frown furrowing his forehead as he studied the returns. Arietta lay where he'd left her. She pulled her robe closed over her gown as she waited, afraid to even breathe. When he raised his head from the laptop, his expression told its own story. The king was back. Long live the king.

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Chapter Eleven Arietta stood in the doorway of the family room, astonished by the sight before her; the room, with its dark paneling and leather furniture, usually looked like a gentleman's club. It still did, only now it looked like a gentleman's club after a stripper convention had been through. Having seen the elegant gold-and-white tree that stood in the foyer of the house, she was flabbergasted by the tree being set up in this room. Unlike the other tree, it was clear there was no design plan for this one. The nine-foot-tall blue spruce was already covered with enough lights to land the space shuttle. Carol walked around from the far side of the tree, her hair and clothing liberally dotted with tinsel. Emily, on the other side, was similarly festooned. There were dozens of open boxes littering the floor, and Carol looked positively giddy. ―For God's sake, Mom, how much crap can you put on one tree?‖ Emily griped. Carol knelt beside one of the boxes that was filled to the brim with ornaments. She looked up and gestured toward Arietta. ―Look at this one,‖ she said, holding up a gingerbread ornament. ―Stanton made this one when he was a boy. Isn't it lovely?‖ Arietta reached for the ornament. One of its eyes was missing, but she could see that even then Trip had been very conscientious about his work. The buttons were placed very precisely, and the icing was perfectly straight. Carol turned to hang the ornament on the tree. Then reached for another one. ―Oh, Emily made this one when she was three. See the tiny handprint?‖ she asked, holding it up so Arietta could see. ―Emily was always my artistic child.‖ Arietta picked up another ornament. ―Is it okay if I help? I kind of miss doing this with my family.‖ ―Sure,‖ Emily said through gritted teeth. ―At this rate, we won't have the tree done until Easter.‖

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Despite Emily's complaints, Carol continued reminiscing about each ornament before she hung it on the tree. ―You're like my mama,‖ Arietta said. ―She really loves Christmas.‖ ―Oh yes. It's absolutely my favorite holiday. We've had some lovely ones over the years. Caroling. Attending midnight mass together. Taking the kids to the Pink Pig—‖ Arietta interrupted, thinking she must have misunderstood. ―The what?‖ ―The Pink Pig. It used to take you on a monorail ride above the toyland at Rich's. When Macy's took over, they continued it. They have it every year at their Lenox store,‖ Carol said. ―Yeah, it's supposed to be for little kids. I was twelve when Mom finally stopped taking me. I was bigger than the conductor.‖ Carol shook her head. ―You were my last child, and I might have continued a bit longer with you, but you couldn't have been any older than seven or eight. You were always small for your age.‖ ―So there is actually a pig?‖ ―Well, yes, on the front of the train. Priscilla and Percy. You must go see it, dear. I forget sometimes that you're not from here. Everyone knows about the Pink Pig. The new one isn't as good as the one Rich's did. It's just inside a big white tent, but it's still nice.‖ The tree decorating went on for several more hours. When they were finished, all three decorators stood back to admire their work and agreed that this one was much better than the fancy one in the foyer.

***** ―Where the hell are you? I've been trying to reach you all day.‖ If his voice was any indication, Pink was even more annoyed than usual. Arietta was still parked in the driveway of the home of one of her voice clients. She'd noticed that her voice mail was full of calls and decided to check them before heading for home. ―What's up, Pink? You know I don't answer the phone when I'm working. I'm not on tonight, am I?‖ she asked with a frown. She'd promised to go out with Trip for a celebratory dinner. He was well on his way to rebuilding his fortune.

