Caught Up in Love Ever After Page 2

  A shiver runs through me, and I know where this is going. He’s going to unravel me, like he always does with his words, his touch, his lips, his hands.

  “Right here, in the wings of the theater at Lincoln Center while everyone is out there in the audience and there are camera crews around filming the awards show live for network TV?” I say, arching an eyebrow, challenging him.

  The sound of technicians roaming the stage and feverishly setting up for the next shot fills my ears, and I know I should scurry off stage and be the consummate professional. But yet, we’re in this private little corner, hidden behind the curtain, and no one can see us, and I’m tempted, so tempted to give in to the moment, because this man – my almost husband – makes me hot.

  “Maybe,” he says in that low and sexy voice that’s layered with innuendo, as he slips a hand down the back of my dress, his palm finding its way to my bare ass. “Would you like that?” he whispers in my ear, then nips my earlobe. “Or do you want me to take you back to our place right now and fuck you properly on the kitchen counter, or in the shower, or on the table? How is that I haven’t yet fucked you on the table?” he muses as he slides his hand lower over my ass, and then there…between my legs, finding his way to the promised land.

  “It would seem to be quite an oversight,” I say, trying to tease him too, but then his agile fingers slide across me, and I grab hard onto his shoulders, and mute myself because sparks of desire are shooting through my body as heat flares between my legs. “You can’t do this right now. I have to go talk to reporters and be professional. And you might win a Tony for best director. Your category is up in five minutes.”

  He pushes his hips against me, and I can feel his erection against the silky fabric of my dress. “How embarrassing that I might have to go on stage then rock hard, because of how much I want to have the woman who’s going to be my wife,” he says, grinding against me, as his lips buzz along my neck, and I nearly cry out again. Everything he does sends me into such an altered state of desire. “But you need to know what I’m planning on doing to you tonight. After you say all those nice words to the press, and they congratulate you for your award, I’m finding a coat closet or a bathroom, and I’m going to back you up against the wall, and you’ll wrap your legs around me and I’ll slide into you. I want you to grab hard on my hair and hold on tight because it’ll be fast and hard and deep.”

  Reason is not going to win tonight. Passion is.

  I rock into him, and he slides his fingers across me once more, hitting me where I want him most, and in an instant, I am soaring. Oh my fucking god. He’s doing it to me again. I breathe out hard, nearly panting, and then I hear the booming voice of the emcee – Neil Patrick Harris – as Davis hits me all too perfectly with his amazing fingers.

  “And now ladies, and gentleman, it’s time to run through our nominees for best director,” he says, his voice echoing across the venue.

  “Davis,” I whisper desperately in my breathy, stilted voice that reveals how close I am. “You need to go.”

  “Don’t worry, Jill. I need to go, but I also need to make you come,” he says as he strokes me faster, and runs his tongue against my earlobe, making my legs quake. He holds me tight and then I ride his hand unabashedly as the climax I never saw coming slams into me. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, and clamp my lips shut, so no one can hear me moan.

  I shudder, my whole body still awash in the aftereffects of what feels like the millionth orgasm Davis has given me. He is relentless in his pursuit of them, and he can’t resist making me come.

  “And now I should go so I can stop in the men’s room to wash my hands,” he says and kisses my cheek, then heads out, leaving me here, slumped against the wall, behind the stage, lingering in the glow.

  Minutes later, Neil Patrick Harris finishes listing off the nominees. “And now the winner for best director of a Broadway musical is….Davis Milo for Crash the Moon.”

  I gasp loudly, and smile broadly, and then from my secret hideout backstage, I peer around the curtains as my man strides to the stage looking gorgeous and oh-so-professional in his tux, leaving me the only one wiser to what the winner of best director did to the winner of best actress minutes ago.

