Heart 16 - Script of the Heart Read online

  "Giniana?" he caressed her name.

  She blinked. "Yes?"

  "Just checking on you." He smiled. "I'm about to go on, and after that I have the green room." He pulled a face as if he didn't care for networking after a performance, or the praise people would gush at him that he didn't quite believe.

  He continued, "So this is my last chance to speak to you before you leave for your work. I'll see you a little after dawn for breakfast at the Thespian Club." Though he smiled, his gaze had sharpened as if daring her to cancel that appointment.

  She smiled weakly.

  "You have to eat," he reminded in a brusque tone.

  "Yes." She paused, recalled the ancient good luck phrase for actors, all the way back from Earth. "Break a leg."

  A quick grin. "If I do, I'll call you." With fingertips he blew her a kiss. "Tomorrow, sweeting."

  He logged off as she realized that he'd called her by a pet name and her heart compressed again. She couldn't recall the last time or the last person who'd done that. Or maybe it was her father before he'd abandoned his family and she didn't want to remember the hurt.

  Me hungry! You can open the no-time for food! the kitten, Melis, danced into Giniana's small mainspace and hopped over her toes to get her moving.

  So Giniana turned her mind and emotions to the companionship of cats.

  The next morning, Giniana passed the care of the Daisy baby girl back to her parents and waved goodbye to them as the blue-white sun rose over the horizon, spilling summer light across the city.

  Even as she told herself to take the public carrier home to her cottage on T'Spindle estate, she waited to board the vehicle going to the Theater District.

  Once at the edge of the grand plaza, she didn't need to think about how to get to the Thespian Club, merely recall a few turnings from the main carrier stop to the place. As the daughter of two full-time actors, one of whom came from a generational acting Family, her father had purchased her a lifetime membership the day she'd been born. She hadn't bothered with the paperwork to repudiate her association here, that would have revealed more bitterness than she wanted to acknowledge.

  All too soon she stood under the half-round blue canvas awning in front of the building. Glancing at her wrist timer, she saw that she'd arrived ten minutes before her appointment with Klay St. Johnswort, and wondered again why she'd let him convince her to meet him for breakfast. The door opened as a trio of giggling young women exited. They eyed her up and down, then dismissed her as any kind of competition in their profession.

  Giniana wished she'd worn Healer colors. That would have garnered her more respect. And why should she care? Touchy after the long night with a fussy baby?

  No, wary at being here. She dragged in a breath to the bottom of her lungs and her nostrils caught the scent of actors, a mix of perfume and aftershave, a hint of makeup, and the underlying sizzle of a thousand enhancement spells. A wave of reluctance and sorrow lodged with the air in her lungs and she let it out in a whoosh. If she left, she'd consider herself a coward.

  One old hurt to newly face that she'd never anticipated before she'd met Johns a few days ago.

  So another large breath and she walked toward the double smoky-glass doors. The threshold spell swung open the portal before she reached it, and she strode in with a confident air she'd learned in her own profession, then moved into the main lounge.

  CHAPTER 17

  GLANCING AROUND, she saw that the Thespian Club didn't look any different than it had since the last time she'd been in it with her mother, more than a decade ago. Giniana's stomach pinched at the sight of the shabby elegance, slightly flaking gold tint over cheap wood, excellent but worn furniture handed down from the Residences of arts patrons. All more surface elegance than real. Like actors themselves.

  An old man rose from a comfort chair beside, not behind, a long and glossy wooden counter on her left. After blinking a few seconds, a smile broke over his face and he came toward her, offering his hands. "GentleLady Filix, it's been so long since we saw you!"

  She took his hands, memories falling through her, and replied, "It's good to see you, Hudson. You were always a cheerful note in my life." She spoke the truth, let a real smile unfurl from her heart.

  "Are you finally fulfilling your talent?" he demanded with a falsely fierce scowl.

  Laughing, she squeezed his hands and let them go. "You know I never had much acting talent. But, yes, I have a lovely career. As a Healer. I work for the Spindles."