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―No. No. Get this, you know the A-and-R guy I was telling you about? He's been calling and coming by. Apparently he heard your song on that Christmas CD. He is absolutely crazy about it. Wants to hear your demo.‖ Arietta's breath caught, and she leaned her head back against the car seat. ―Well, did you give it to him?‖ She had given Pink several copies of her demo tape for just this reason. ―Of course I did, love. Now he wants to meet you in person.‖ Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Arietta's thoughts scurried in circles like a hamster ball. She'd waited for this moment for so long. ―When does he want to see me?‖ she managed to squeak out. ―Can Gabe come too?‖ ―What's with you and that guy? What is he? Your security blanket?‖ ―If I'm going to sing live for the most important man in town, I want the best accompanist I can get. Gabe's the best.‖ ―You're no slouch—‖ ―Gabe's better.‖ ―Anyway, the guy wants to see you at his studio tomorrow. He's somewhere in Midtown.‖ He rattled off an address that she quickly keyed into her phone. She sat in the driveway for a long while after Pink rang off. The vibrant rays of the winter sun made a paint-by-numbers canvas of the milky blue sky. Arietta studied it, her mind reeling from recent events, but still able to appreciate the beauty before her. She'd made a lot of gambles lately, and they were finally paying off. There was only one roll of the dice left.

***** Dinner that evening was an effervescent affair. Trip was already walking on air, and when she shared her good news, he whooped out loud and ordered a bottle of champagne. Arietta stared at him with wide eyes. ―Isn't that a bit over the top? Can we really afford it? Besides, we don't know that the guy will even like me.‖ ―It is physically impossible for anyone to hear your voice and not like you. As for money, sweets, do you have any idea how much money I made last night?‖

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Tempted to put her fingers in her ears and chant, La-la-la, I can't hear you, Arietta forced herself to listen. The figure was even more unbelievable than she'd anticipated. ―Did you say forty million?‖ ―Yes, I did, Santa baby. By the way, I heard your song on the radio today. You don't want to know my reaction.‖ Then he frowned. ―I'm not sure I want you giving every guy in Atlanta a hard-on.‖ Arietta shook her head. ―I'm pretty sure it only had that effect on you. Gabe said I sound like a dominatrix.‖ She heard the air whistle between his teeth as he sucked in his breath. Clearly he liked that visual. ―How many million would it take to get you into a pair of thigh-high boots?‖ ―Trip!‖ Arietta's face flamed as she looked around the restaurant. Anis was very small, and she was sure everyone in the room could hear their conversation. To her surprise, she wasn't exactly embarrassed. The thought of wearing thigh-high boots was…intriguing. ―Okay. Okay. You know I'm all about the art of the deal. How about a bustier and a whip? You've already got those fuck-me shoes.‖ Just to throw him off his game, Arietta gave him a devilish grin. ―Who knows? I might surprise you sometime.‖ ―Really? I think pretty soon I'll be able to buy you another condo. I'm sure you've had enough of my family. I know I'm sick of the lack of privacy.‖ Arietta smiled. His family had been quite lovely. But she said, ―I'm not sure I want to do that again.‖ ―What?‖ Trip gave her an astonished look. ―I don't think I can continue to be your mistress.‖ ―You never have been my mistress.‖ ―Then what am I?‖ ―You're my lady. You've always been my lady,‖ he said. Arietta shook her head. ―I'm getting my own place.‖ ―For the love of God, what more do you want? I already asked you to marry me.‖ ―You know what I want. The only thing I've ever wanted,‖ she said softly.

