A Thousand Starry Nights

  “This is the one.” He swallows hard taking it in.

  The high-pitched tine of a knife hitting the side of a champagne flute resonates through the air as Terri calls the masses to attention.

  Carter and I step out to the grand room where a thicket of bodies have gathered. My siblings line themselves up, beaming with pride. Justine and Jordan, the twins, shine their matching braces in the light, so proud to see me.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” Terri’s voice funnels over the vicinity with purpose. “It is my good pleasure to welcome you to the Moments of Light, Moments of Darkness exhibition. I ask you to join me in congratulating debut artist, Aspen O’Tool, on a job remarkably well done.” The crowd breaks out into a riotous applause—that of my siblings being the loudest. “The Eaton Gallery is proud to host such richly talented new blood. Here’s to many more good years of beautiful, cutting-edge elegance.” She raises her glass high in the air as the room fills with happy murmurs.

  “Good evening, Aspen,” that stiff formal tone, that whiskey on a dark night gravely voice—it can only be my father.

  “Dad.” I spin into him and offer a brief hug. He may not be a prominent player in my day to day existence—he may not financially shelter me like he does my siblings, but I do appreciate having him in my life even if he is more on the sidelines.

  “You look fabulous.” He expends a tight smile before nodding to Carter. “Who is this young man?” His chest peacocks with an air of protectiveness. He’s pretending to get his feathers ruffled, and I find it both entertaining and endearing. He didn’t come to my wedding.

  “Dad, this is—” Before I can finish, the loud sound of knife to crystal permeates the air once again, not as elegant as the first time but brutal and violent. The entire room quiets to whispers as we wait for the inevitable sound of glass cracking like an egg.

  “I’d like to make an announcement.” A horribly familiar voice booms from behind.

  “Oh, shit.” Carter winces over my shoulder.

  That jarring voice. That caustic tone. I know it well.

  A breath gets locked in my throat as I freeze, solid as marble.

  Henry sways into the center of the room, barreling toward me with a staggering gait. It’s hard to tell if he’s sober. I’m guessing not. His face red from either the embarrassing effort, rage, simply a sunburn, or vodka.

  “I want to publicly praise my beautiful wife.” He lifts a glass from the tray of a passing waiter. “I want the entire world to know how proud I am of this wonderful woman and her brilliant work.”

  Wonderful? Brilliant?

  From the corner of my eye, I catch Stevie fisting her dress and bustling over.

  Henry lifts his chin. “I want to publicly state, that I am still very much in love with Aspen O’Tool.” He takes a few measured steps toward me, his lying eyes snag on mine. He’s wearing a wrinkled suit jacket and jeans. On some level I’m impressed that he made the effort, but the way he has me stunned, you would think he sprouted tentacles and announced he’s an alien. I think I’d prefer it. He takes a few more orchestrated steps in my direction. “I want our marriage to work, Aspen. Take me back, baby,” he says it embarrassingly loud and measured for the entire room to hear.

  My heart thunders behind my ears. My face heats like an iron. I want to die. I want to drop in a hole. Why now? Why during my most shining moment does Henry choose to douse my world with his blight? I wish he would find Jennifer and they could both go on one very long vacation. My past is spreading like a disease over this starry night. Ironic, my moment of light is impaled by this moment of darkness—a real live performance piece.

  “Crap,” I hiss under my breath. “What the hell are you doing?” I grunt the words through gritted teeth. Henry hates “art.” He hates my art in particular. This is completely out of character for him. “Please, just leave.”

  All eyes are peeled on Henry and me, waiting with bated breath for some romantic reconciliation that sure as hell will never come.

  Carter steps into him. “You heard her. Get out.”

  The room picks up in soft whispers, and I cringe. Henry, Carter, and I are providing bad theater for all of the patrons who were kind enough to come out tonight. Maybe this will all end in a murder suicide, a bit of unexpected L.A. noir served up on the side.