  "That's wonderful."

  They beamed at each other and the outside doors opened again and a gust of wind swirled. A male couple entered, older character actors that she couldn't name because though she'd seen them on stage, they hadn't been part of her parents' glittering set. They nodded to her and she nodded back, then one continued with his conversation, voice an amused gurgle "—yes, yesterday morning, on the table where Johns and that Lily Fescue sat." The men laughed, crossed the lobby and went through the door to the dining room.

  Giniana raised her brows at Hudson, ready for a tale. He appeared pained—his outer expression when his eyes showed amusement—as much an actor as the people he served.

  But before he could speak, the doors opened again, bringing the scent of Klay St. Johnswort. The fact she knew that fragrance shocked her. She composed herself before she turned.

  "Greetyou, Hudson," Johns said.

  "Greetyou, Johns," the man replied, his smile widening as Johns took Giniana's hands, raised them to his lips, and kissed the back of each one. After he released them, he set his fingers at the small of her back, causing tingles.

  "This is your companion for your reserved table for two, Johns?" Hudson asked.

  Johns's spine went straighter. "Yes."

  "Very good. I'll lead you to it." Hudson pivoted on his heel and walked toward the dining room.

  Giniana followed with Johns, but she could only prevent herself from satisfying her curiosity, along with a twinge of jealousy, until Hudson ushered them into the dining room. "You were here yesterday morning with Lily Fescue?" she asked casually, looking around the dining room, not at Johns.

  A surge of irritation pulsed from him and his expression soured. "Business meeting with…" He glanced around, stopped speaking aloud and sent the rest telepathically down their personal channel. Lily Fescue, one of the most annoying actors in the business. If she isn't trying to manipulate you, she's spreading negativity all over the theater in which you're working with her.

  More people came in and milled around, greeting Johns and looking at her with questioning gazes.

  Johns took her elbow, and she liked the size and warmth of his fingers, the steadiness of his grip. He'd keep her from unbalancing in a crowd, and he'd stop her from falling, as he had before. Supporting her physically, at least.

  Dared she think he'd be a source of emotional support, too?

  "Big drama yesterday," he said aloud.

  People laughed. "Everyone heard about the FoxFam and how he ate your meal, Johns," a woman teased.

  "After he threw Lily Fescue into a tizzy," an older actor said dryly.

  They clumped together and moved to their table, repeating variations of the story.

  One man glanced back at her and Johns, sent an edged smile toward Johns. "I've heard the kitchen here has adopted the FoxFam as a mascot."

  "Just great," Johns muttered. He glanced at Giniana. "I'll expect you to keep him in line if he shows up."

  She tilted her head at him and smiled. "Be glad to."

  "Thanks," he replied, but he seated her stiffly.

  "You said yesterday you had an incident with a FoxFam?"

  He took his own seat, whipped the fancily folded softleaf on his plate onto his lap, sent her a hard look from steel gray-blue eyes even as his smile curved for outward show for others. That shocked her a little, since he seemed to have been completely honest with her before. But that was privately. And not in a room with his colleagues who watched him—them.
/>   Johns said, "A large steak, prime quality, gone before I had more than a bite, not to mention the rest of the meal."

  Giniana winced. "Expensive." She could relate.

  "Yes."

  And she felt him tamp down irritation, pull up a calmness to replace the negative emotion and that impressed her. This time when he smiled, it was sincere … and ironic. "I've never found Fam animals worth the trouble they cause."

  Well, the very cute and smart kitten he'd rescued now belonged with Thrisca, and that would have come after the fox had munched his costly breakfast. Giniana had the notion that when he'd been alone with Thrisca, the FamCat hadn't been nice to him. His viewpoint appeared rational to him, and skewed to her, a discrepancy that they'd have to work to overcome, if he couldn't accept Thrisca and Melis.

  Or Thrisca couldn't accept Johns.

  The waiter came by—probably a young out-of-work actor—and Johns ordered a modest meal as she did.