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―Love? For God's sake, Arietta—‖ ―I don't want to argue with you,‖ Arietta said gently. She knew she was hurting him by asking for more than he thought he could give, and she didn't want that. She looked down at her neglected plate. Neither of them had paid the least attention to their lovely meal, and after several attempts to approach the table, the waitstaff was simply ignoring them. Arietta couldn't imagine swallowing around the lump in her throat, and Trip looked as though he wanted to throw everything on the table. That being the case, it was probably best that he didn't pick anything up. ―Love hardly did my mother any good. I'm offering you more than that. I'll always take care of you. I'm offering security.‖ ―I can take care of myself, Trip. What I want is love.‖ His murderous expression didn't change, but she could tell he was resigned to what she was saying. ―So you're getting your own place. Are you leaving me altogether, then?‖ ―I think that's probably best. There's no reason to keep breaking my heart.‖ ―I don't know why it's not enough. I want you. I need you—‖ ―And I'm supposed to settle for that? Two out of three ain't bad?‖ ―Most people have a helluva lot less.‖ He threw the words at her through clenched teeth. ―And some have a lot more. My parents have been together for more than fifty years. I want that for myself.‖ ―We can have that,‖ he said insistently. ―Not without love. Not without love,‖ she said sadly. Trip looked incredibly frustrated and angry. Arietta was surprised to discover that she wasn't angry. She'd gambled and lost, but she couldn't regret it. She smiled at him, her vision blurred by unshed tears. ―I love you, and out of that love, I gave you a precious gift. I'm so sorry that you can't accept it.‖

***** ―So, Stanton, are you planning to tell us why Arietta moved out?‖ Trip looked up from the cup of coffee he hadn't been drinking to stare at his mother in surprise. When the hell did she come downstairs? He didn't seem to be noticing a lot of things lately. He had to get himself together and soon. The financial situation was still too precarious for him to be so out of it.

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―Mother, I'm sure you're aware that relationships burn out all the time. Arietta has big career plans; her record deal is stellar. Basically we grew apart—‖ ―Don't you dare talk to me like I'm an idiot. That girl would give you her heart if you asked for it.‖ Trip took a sip of his now-cold coffee. He stood to pour a warm-up from the carafe that sat in the middle of the table. ―She did.‖ ―She did what?‖ ―She gave me her heart.‖ Carol's face fell. ―Oh, Stanton, you didn't.‖ Trip took a sip of his coffee. ―I didn't what?‖ ―You didn't tell that girl that you don't love her.‖ ―I refuse to lie, Mother. I'm not like Father. I don't love her, and I won't say otherwise. I offered her everything I have to give. If that's not enough…‖ He shrugged with a casualness he didn't feel. ―Son, no woman would settle for less.‖ ―It didn't do you a helluva lot of good, now did it?‖ As soon as the sharp words left his mouth, Trip would've given anything to take them back, but it was all he could do not to howl out loud. Arietta was gone, and she wasn't coming back. Couldn't his mother understand that and just leave him alone? Carol sucked in a deep breath, the only indication that he'd scored a direct hit. ―That's right, Stanton. I loved and lost, but at least I wasn't too much of a coward to love at all.‖ She rose from her seat and took her time leaving the room. What the hell was wrong with him lately? He couldn't seem to stop hurting people. His assistant threatened to quit daily, sometimes hourly. Of course, it didn't take much to figure out what was wrong with him. Arietta. It always came back to her. Why the hell couldn't she be happy with what he had to offer? Trip barely restrained the urge to break something, fearing that once he started, there wouldn't be an intact piece left in the whole house. Arietta had only been gone a week, and he was slowly losing his mind. He looked over the breakfast room, his eyes blind to the lovely Christmas decorations that Arietta had helped his

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mother put up. He closed his eyes. How would he stand being without her, when every day, every night, was endless torture? It was tempting, so very tempting, to simply tell her what she wanted to hear. But he wasn't a liar. He refused to be like his father, a man with no integrity. It was only a few weeks until Christmas, and it seemed like she was everywhere. Her ―Santa Baby‖ single was in continuous play on all the radio stations, and he'd even seen her singing it on a local morning show. She'd looked spectacular, and he'd alternated between wanting to throw punches at the television and wanting the image permanently engraved on his retinas. He hadn't been back to Pink since she'd left the house. He didn't dare cross the threshold of that place, or he'd find himself on his knees begging like a dog for her favors. He glanced down at his watch. Damn, he was already late for his first morning meeting. Another black mark with his assistant. But there was still money to be made. Apparently it was all he'd ever have.