  “You don’t fucking tell me what to do.” Henry gives him a hard shove, and Carter’s brothers appear in a flash, girding themselves in a semi-circle in the event Carter needs backup. Stevie tries to step in, and I gently push her toward her mother. They may not have the best relationship, but I know Terri would die before anything happened to that baby in Stevie’s belly.

  “Get the hell out, and stay out of her life.” Carter snaps as loud as the crack of a whip.

  Henry pulls Carter in hard by the shirt. “You stay the fuck away from my wife!”

  “That is my wife!” Carter gives the words in a magnificent roar. It’s as if the entire sea crashed over the room, taking down the building in a mad rush of rubble.

  Fists fly as Carter tries to shove Henry toward the exit, but Henry tosses Carter against a floating display and knocks two pieces to the ground. The Eye in the Sky and Maharaja by Candlelight. The wood splits on the canvas of the second piece.

  They scuffle for a few minutes before the entire Cannon clan jumps in to break up the fight, and Henry is quickly shuttled to the door by Cash and Carson.

  Stevie suctions to my shoulder. “He called you his wife,” she whispers so fast and loud it sounds like a sneeze.

  Carter shakes himself loose from Ford and strides over with determination cemented in those glassy eyes, and I can’t look away. Kinsley and Stevie chatter like birds in my ears, but I’m lost in this man who surprised me so deeply.

  He steps in, and I open my mouth to say something, to thank him, question him, congratulate him on that left hook, but Carter has other plans.

  He grabs me by the back of the neck and pulls me in with a passion-filled fury. His mouth covers mine, hot and hungry. Carter unleashes his tongue in me, passionate and probing, and I sigh into him. This, right here, is the moment I’ve waited so long to experience. In truth, it’s been a thousand star-less nights without his mouth finding a home over mine.

  I can breathe again. The entire universe is rejuvenating from this one beautiful kiss.

  The room, all of the friends and family, the patrons give an obstinate gasp as I give them one last performance piece—Moments in Love.

  Carter

  This moment. I’ve waited so long to dive back into Aspen, to lose myself in the warmth of her mouth. I wish the world would disappear, that we would magically transport onto the beach under the stars, in my bedroom, anywhere but here.

  With our mouths still fused, her tongue mingling with mine in this aching slow dance, an abrupt applause breaks out around us.

  The hard clasp of a hand comes down over my shoulder, and, for a moment, I think it might be Henry.

  “All right, man,” Ford whispers. “You put on one fucking good show. Don’t turn this into some kind of a pornographic circus. Save something for later.”

  I take a deep breath as I give one last hearty lap around Aspen’s beautiful mouth and slowly pull back. Her lips burn raw and swollen, her eyes wide and round as cymbals. I’ve stunned her—hell, I’ve stunned myself.

  “Are you okay?” A part of me demands that I apologize for both causing a scene and taking her like some sex-starved ape, but I’m not in the least sorry, and I’ll go on record for being downright malnourished when it comes to feasting on Aspen’s flesh. I need more. I’ll always need more of Aspen. A lifetime won’t be enough.

  “I’m fine.” Her cheeks flush pink. She hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “I should probably mingle.”

  “Yes. Absolutely.” I watch as she strides toward her mother and younger siblings.

  “Smooth.” Cash comes up along side me. “Don’t bend over. Her brother looks as if he wants to rip you a ne
w one.”

  “I’d say it’s a given.” Carson pulls a tall blonde in tight. Haven’t seen her before, and, knowing my brother, I never will again.

  Stevie and Ford come up, her wearing an ear-to-ear grin, and my brother a little less impressed.

  “That was quite a performance.” Stevie beams at me. “Looks like you set both Henry and Aspen straight.” She leans into my ear, her hard belly brushing against my arm. “Make her yours, Carter. This is your moment. Don’t F it up like you did the last time.” She pulls back with that same slightly crazed look in her eye I’ve seen in her mother.

  The crowd melts away. Bodies disperse like pigeons. Aspen is hugging her family goodbye, so I head over to Terri.

  “You need help shutting this place down?”

  “I have a crew of seven coming in later.” Her gaze stays trained on the painting in front of us. Aspen and me knotted up under a star sprayed night.