  To keep them both occupied with pleasant conversation, she asked about the other people in the room whom she vaguely recognized. Johns flashed her a quick grin and began telling brief stories about each—and none of those stories contained mean elements or self-absorption on his part. Once again the bond between them flowed even and steady with attraction and as she relaxed she spiraled into desire.

  They ate, and dealt with the occasional visit of someone who wished to greet Johns or her or them both. Each time she informed them that she followed her mother's family's career as a Healer and worked for T'Spindle, the individuals relaxed, obviously pleased with the news, and that a new competitor hadn't entered the Druida City theatrical scene. That reminded her that her parents, both of them, had talent. Her father had abandoned the family for his own career in Chinju, her mother had preferred an easier life of being kept.

  Giniana really had to accept that.

  Once again alone, and their plates clean, she sat watching Johns, reluctantly aware she should be standing up to leave and walk to the public carrier line for a vehicle home to T'Spindle's estate.

  Her perscry rippled the Spindle tune. Johns withdrew his hand from her fingers.

  "Greetyou, Healer Filix," the Captain of the Spindle guards, an older but fit man, said.

  "Greetyou."

  "I am calling to cancel your first two annual examinations of my guards this morning. I'm sorry, but my guards and I are due at the Druida City guardhouse with regard to the continuing investigation of the burglaries and vandalism three nights ago."

  "I understand. We can re-schedule those physical exams the first week of next month if that is agreeable with you and your guards?"

  "Yeah. Pretty sure our part of the investigation will be done shortly, but I know you've got your own schedule for the staff exams. I'll check my rosters and we'll get everything figured out."

  "Of course," Giniana agreed.

  "Later, Healer," he said.

  "Later, Captain." Giniana ended the scry.

  Glancing at Johns, she found his expression set in stone, but emotions roiled through their bond.

  "You don't need to be at work for a while," he stated, his look searing.

  "No," she whispered, suddenly not nearly as tired as she had been.

  His nostrils widened, and this time she believed the pure lust he sent down their link was intentional, and her own body reacted.

  Her heart beat fast, she became aware of the extreme sensitivity of her skin, how she wanted his hands on her, sliding along that skin, skimming nerves pleasurably. Her nipples had tightened, along with her core. All from a bond she hadn't formed with any other man … ever. She swallowed.

  His eyes darkened from smoke blue to a deeper shade. "Upstairs," he gritted. "There are a few private rooms for rent."

  Air stopped in her lungs. She met his dark and hungry gaze, and desire ignited between them. "Yes."

  With deliberate motions, Johns folded his cloth softleaf, set it on the table, rose and strode with that intent and gliding step toward her, stood behind her chair waiting for her to rise. When she did, he removed it with the grace of a trained waiter … or an actor who'd played waiters…but the thought didn't bring the usual bitterness.

  Instead she sipped shallow breaths due to the heated atmosphere between them. She stepped one pace away from the chair. Johns hard arm came around her waist, his presence seemed to curve around her, protective, possessive.

  She barely noted amused and knowing glances, the upturn of busy conversation as they walked from the dining room, through a hallway to the club lounge, across the faded red carpet to the counter. Hudson stood there, and behind him she noticed keys hanging on a board.

  "Hudson, are there any rooms available?" Johns asked in a strained voice.

  Heat washed through her at the grit of his words, his yearning cycling to her and back again.

  "The personal parlor suite is open until this evening," Hudson said, eyes glinting with approval.

  Lady and Lord. Giniana flushed more, embarrassed at their obvious desire, but not enough to stop her body from leaning toward Johns.

  Not so much that she minded people knowing she'd be taking Johns as a lover.

  "Put the rent for it on my account," Johns said. When he held out his hand for the spellkey, delight swirled through Giniana as she noticed his hand shook.

  A few minutes later they'd trod upstairs to a lush suite that appeared to be more of a stage setting than a place Giniana actually ever expected to stay in … or have sex in. Though the furnishings inspired sensuality. The thickest carpets she'd walked on in the club, the richest jewel toned colors. A curved settee of ruby velvet with sapphire silkeen and dull gold pillows. The bed in the next room canopied with layered swags of rose and pale peach and dull gold.