***** The lighting in the club was dim as always, voices were hushed like children sneaking into the Christmas packages. Amazing that so many people had nothing better do on Christmas Eve than huddle together in a nightclub. Trip stood well to the back of the standing-room-only crowd. He conceded that his outlook was definitely more Scrooge than Tiny Tim, but still, this crowd was ridiculous. He'd stayed away for as long as he could; now, like a junkie needing his fix, he watched as Arietta, sitting in the glow of a single spotlight, wailed out ―I Can't Make You Love Me.‖ Her vulnerability and pain were evident to all. She cried out her pain unabashedly and shared it with the world. Despite the searing agony evident in every note, only a single tear marred the creamy perfection of her nut brown cheek. Suddenly he couldn't breathe. It was too much. Trip dashed out of the club's double doors, intending to make it to his car and get out of there as quickly as possible. But he paused, taking in deep breaths of the crisp winter air. Her tears had shaken him to the core. Her heart had been broken, by him. But she wasn't broken. She was still the proud enchantress who'd lured him in with her music months ago. She loved him unashamedly, and she wasn't afraid to show it. And what had he done? Thrown her love back in her face while spouting absolute nonsense to cover his cowardice. Cowardice. There was no other word for it. He'd even hurt his mother, all in an effort to hide his sheer terror.

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Love. Yes, he'd had a lot of responsibility dumped on him, but was this how he'd get back at his parents? Your dad doesn't know you're alive, and your mother…your mother knows goddamned well what a coward you are. So just who are you hiding from? When no answer was forthcoming, he turned to walk back into the club.

He stood in the doorway of Arietta's dressing room, stunned to find his whole family, save Emily, crowded into the tiny space. His mother in particular stood out like a hothouse rose in a pumpkin patch. What the hell was she doing here? As far as he knew, his mother thought Atlanta stopped at Ponce de Leon Avenue. He sighed, taking in her robin's egg blue suit. Only his mother would wear Chanel to a blues club. He must have made a sound of some kind, because his family, who had been clustered around Arietta, suddenly turned to stare at him. ―What are you doing here, Stanton?‖ his mother asked. ―You've already made her cry,‖ Mason—Mason!—snarled at him. Campbell, for once in his life, said nothing, which was even more disconcerting than the death stare he had locked on him. Trip chose to ignore them and focused his attention on Arietta, who sat in the makeup chair watching him. He walked toward her. ―How could you think I didn't love you? When I heard you singing that song—‖ ―Probably because you told her you didn't.‖ Campbell finally spoke. Just like that, Trip lost patience and turned on Campbell with the plan to remove at least his brothers by brute force if necessary. Before he could reach his prey, a voice so melodic, it could've been God himself's, rang out from the doorway. ―Arietta, who are these people? Is this the man you've been living with over here?‖ It took a moment for the words to penetrate his confused thoughts, and when they did, Trip turned to face the intruder—or rather, intruders; there were enough people crowded into the doorway to make two Wu-Tang Clans. At this point Trip would have preferred to confront Ghostface Killah, because much as he wanted to deny it, he was pretty sure that the very large,

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mahogany-hued man with the heavenly voice and deathly scowl was Arietta's father. Oh just great. As if he didn't have enough crazy family of his own to contend with.

