Page 7 of The Moon & His Tides
“I’m serious,” she stated before I could doubt her again. “Please, let me make a copy of this quickly. I’ll run up and photocopy it and then give you back the original. I won’t make any promises, but I think I can get this into the right hands.”
I peered at her and swallowed four times before I found my voice. “Why would you do that?” When her face softened, I sharpened my tone. “And don’t give me somecazzateabout you just doing something nice for a fellow human being. Everyone has a reason tied to greed for doinganything, and you? The classy wife of a celebrated actor, what reason could you possibly have to help an Irish-Italian immigrant chauffeur wannabe writer and actor?”
Suddenly, Mrs. Savannah Meyers looked as I imagined she had as a child, a little lost but edgy with restless need and impossible hope. She licked her lips nervously and looked up at me through her lashes. “You’re right. I’m not altruistic by nature. I’m selfish and savage in my pursuit of what I want… You don’t get to where I am by being generous.”
“A society wife?” I asked, hiding my vulnerability behind cruelty.
“Yes,” she sniffed. “And a muse. It might not seem like such an accomplishment to you, but I was born in hell on earth, and now I live in heaven. I can do that for you. Just let me copy these papers, Sebastian. Trust me even though you have no real reason to besides the fact that it feelsright.”
I hated her for knowing how right it felt. If she remained impervious and perfect, hidden behind the partition meant to separate us, I would have said no. But she’d let down her guard enough to show me her flaws, and it was those, her selfishness, and ruthless ambition that made her tangible to me. The intimacy germinating between us took root and began to flourish.
I held her wide blue eyes solemnly as I said, “Make the copies, but if nothing comes of it, I don’t want to know about it,capisci?”
Savannah pressed my screenplay to her chest, and I imagined that through those pages, pure extensions of myself, I could feel the thrum of her heartbeat against my own.
“Capisco,” she said with a bad accent and the most beautiful grin I’d ever seen.
And I decided even if she trampled all over my dreams, it was worth it to see a woman like Savannah Meyers gift me with her smile.
3
SEBASTIAN
Bach was on.
“Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major.”
I’d done my homework and listened to everything I could find by him, and then, wanting to impress, I’d borrowed a book about him from the London Public Library. Interestingly, Johann Bach’s middle name was Sebastian.
Savannah wasla duchessa. If I wanted on the right side of the partition (her side), I needed to step up my game in a way I’d never had to before.
So I read the book and listened to his compositions every night after work for a week.
I was ready to impress her.
It had been nearly a week since she’d photocopied my screenplay, but we hadn’t spoken of it. Instead, she had distracted me each time I drove her with tidbits about London society, and I learned that she had her fingers in many, many pies. Savannah may have been a socialite, but she worked hard to network for her husband, and it seemed that she knew anyone who was anyone in town, up to and including most ofthe Royal family. After eating the cupcake I’d bought her from Peggy Porschen’s, we’d been back four times, and I’d discovered Savannah had a weakness for all things vanilla. So being the utterstronzoI was, that is falling in love with her over the lowered partition in her town car, I made sure to pick her up bearing ridiculous confections like iced vanilla pound cake and vanilla frosted cupcakes topped with salted caramel. Each time, she reacted as though I’d pulled down the moon and had it faceted like the world’s biggest diamond for her and her alone to wear.
It made me feel fucking ten feet tall, and after a lifetime of feeling small and poor, always striving for more, it was ridiculously heady. Her beauty was magnified by the knowledge that I had the power to amplify it. I was the one who gave her reason to smile that smile and laugh that musical laugh. So it was no surprise my fierce attraction to her had escalated to a near sexual obsession.
My fingers drummed on the steering wheel as I waited for her that evening, the sound muted by the thickness of my leather driving gloves. I wanted to finger that classy pussy while wearing those gloves, see the smear of her wetness on the fine finish, and smell her fragrance embedded in the seams whenever I brought them to my nose.
I adjusted my hardening cock in my uniform and took a deep breath as I spotted Savannah gliding out the doors of The Goring Dining Room. My breath caught, then held in my throat at the sight of her slim curves tucked away in a silk dress the same shade as the inside of an oyster. Her pale blond hair curled around her heart-shaped face, catching the light like a halo, her deep red lips the same shape as Cupid’s bow.
She was made for me—by the hands of God or the devil, I didn’t care.
I had to have her.
The cold air felt good against my burning skin as I stepped out of the car. My pulse was hammering erratically as though I had a heart murmur, and my collar felt too tight as I watched her walk down the few steps in ridiculously sexy spiked heels.
She smiled at me as she drew closer, and it was a smile I’d yet to see.
A wide parting of her red lips, pearly teeth on full display, and a tiny dimple tacked neatly high into her left cheek. Her eyes shone with uninhibited joy at seeing me.
“Mozzafiato,” I said without deciding to, so enchanted by the beguiling childlike wonder in her eyes as she stared up at me that I could have been mugged at that moment and not noticed or cared.
She laughed and then, distracted, lost her footing so that her body collided softly with mine. I caught her easily and pressed her hand over the lapel of my suit, over the rapidtapof my heart against its cage. I watched with male satisfaction as her mouth fell open like a blooming rose.
“What does that mean?” she questioned softly.