  “Did you sell this one?”

  Her dead gaze remains fixed on Aspen’s masterpiece. “At this price? She’ll never sell it in three million years.” Her lips curve with dangerous intent. For whatever reason, she’s enjoying this staccato exchange.

  “She just sold it.”

  “You sure?” She tilts her head into the oversized canvas as if she were having the conversation with it and not me. “The price just went up.”

  A dull laugh resonates through me. “It’s three million.”

  “The showing is over. Ten million now.”

  I swallow the knot that’s spontaneously formed in my throat. I’m good on paper. I’ve got the funds, but when you’re not raised with a never-ending supply of cash, you think twice before shelling out that kind of money.

  “Sold.” I turn to walk away. “Don’t tell her.”

  The gallery is drained of all its patrons. Aspen comes this way with a canary-eating grin.

  Terri cuts her steely gaze to mine. “I’m going to step out for a moment. Don’t let anyone make off with something that belongs to you. That’s a beautiful work of art. Appreciate it.”

  The clip clop of her heels echoes into the distance until all we hear is music pouring from the speakers, that’s quickly replaced with the deafening sound of our breathing.

  Aspen lights up the dim space with her brilliant countenance. Aspen is the candle in this very long, cold night I’ve ventured through for four long, weary years. I’ve been thirsty, hungry for her, and I’m ready to be sated.

  I pull her in by the fingers and give her a spin. Her body twists into mine, close, tight as we move hip to hip to the rhythm.

  Aspen leans in and takes a gentle bite of my lower lip. Her wild eyes burning a fire in mine as she slowly pulls away.

  “You own me, Aspen,” I whisper right over her mouth. “You’ve always owned me.”

  Our lips crash. This time it’s Aspen diving in deep, hard, navigating my mouth with a robust vigor, with a dominance I can get used to. We indulge in one luscious exchange that was years in the making, our lust heated and glowing like iron over fire.

  I’m going to love her, fuck her, grind my existence into hers until we are one.

  Aspen is my wife in spirit, and one day, very soon, I plan to make it legal.

  My hands rise to her cheeks as she pours her passionate sighs right down my throat.

  Aspen and I are back, and I’m desperate to make up for the desolation I’ve caused that stretched out over the expanse of a thousand starry nights.

  * * *

  Sunday is spent wrapped in each other’s arms, sneaking kisses as Abby runs under our feet. Aspen goes over color samples with Abby, and they decide on a pale turquoise sky, bright dollop of an orange sun, a sandy shoreline with pelicans and beach balls bouncing through the mural. Aspen dictates a portion of the adjoining wall as a place where Abby can free-paint. You would have thought it was every single Christmas rolled into one. I have to give it to Aspen, not even I could have come up with something that perfect for a three-year-old.

  Come Monday, I find a note on my office door.

  See me. Do NOT stop by Lincoln’s office. I have my own.

  ~Stevie

  Instinctively, I frown. Stevie is all for Aspen and I to happen, but after the exhibit, it was Lincoln who was waiting outside to escort Aspen home. He’s keeping a watchdog eye on me—making sure I don’t step out of line, get too close to home plate. I get it. He wants to protect her. Hell, so do I. But I’m not the enemy here, so he can fucking relax. I plan on having a talk with him soon.

  Stevie’s office is down one flight on a floor that’s affectionately become known as Lionheart central. Each of the siblings has taken an office there. And, even though Lincoln is primarily at Merlin, and Jinx survived the takeover by the skin of its teeth, they still hold real estate in the heart of the building.

  I give a polite knock over Stevie’s door before walking in. Aspen is there, and I walk right over and indulge in the first kiss of the morning. I would have taken her to my place Saturday night had her brother not surrounded her like a human fort. I would have taken her to bed last night if it weren’t for Abby. It’ll happen soon enough, and, when it does, it will be one for the record books. Stars will fall straight to earth.