Arietta struggled to regain her composure. Of all the people she might have expected to have show up here tonight, her family wouldn't have even made the list, let alone been among the top five guesses. She glared at Lyric, who was trying to make herself invisible behind her husband's large frame. She got an apologetic look in return. Fat lot of good that would do. She looked at her mother, whose face was like a window into how she would look as she aged. She talked to her mother nearly every week. Why hadn't she mentioned that Lyric had spoken to them? ―Lyric, what on earth did you tell them?‖ Lyric immediately defended herself. ―I didn't tell them anything. I just said that you had a nice place. They jumped to all these crazy conclusions on their own.‖ Arietta glanced at her brother-in-law and gave her sister another pointed look. What had happened to her crazy allegations of cheating? Lyric looked a bit ashamed, but she shrugged. ―Oh, that. That was just a slight misunderstanding,‖ she said with a sheepish grin. James looked down at her but didn't comment. Arietta suspected there was much more to the story, but right now she had her own drama to attend to. She rose from the makeup chair and beckoned her family into the room. At that moment, Gabriel chose to join them. She rolled her eyes at her friend. ―What on earth are you doing here?‖ Gabe leaned against the wall, his fingers rapidly clicking on the valves of his trumpet. ―Are you kidding me? Did you really think I'd miss out on this?‖ Arietta considered asking him to leave but decided she had bigger problems at the moment. Thinking to smooth things over, she began the introductions. ―Daddy, Mama, let me introduce you to some friends of mine. This is Trip and his family.‖ She went through the introductions like an automaton, amazed to discover that nearly her entire family was there. ―Where's Adagio?‖ She inquired about her oldest brother. ―Well, it is Christmas Eve, and 'Dagio has all those kids. He thought it prudent to stay at home to put bikes together. Melody didn't come either,‖ her mother replied.

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―So, Arietta, were you living with this young man?‖ her father asked, nodding in Trip's direction. He and the rest of his family stood as though frozen in time, simply trying to take in the change in the evening's program. Arietta had had enough. ―I'm thirty years old, Daddy. I can live with a man if I want to. For that matter, I can live with two men if I want to.‖ She knew she sounded like a two-year-old in need of a nap, but she hated it when her family treated like a two-year-old in need of a nap. At her last statement, all eyes turned to Gabe, who suddenly looked as though he'd swallowed his mouthpiece. Arietta was amazed by how quickly he showed he could move, considering that most of the time he looked as though he lacked the energy to remain upright. He departed the room without so much as a backward glance. ―I didn't raise my daughter to be a trollop.‖ A hush fell over the room. As she stared at her father, Arietta heard stage whispers around the room: ―Did he say trollop?‖ and ―Who says trollop in this day and age?‖ and ―Why can't Daddy say ho like everybody else?‖ At this point, Trip's mother turned on him. ―See, this is what happens when you don't marry the woman you love.‖ ―I did ask her to marry me!‖ Trip shouted. ―More than once, as a matter of fact.‖ ―Yeah, but you wouldn't tell her you love her, so she wouldn't marry you,‖ Campbell said. ―Is this true, Arietta? This young man wanted to make an honest woman of you, and you preferred to shack up?‖ her father yelled at her. The veins in his forehead throbbed as though they'd escape at any moment. The room hushed again with whispers of ―Did he say shack up?‖ then ―Honest woman?‖ and finally ―Seriously, dude needs to hit the Urban Dictionary, stat.‖ The last one was Mason; she'd recognize his dry wit anywhere. Carol Wakefield rounded on Gregory Hathaway. ―What good is a marriage proposal if he doesn't love her?‖ ―Love? Once you start shacking up, it's too late to think about love. What if she's pregnant?‖ he bellowed.

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Arietta rolled her eyes. Did he really think they were too stupid to use birth control? She'd had enough of this family reunion, and one look at Trip told her he was fed up as well. ―Everybody. Everybody just be quiet.‖ His voice didn't have the power of her father's, but it was just as effective. ―I do love Arietta, and all of you need to get the hell out so I can tell her so.‖ ―I don't think we should leave, Stanton,‖ his mother said, giving Arietta a look of concern. ―You've developed some really nasty tricks over the years. How do we know you won't manipulate the poor girl?‖ Arietta felt a totally inappropriate urge to giggle, especially when Trip turned on his mother with a look of pure fury. ―Look, Medea, I'm your oldest son. You're supposed to be on my side, remember? Everybody out!‖ he said, pointing to the door. No one said anything for a long moment; then finally, with lots of frowns and shaking heads, they began to troop out the door. ―You'd better be telling the truth, young man. It's hard to believe what you say, especially when your own mother doesn't trust you,‖ Arietta's father said. Trip glared at his mother again. ―Yes, I can see why you're troubled,‖ he said through gritted teeth, never taking his eyes from his mother's face. ―But Arietta can vouch for my integrity.‖ Arietta nodded in agreement when her father looked at her. When the last of the visitors left, Trip stood in the middle of the floor, running his hands through his hair over and over again, his frustration evident in every movement. He glanced at her over his shoulder. ―I'm guessing this place doesn't have a back door?‖ Arietta shook her head. ―Not on this side of the club.‖ Trip stared at the small window set high in the exterior wall. ―Assuming that you want to escape from that collection of loony tunes as badly as I do, how about I give you a boost?‖ Arietta looked down at the silky evening gown she was still wearing; at least it was short and wouldn't impede her progress too much. Besides, her thinking apparatus had more or less shut down when he said he loved her. And with no more thought than that, she put one stiletto-heeled foot into his cupped hands.

