Page 54 of Impossible Love

I haven’t heard that song in many years—intentionally. My mother would sing that song to me when I was a kid to soothe everything from bee stings to the ugly jealousy I’d feel with the birth of each new baby brother. The song was her way of telling me that she would always have room for me, and that she’d always be there.

After all this time, the music and words still have the power to lay bare the emptiness I carry inside me. The hollow place her death left behind.

But the melody and lyrics hit different tonight. I heard beauty in that song. Maybe because it came from such an unexpected place—the piano that had long been silent and a woman I can’t walk away from.

I stare at her in wonder now. She is a skilled pianist with the voice of an angel. I’m not sure how this information fits into the portrait of Victoria Backlund that I’ve tried to paint for myself, a vision that would make her easier to resist.

I don’t know what to think anymore.

I have to kiss her again. And I will. The way I kissed her at Sulfur Springs left too much unsaid. The kiss we just shared opened a door I’ll sure as hell be walking through, no matter what it costs me.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

I nod. “I’m always all right. But I have to ask…” I start over. “You’re an accomplished musician, Victoria. Gifted. You’ve studied for a long time.”

“Yeah,” she says.

She slides down the piano bench, then swings a leg over to face me square on. She folds her hands in front of her and looks down, perhaps embarrassed. She has no need to be.

“I was pretty serious about it as a kid. I studied with a bad-ass teacher for more than ten years and got accepted to Julliard’s piano program.” She looks up, cautious. “But I went to Yale to major in economics instead, with a minor in piano performance. I went on to get my MBA with a concentration in finance.”

I knew most of this from the investigation, of course. Just not the whole picture. She is no stranger to hard work. She hasn’t had everything handed to her, as I first suspected. It’s impressive.

She’s impressive.

“I will always love music, but I’m dedicated to the family business. I’m an only child, and I’m serious about carrying on what my father has built.” She gives me a tentative smile. “I think you can understand that.”

I can.

“I feel most passionate about Renaissance Empowered’s private equity focus, and I’m very good at what I do.”

I swing a leg around and face her, too. Then I reach for one of her hands, examining those talented fingers. “But that doesn’t explain where you got those kissing skills. ’Cause, sweetheart, you’ve elevated kissing to an art form.”

She laughs, and I pull her toward me. I kiss her again. I need more of her.

Her softness and her willingness are overwhelming. How is it that a woman so focused on business and so damned stubborn about her objectives can be so timid and so sweet under my touch?

I want this kiss to last all night. Longer. But I don’t let my mind go there. I remind myself that “forever” and “Victoria Backlund” don’t belong in the same sentence. I decide instead to enjoy the moment. Sink into the pleasure. And just see where it goes.

So far, it’s going in places I did not expect.

A piano bench may not be the sexist of places for this kiss, but it will have to do. I don’t want to risk breaking the spell, letting her change her mind. Besides, I’m so hard that I’m not even sure I can stand.

All I want is her. In my arms and under my mouth. Claiming her. Marking her as my own. It's a primal need, something I've never experienced to this extent before. Sure, there have been women I’ve claimed, women I’ve made cum, women I’ve fucked senseless. But never did I feel compelled to protect and treasure a woman the way I do with Victoria.

In all ways, she is different, and the man I am when I’m with her is different too.

I lift her chin with my fingertips and angle her head so that I can get deeper, take this kiss all the way. The flesh of her throat is tender and hot under my fingertips, and I imagine this kiss and this touch flowing into an all-body sexual domination. It’s difficult for me not to put my hands all over her curves, put them where they have not been invited.

Sweet little whimpers rise up from her throat as I move my lips against hers and explore her mouth with my tongue. She moans, and it vibrates through my body and rushes to my dick. I’m about to lose it, just kissing her. I can’t imagine how hot it will be with her beneath me, legs gripping my hips, taking all of me.

I bring both my hands into all that gorgeous auburn hair, feeling the silky and thick strands slide through my fingers. This hair was the first thing I noticed about her when she swayed her hips and exited the private jet. Well, one of the first things I noticed. After her smokin’ hot body. Her long legs. And those fucking shoes.

I fist her hair and take the kiss deeper, even more serious. I need her to know that I’m not fucking around here, that when I kiss a woman like this, it means something to me. I think she gets the message because she softens even further beneath my mouth.

The more demanding I am, the more submissive she becomes.

Good.

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