  “Thank you so much. This is truly an honor, and I wish to thank all of those who made this possible, from the producers to the stage hands, to the ticket takers at the St. James as well as the show’s composer Frederick Stillman. I am fortunate to have had the most amazing cast to work with and they made my job easy, so I owe them the biggest thanks of all. But most of all, I wish to thank the woman who’s going to become my wife, because she changed my life, and I love her immensely. This is for you, Jill.”

  Four Months Later

  Davis

  “And do you, Davis, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love, honor and cherish for as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do,” I say, looking into Jill’s deep blue eyes. There is no more beautiful, or more wonderful, woman in the entire universe than her. We are standing on the stage of the St. James Theater, the very spot where she first auditioned for the musical she went on to star in – the play where we fell in love. This stage is our stage. Of course, we’ve done more than fall in love on it. We’ve christened it in every way possible. On the piano, late at night several times after the cast had taken their bows and the audiences cleared out. Backstage, in her dressing room, even in the front row. But I tell the dirty part of my mind to be still for a few minutes as the wedding ceremony finishes. Our guests aren’t in the seats. They are here on stage with us, as it should be. My friend and lawyer, Clay, arranged for us to use the theater on a Sunday when it is dark for shows.

  “And do you, Jill, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love, honor, and cherish for as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do,” she says with a beaming smile.

  “By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  But I’ve never really needed to be told to do that. Kissing Jill comes easily, naturally, countless times a day. So I gather her in my arms, and kiss her softly, the first time time I have kissed her as her husband. Her lips part, and she tastes as delicious as always, but I restrain myself from kissing her the way I want. There are too many people around for that – my sister, Jill’s brother and his wife, Jill’s best friend Kat and her husband, as well as her friend Reeve and his wife, and the rest of our friends and family surround us.

  I’ll have my way with Jill later.

  “Are you finally going to tell me where you’re taking me on our honeymoon?” she asks as I break the kiss.

  I’ve kept it secret for months, wanting to surprise her. “Soon,” I tell her, and then it’s time for photographs, and embraces and congratulations all around.

  But when the guests head to Sardi’s next door for the reception, I take her hand, guide her up the stairs to the dressing room above the stage, and open the door. It’s her dressing room now. It has been since she took over the lead role in Crash the Moon, though her run is ending soon. She has offers to star in other shows and has been debating what role to tackle next. For now, I plan to tackle her.

  “I need a minute alone with you before the reception,” I tell her.

  “Whatever for?” She raises an eyebrow knowingly.

  “For this,” I tell her, then cup her cheeks gently, before I kiss her slowly, agonizingly slowly, trailing my tongue across her lips that I can never get enough of. Then I break the kiss. “I needed to kiss you properly as your husband now.”

  She runs her index finger across my top lip, then leans in for another quick kiss that makes me groan with lust for her.

  “We should go to the reception, but you should do something else properly first,” she says.

  “Whatever could you possibly have in mind?”

  She kisses my jawline, leaving sweet kisses along my cheek as she travels to my e
ar. I yank her close, savoring the feel of her in that gorgeous white dress against me, wanting all of her, all the time. “Tell me where you’re taking me on our honeymoon,” she says playfully.

  I laugh. “Ah, and all this time I was thinking you’d want to consummate our vows.”

  “Well, we can do that too,” she says toying with my bowtie and unknotting it. Then she plays with the buttons on my white shirt, fingering them as she has always loved to do. “But tell me first.”

  “I see you are a good negotiator.” I thread my hands into her soft, luxurious blond hair, and tell her. Her eyes widen, and she claps once happily. I love her reaction. I love her happiness. I love her madly and deeply and always.

  She presses her body against me. “I’m sure our first time as husband and wife should be all proper and missionary, but I’d just really like it if you could lift me up and take me right now against the door, Mr. Milo.”

  “Nothing would make me happier, Mrs. Milo,” I say as I follow her instructions to the letter.

  Jill

  The sun beats down, warming me as I lounge on the hammock on our deck. The water is tranquil and a pure crystal blue here on our bungalow over the ocean in Fiji. Davis is next to me, and my life is everything I have ever wanted and then some.

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