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Chapter Twelve Trip didn't say anything after they escaped from the dressing room. He just escorted her to his waiting car. She shivered a bit before the heat kicked in. It was unseasonably cold for Atlanta, but she suspected that more than anything she was having a nervous reaction. Looking at his stony profile, she found it hard to believe he'd actually said he loved her. Maybe he'd just done it to get their families off his back. His hair had grown shaggy in the weeks since she'd seen him last. Since he was usually impeccably groomed, it was a bit shocking to see. He looked tired too, but she'd almost grown accustomed to that since he'd been working so hard. Somehow, though, he looked worse, exhausted even. So many questions, but she was too nervous to ask any of them. When they pulled into the underground parking garage, Arietta immediately recognized it as belonging to her old condo. ―Why did they just let us in? We don't have a place here anymore.‖ ―I still have my real-estate credentials,‖ Trip said. ―We have the listings for a couple of places in the building.‖ He climbed out of the car and walked around to help her out of the passenger side. She began shivering again almost immediately, and he removed his camel-hair coat and slipped it over her shoulders. Shrouded in the woolly fabric and surrounded by his aroma, she relaxed. When he leaned down to give her a soft kiss, she didn't need the reassurance of his whispered ―trust me, okay?‖ She nodded, and he led her over to the elevator. It took her a while to realize they'd gone past the fortieth floor. Without a passkey to the penthouse, they could only be going to the roof, but she was still surprised when the elevator doors opened. He escorted her out, then held her hand as he led her over to the railing. The lights of the city twinkled below them in an explosion of color, as though someone had plugged in Dolly Parton's jewelry box. Atlanta showed herself at her best at night, like a courtesan past the first bloom of youth but who still looked magnificent in the kinder light of the evening.

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Trip stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. ―This is my city, my world, and I would have lost everything had it not been for you. Everything I have is yours. I can't make it without you; anything you want is yours.‖ Arietta couldn't breathe past the lump in her throat. Oh no, he still doesn't get it. Then he turned her around to face him, and his smile lit up the night and her life. ―And I give you my heart. I love you, Arietta Hathaway. Will you marry me? Will you let me give you the world?‖ Arietta closed her eyes as waves of happiness crashed over her, when she opened them again, tears sparkled on her lashes like early-morning dew. ―You already have, my love. You already have.‖

Loose Id(R) Titles by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb Morning Star Pussycat Death Squad Santa Baby Try a Little Tenderness

Roslyn Hardy Holcomb Roslyn Hardy Holcomb was born in North Alabama and has had a disparate career and varied interests. Her lifelong devotion to needle arts led to a stint on the editorial staff of Oxmoor House, the publishing division of Southern Progress, Inc. Regular volunteer work and a passion for child welfare inspired her to leave that field to pursue an advanced degree and a career in social service. Shortly after her son was born, she decided to become a stay-at-home mother and pursue a writing career fulltime. Her first novel, Rock Star, was recently re-released in mass market. Find out more about Roslyn at http://www.roslynhardyholcom.com.