  “Okay, break it up!” Stevie barks, and we part like teenagers. She makes a smile come and go then lets it rise slowly back up to her lips. “I wanted to let you know how happy I am that you’ve finally found your way back together.” She shoots a sharp look to Aspen. “And, as a way of saying congratulations, I’ve taken it upon myself to give you a little gift—one you shouldn’t refuse.” Her voice drops an octave. “You have a couples appointment downstairs in thirty minutes.” She looks to her sister. “Aspen, you should go now. Melee is waiting to dress you.” She shoos her dismissively.

  “Where exactly is it that I’m going? And who is Melee?”

  “Mistress Melee.” Stevie sinks her head back a moment as if we should have been clued in by now. “I booked a couples session with the dominatrix. You’re welcome. Now both of you go! I have a few finishing touches to put on my wedding and less than four days to do it—talk about your mission impossible. Who knew there were so many silly details that would need my attention?” She flips through a bridal magazine, fully absorbing herself as if we were gone.

  Aspen takes a breath. That sweet ginger perfume of hers makes me want to have a couples sessions of our own in my office.

  She steps in, her hand caressing my tie as if it were my cock. “I guess I’d better get downstairs.” She takes off, and I watch as her skirt moves hypnotically from side to side.

  “You, too.” Stevie commands.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I stride out the door. I think I’ll be saying that a lot this afternoon. I owe Stevie and Ford dinner for this escapade. Let the whips and chains shenanigans begin.

  “Hey.” Cash comes up on me fast. “Just when I think I’m making headway with that Lionheart fucker, he shuts up and plays dumb.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The money trail. He said he could find the bastards then went cold as ice. Says it’s a dead lead. That it’s too well hidden. When I threatened to call in reinforcements, he said he’d crack it open like a piggybank—to give him three days.”

  “There’s a turnaround for you. So he’ll get it done.” I loosen my tie in anticipation of things to come. “Look, I gotta go. I’ve got a session with Ms. Melee.” I tweak my brows.

  “No shit.” He doesn’t look too amused. “All right, I get it. You’re distracted. Don’t worry, I got this.” He slaps me over the shoulder and takes off. “You’re a lucky fucker.”

  Damn straight, I’m distracted. A dirty grin twitches as I hop onto the elevator and head on down.

  I am a lucky fucker.

  * * *

  Mistress Melee is tall, with broad shoulders, a flat forehead, wide set jowls and I’m not entirely sure she’s not a dude.

  The room is somewhat dark with candles strewn about the periphery. br />
  “You must be Carter.” Her lids hang heavy through her Zorro-like mask as she pulls me in with a curl of her finger. “Close the door.” She’s decked out in black vinyl from head to toe, wearing combat boots studded with spikes. My balls beg to invert just looking at them. “This session is not for your arousal.” Her voice dips deep, and I’m back to thinking she’s packing in her briefs. “You are not allowed to get aroused, Carter. Do you understand me?” I nod as she gives a quick knock to the door behind her, and Aspen steps out clad in red leather, boots that lace up to her thighs, a corset that elevates her tits to her neck, and holy hell, too late. I’m officially aroused.

  “Damn.” It’s all I can manage. Aspen has hooked my attention, and there isn’t a thing the dominatrix can say to get it back.

  “Remove everything but your boxers.” Mistress Melee instructs.

  “Will do.” I try to sound reluctant, but the truth is I want to remove everything including my boxers just to have my way with Aspen. How the hell does she look like that? I take a step toward the bathroom, and Melee blocks my path with a riding crop. “Right here.”

  I look from her to Aspen and crack the slight hint of a smile. My fingers work achingly slow over the buttons on my dress shirt. Aspen’s lips part as I peel it back like removing a layer of the past. My hands drift to my belt, and I pluck it lose like a threat. I make sure my clothes come off at an uncomfortably slow pace. I don’t want to seem overeager, and, at the same time, I want Aspen to enjoy the show.

  As soon as I’m down to my skivvies, I meet up with Aspen’s gaze. Her eyes run a long slow drag over my shoulders, down my abs, lower still then trace quickly down my legs. I can feel her gaze like the slow pull of a heated weight dragging over my flesh, and, suddenly, I want nothing more than to close the distance between us.