  The bedsponge looked thickly sumptuous, ready to cradle lovers' bodies, letting them revel in the erotic arts. And when Johns bent his head to her neck, kissing, nibbling, swells of heat and need swamped her and her mind shut down.

  She turned in his arms, pressed against him, felt the strength—and tension—of muscle and sinew. A fabulous physical specimen of a man. And all hers to play with.

  Achingly aware of the thick length of his sex against her, and how her body dampened, readying for sex, for him, for Johns, she ran her hands up his tunic, murmuring an "undress" spell and nearly swooned as his shirt fell from his body. His scent rose to her then, the faint musk of perspiration, and some earthy herb.

  Her hands stroked his chest, feeling the rough softness of his hair, skimming his beads of nipples and he jerked. She kept going, to arouse him more, to hear the fast, unsteady panting of him, feel the uneven rise and fall of his chest, know she excited him with every feathering of her fingertips.

  Felt her own body clench with desire, with the need to be filled and fulfilled.

  She leaned in and ran her tongue along his clenched jaw.

  He broke.

  He lifted her and tossed her on the bed. Should she have expected that? She gasped mid-air.

  And she saw sparkles flickering from his hands. "Disrobe!"

  Her body flashed heat from inside, shooting out. Her clothes fell away. She landed on the soft bedcover. How did he do that spell? Her turn to pant.

  He prowled toward her, face tight, stern. Looking nothing like his character in the play before he kissed the heroine. All Giniana's.

  Before he reached the bed, the rest of his clothing split along the seams, he stepped out of shoes and liners and her gaze focused on a fully aroused, virile man.

  Blood pounded in her ears. She moved her right leg, opening herself to him.

  His gaze slipped to her damp sex, but yanked back up to meet her own eyes, his stare burning. The lust throbbing through their bond didn't only hold physical sexuality, but more, a hunger for intimacy on a level she didn't know she could give.

  But which he demanded.

  Then he leaned over her, grabbed her shoulders and lifted her from the bed, no Flair involved, pure strength. She twined her
arms around his neck, her legs loosely around his waist. Closed her eyes as his lips touched hers, his tongue penetrated her mouth to rub on hers, her breasts flattened against his chest, her nipples sensitive to the slight abrasion of his chest hair.

  He changed his grip, sliding her down, then surged up and into her, and she cried out at the sheer pleasure of connection.

  Lord and Lady, he felt so good inside her! Sensation ruled. She craved movement. Action, tilted her hips, began a rhythm, pleasuring herself with him.

  Feeling the buzz of hot passion sizzling through them, only shocks of delicious sexuality reverberating, physically, emotionally …

  He rumbled something she didn't hear, only felt through their bodies meeting … mating … then fell backward onto fresh-smelling and cool linens.

  Finally he began to thrust and instead of holding on tightly, she spread herself wide, arms, legs, so he could take as well as give and she lay open to all, saturated with mounting bliss, rising, rising … shattering.

  His shout of climax and release, his body bowing on hers. Too much. She orgasmed again, sounds of her own wrenching delight escaping her lips.

  Then they settled, entwined, in the shining golden summer light radiating through the room, and through her and both of them, through their bond. She lay there, peaceful, satisfied.

  He filled her, covered her, breadth and length and weight. And for the first time in her memory she felt enveloped by someone who'd care for her. Protect her.

  Support her and keep her safe on all levels.

  Her breath caught at that. Someone else providing for her. Shades of her mother.

  Stupid to feel he'd tend to her. But his scent wisped to her and derailed more thought and tears pushed to the back of her eyes.

  Stupid to be so emotional, wanting someone to cherish her.

  Stupid to bond so much with this man.

  But the sheer relief of the comfort emanating from him, sinking into her skin, muscles, even bones, slipped her into sleep.