He laughed and hugged her to him, flipping her over onto her back. He stepped away just long enough to shed his boots and jeans, then he was back, pushing her knees up and apart so he could kneel between them.
“Trust me?” he asked, kissing her lightly on her lips then raining quick kisses along her jaw and down her throat, until his hot breath was on her breast.
When he didn’t kiss her there, she looked down and saw the question in his eyes.
“Yes!” she gasped, reaching for his head and pulling him to her.
He suckled first one breast and then the other while she held him close and writhed in anticipation. Then he lightly bit one nipple while at the same time reaching down to touch her intimately.
Meg came apart on a scream and she felt the wetness on her thighs as he swirled his fingers, preparing her for him.
Then that other part of him was there, pushing inside. He was bigger than anyone she had ever known, and she felt herself tensing in anticipation of expected pain. John didn’t let it happen though, as he slowing pushed forward and pulled back, taking complete control of their joining. Meg’s hands clasped his shoulders, and she could feel the sweat and strain of his control.
“John…?”
“Just hang on, darlin’,” he whispered. “We’ll get there.”
It took both patience and effort on both their parts, but then he was seated deep inside her, touching places she had never even known existed before. And as he began to move in a rhythm older than time, her muscles contracted around him, and she felt herself coming apart once more.
“John!”
Just as she thought the pleasure/pain would never end, he reached down to touch her where they were joined. She cried out once more as she climaxed, and she heard his answering roar as he followed her over the cliff..
37
“You don’t have to do this you know,” John said as they approached the symphony hall.
“Yes, I do.”
After spending a great deal of the past two weeks in John’s bed, Meg was a little sore, but otherwise she felt terrific. She’d been practicing again, playing just for the joy of it, trying to emulate John’s improvisation some of the time, but spending most of her playing hours on audition material. She’d finally heard back from the Nashville Symphony’s conductor, and she had an audition appointment. Now all she needed to do was impress him just enough and hope he didn’t recognize her.
Meg almost didn’t recognize herself these days. Mel and taken her to a hairdresser, who had cut and shaped her hair into a layered, breezy style. It was still long enough for her to pull it back into a pony tail—per John’s request—but it was shorter in front, and she couldn’t sit on it anymore, which made it a lot easier to take care of.
Having John in the shower with me to wash it helps, too, she thought, suppressing a grin.
They entered the Symphony Center through the offices as directed, and Meg was shown to an audition room, while John waited for her in the reception area. He gave her a quick kiss for luck as they parted, and she savored it, knowing he would be there for her when she came out again, no matter what happened in the audition.
Meg told herself to relax. This was not something she hadn’t done before, though it had been some time since her last actual audition. Still, she had performed for more exacting audiences in her time. Of course, only one man’s opinion would matter today.
And if he doesn’t like my playing, then I’ll learn to play fiddle, she told herself.
Twenty minutes later, she was warmed up and pacing the insulated practice room nervously, waiting for the maestro.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, when he finally appeared. “Miss Baker, is it?”
“Yes, Maestro Campagnone.”
He was tall and dark, as handsome an Italian male as any for whom she had played in Rome or Florence, or Vienna. Only a slightly raised eyebrow indicated that he was favorably impressed by her correct pronunciation of his name. His own speech had very little accent.
“I am afraid that I am a little pressed for time, today, but we do have need of a mid-season addition to our violins, so by all means, let me hear what you have for me.
“Thank you for your time, Maestro.”
Meg had spent years around men such as Maestro Antonio Campagnone, so she knew how to play the game. Without further delay, she began her prepared piece. She played Scheherazade, because it was more ensemble work than solo, but mostly because it was her piece. She put her heart and soul into the music, as though she were channeling Rimsky-Korsakov himself. She’d barely made it into the first solo, however, when she was interrupted.
“Enough! Enough!”
Meg broke off and stared at him, almost frightened by his fierce gaze.
“Is this some kind of joke? Some kind of lark you’re on?”
“I beg your pardon,” Meg said, falling back on the formal politeness that had been ingrained in her from a very early age.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you? The great Mademoiselle Marguerite Fournier? The toast of Europe?”
Meg straightened her spine and took a deep breath. “I’m not that person anymore.”