Read Online Undone, Volume 2 by Callie Harper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Callie Harper
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turned tail, fast.
I paid almost as fast and ran after her, catching her marching toward
the street.
“Ana, wait. You can’t
pay attention to that crap.”
“I know.” She
nodded her head, but she avoided my eyes and her cheeks had turned a
deep, embarrassed shade of pink.
“Come on, tomorrow
they’ll be saying that I had a baby with the ghost of Audrey
Hepburn.” That brought out a smile, but it looked weak. “I’ll
get us a car and we’ll head up to my place.”
The ride was short, not
much traffic mid-day on a Thursday, and we weren’t going too far. I
wrapped my arm around her and tried to keep her mind off it, telling
her about all the outrageous stories I’d seen printed about me over
the years. I’d been romantically linked to people I’d never met,
accused of parenting children with people I’d never touched. One
rag had even declared that I was the secret love child of Sean Penn
and Madonna. I kind of liked that one.
I’d learned to laugh
it off, but just then I felt like an asshole. I’d dragged Ana into
this, exposed her to those hyenas, offered her up on a platter
knowing full well the kind of shit that would get thrown around. And
I’d never considered, not even once, the effect it would have on
her. I wasn’t a good person.
“You know it’s not
true,” I murmured into her hair, silky and smooth. “You’re
gorgeous.”
She gave a puff of a
laugh, more like a fast exhale. “I’m burning that coat.”
“I don’t know.” I
lifted up her hair and dropped my lips to her neck, kissing her light
on her warm skin. “I can see some appeal. If you showed up on my
doorstep wearing that coat and nothing underneath.” Dipping lower,
I licked her neck, giving her a kiss, a teasing nip and suck. She
tilted her head back, so natural at surrendering, her instinct to
give herself over to the pleasure. I’d do everything I could to
give her ample opportunity to experience it.
Starting now. The
driver pulled up, we got out and climbed up the stairs of my home. A
classic San Francisco Victorian, it was smaller and less modern than
what I could afford, but I’d loved it the second I’d seen it.
Built in 1920, it had withstood earthquakes and fires and the living
room overlooked the bay, golden in the morning and flushed red at
sunset. It couldn’t be beat.
And now I’d get Ana
to myself, for a least a couple of hours before our show.
I let her into the
entryway, high-ceilinged and bright with light. “Would you like a
glass of wine?” It had to be around three o’clock. Regular people
started drinking that early, didn’t they?
“Sure.” She
followed me in, taking in the details in the woodwork, the framed
rock memorabilia. I’d had someone decorate it for me, of course. I
wasn’t going to take the time to line shit up and mess around with
a hammer and nails. But I’d personally collected each and every
piece.
“You like Joni
Mitchell?” She stopped in front of a framed, signed copy of Blue from 1971.
“Yeah, that’s a
great album. James Taylor plays guitar on it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“And Stephen Stills.
They used to live here, you know. Crosby, Stills and Nash.” I was
rambling now, sharing nerdy rock history facts. How did this girl
make me nervous?
“They lived here?”
She looked around my place, surprised.
“No.” I realized
what I’d said. “Not here here, but near here.”
“You’re such a
rhymer,” she teased me.
I smiled down at her,
forgetting all about the wine. She made me feel like such a kid. No
one teased me. They sucked up to me, too aware of my power and
wealth. Ana didn’t seem to care. I loved it.
“Rhyming is my secret
weapon,” I agreed, pulling her closer to me, hands along her lower
back. “You’re so pretty. Not all gritty.”
She burst out laughing,
bringing a hand up to my shoulder. “That’s so bad.” But she
didn’t take her hand away. She left it there, caressing my muscle
as if she’d been wanting to do it for a while
I paid almost as fast and ran after her, catching her marching toward
the street.
“Ana, wait. You can’t
pay attention to that crap.”
“I know.” She
nodded her head, but she avoided my eyes and her cheeks had turned a
deep, embarrassed shade of pink.
“Come on, tomorrow
they’ll be saying that I had a baby with the ghost of Audrey
Hepburn.” That brought out a smile, but it looked weak. “I’ll
get us a car and we’ll head up to my place.”
The ride was short, not
much traffic mid-day on a Thursday, and we weren’t going too far. I
wrapped my arm around her and tried to keep her mind off it, telling
her about all the outrageous stories I’d seen printed about me over
the years. I’d been romantically linked to people I’d never met,
accused of parenting children with people I’d never touched. One
rag had even declared that I was the secret love child of Sean Penn
and Madonna. I kind of liked that one.
I’d learned to laugh
it off, but just then I felt like an asshole. I’d dragged Ana into
this, exposed her to those hyenas, offered her up on a platter
knowing full well the kind of shit that would get thrown around. And
I’d never considered, not even once, the effect it would have on
her. I wasn’t a good person.
“You know it’s not
true,” I murmured into her hair, silky and smooth. “You’re
gorgeous.”
She gave a puff of a
laugh, more like a fast exhale. “I’m burning that coat.”
“I don’t know.” I
lifted up her hair and dropped my lips to her neck, kissing her light
on her warm skin. “I can see some appeal. If you showed up on my
doorstep wearing that coat and nothing underneath.” Dipping lower,
I licked her neck, giving her a kiss, a teasing nip and suck. She
tilted her head back, so natural at surrendering, her instinct to
give herself over to the pleasure. I’d do everything I could to
give her ample opportunity to experience it.
Starting now. The
driver pulled up, we got out and climbed up the stairs of my home. A
classic San Francisco Victorian, it was smaller and less modern than
what I could afford, but I’d loved it the second I’d seen it.
Built in 1920, it had withstood earthquakes and fires and the living
room overlooked the bay, golden in the morning and flushed red at
sunset. It couldn’t be beat.
And now I’d get Ana
to myself, for a least a couple of hours before our show.
I let her into the
entryway, high-ceilinged and bright with light. “Would you like a
glass of wine?” It had to be around three o’clock. Regular people
started drinking that early, didn’t they?
“Sure.” She
followed me in, taking in the details in the woodwork, the framed
rock memorabilia. I’d had someone decorate it for me, of course. I
wasn’t going to take the time to line shit up and mess around with
a hammer and nails. But I’d personally collected each and every
piece.
“You like Joni
Mitchell?” She stopped in front of a framed, signed copy of Blue from 1971.
“Yeah, that’s a
great album. James Taylor plays guitar on it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“And Stephen Stills.
They used to live here, you know. Crosby, Stills and Nash.” I was
rambling now, sharing nerdy rock history facts. How did this girl
make me nervous?
“They lived here?”
She looked around my place, surprised.
“No.” I realized
what I’d said. “Not here here, but near here.”
“You’re such a
rhymer,” she teased me.
I smiled down at her,
forgetting all about the wine. She made me feel like such a kid. No
one teased me. They sucked up to me, too aware of my power and
wealth. Ana didn’t seem to care. I loved it.
“Rhyming is my secret
weapon,” I agreed, pulling her closer to me, hands along her lower
back. “You’re so pretty. Not all gritty.”
She burst out laughing,
bringing a hand up to my shoulder. “That’s so bad.” But she
didn’t take her hand away. She left it there, caressing my muscle
as if she’d been wanting to do it for a while
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