Love's Final Act (Circus of Love Romances Book 3) Page 2

  Robert closed the gap between us, once again sliding his hands underneath the hem of my shirt. At nearly the same height, the tip of his nose brushed mine as he said quietly: “Love, you look sexy even when you’re wearing rumpled exercise clothing, covered in sweat.” One hand travelled down my backside to give my right buttock a squeeze. “And you have an amazing ass—which is all the easier to admire when you’re wearing leggings, I might add.”

  Despite the presence of Riley and a few other instructors, Robert kissed me. I tried not to tense, aware that we might have an audience and instead returned the show of affection to my fiancé by sliding my arms around his neck. I struggled with PDA at the best of times, and Robert knew this, so he broke our connection a few moments later.

  Thankfully, no one cheered or told us to get a room this time.

  “Come on, let’s go home.” Robert smiled and led me across the floor toward the instructor’s hangout room to retrieve our jackets. “Perhaps we can retire early.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, not entirely meaning it as a coy reply. I was tired and there was no guarantee that once we retired, I wouldn’t pass out on the bed no matter what sensitive areas Robert kissed.

  I hugged my arms across my chest the moment we stepped out into the cold, clear mountain night. The temperature had dropped considerably since I’d arrived at the High Flying Circus Club and I’d foolishly worn a light-weight, wool pea coat. No mitts or scarf either. I’d reasoned to myself that I wouldn’t spend much time outside, but now I had to climb into our freezing Mazda 3, and hope the heater kicked in sometime before we reached home. I’d be a popsicle until then.

  “Maybe we should email our guests and tell everyone we’ve changed the theme to lumberjack chic,” Robert said as he dug the car keys out of his pocket.

  He hadn’t dressed any warmer than I did, just an old leather jacket, but the cold didn’t seem to bother him the way it did me. He clicked the door lock button on the key fob, and I wrenched the handle on the passenger side door, thudding down onto the seat like the aching bag of bones I felt like.

  “I think my wearing baggy coveralls will interfere with your view of my fine ass,” I said as I slid my hands under my thighs, attempting to keep them warm.

  Robert reached over and gave my leg a squeeze. “Good point. Good thing we weren’t planning any outdoor events. The long-range forecast is predicting a cold snap.” Then he slotted the key into the ignition and turned, starting the car on the third try.

  The jokes about what I would wear to our wedding were intended to be lighthearted and even to cheer me up; however, the question was currently number one—or so—on my wedding to-do list. Neither Robert nor I were interested in a traditional ceremony and I’d flat-out refused to wear a fancy gown from day one. Partly we didn’t have the money to purchase a ridiculously priced dress from the only bridal store in town, but I was also bent on making sure my wedding was nothing like what my parents would have once hoped I’d have.

  Not that they were invited.

  We were getting married at Dehlia and Stephen’s renovated farmhouse. Dinner was going to be primarily cooked by Dehlia, and there might be a few flowers and decorations if we got around to it. Friends who had a jazz band would provide music, and the local Justice of the Peace would handle the bits to make it all legal. The guestlist was twenty people long and I’d refused to register for a single gift. We had what we needed. Fine china, nor a toaster for that matter, factored into my current, or future life as far as I could tell. I wanted the ring—a simple band ordered from an online shop—to signify to the rest of the world that I’d dedicated myself to another person so long as we both shall live; and I wanted Robert to be that person. That was about all I wanted out of this wedding.

  From the inside pocket of my jacket I felt my phone buzz. It was probably Becca. She had sworn she would text me as soon as she got to her parents’ house so we could set up dress shopping plans. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go dress shopping with Becca. Undoubtedly, she would try to get me into that despised bridal shop, even though I’d already told her I wasn’t getting an outlandishly priced, white dress to wear exactly once in my life. Hopefully, Rachel would come along to temper her sister’s behaviour.

  My phone buzzed again. Since the car was finally producing enough heat so that my fingers wouldn’t freeze if I withdrew them from under my legs, I reached inside my jacket and fished my phone out from its hiding spot. I tapped on the screen, unlocking it, then opened my inbox. Sure enough, I had a series of messages from Becca—three of them—and another text from an unfamiliar number. Curious, I tapped on the unrecognized sender. My curiosity, however, was repaid with…what? Regret? Confusion? Anger, perhaps?

  Hi Beth, this is Simon Butler. I got your number from Miranda, she said you visited her last spring when you were in town. I want to talk to you, in person. I’ll be in Northboro on Thursday and will stay through until Sunday. I hope you’ll have some time to speak to me then.

  Shit. Simon Butler? That was a name I hadn’t thought about since…well, seven months ago when I was in my hometown, visiting with Miranda and the rest of our old high school gang. He hadn’t been there; he’d moved away, made a career somewhere else. What the hell could he want now?

  Chapter 2

  We rumbled into the driveway we shared with our landlord ten minutes later. We unbuckled seatbelts, slammed doors, and hauled our tired butts from the car to the side door entrance that led to our second-floor apartment. The narrow stairs of the late nineteenth century home felt twice as long and steep as we trudged up to our living space. Lactic acid burned my quads by the time I reached the landing area, where I gripped the railing tightly as I kicked off my snow-soaked runners. Robert, right behind me, gently nudged me forward so he could likewise divest himself of his outer layers.

  After I’d hung my jacket on our wobbly coat stand, I sauntered over to the kitchen and stared at the fridge. What had I eaten last? When had I eaten last? Before classes had started at six? I’d scarfed down some leftovers, pasta maybe? I didn’t feel hungry, but I surely my body needed more fuel. Teaching for nearly three hours tended to burn a lot of calories, but I couldn’t identify what my body was craving. Carbs? Protein? Liquor?

  Robert entered the kitchen, drew me to him, then wrapped his hands around me as he tucked his chin on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Why don’t you go sit down, find something mindless to watch for a bit. I’ll make us a snack to eat while we relax.” Then he kissed that spot behind my ear again—Robert was definitely hoping for some action tonight.

  Part of me thought I should whip around, peel off his shirt and have sex right here and now in the kitchen. I’d feel better for it afterward, but I was exhausted. I wasn’t sure how long I could remain upright and I unquestionably needed food. Instead, I removed Robert’s arms from my torso, turned around, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Okay, that would be great.”

  “Give me five to ten, okay?” Robert smiled, giving me a peck of his own before heading for the fridge.

  I dragged myself toward our living room where a beige micro-suede sectional was positioned around a coffee table—both of which we’d inherited from the previous occupant of the apartment. Sinking into its soft cushions, I grabbed my computer, and positioned it onto my lap, as I rested my feet on the table. Behind me, Robert bumped around in the kitchen, pulling out plates and containers from the fridge. Whatever he was putting together sounded epic and truthfully, I was grateful. Left alone, I would have spent five minutes wondering what I should put in my stomach before I resigned myself to crackers straight from the box. He was the superior cook in our relationship, and much better at gauging what his body needed post-training and teaching. Likely all those years of gymnastics.

  As I waited, I opened my computer and pulled up my Internet browser. My email was open, and I noticed that Simon had sent me a message there as well—my address hadn’t changed in over ten years. I didn’t open it, assuming it was similarly cryptic
. What did he want? We had broken up by Thanksgiving of our freshman year of college. We’d barely spoken since then. Our lives had headed in different directions and that was pretty much the end of it. Was it possible my parents had gotten wind of my pending marriage and sent Simon to ruin things?

  To say my parents disapproved of my career choice was an understatement. They could have disapproved but still considered me a part of their family if they’d wanted to. After the last dinner at my parents’ house, it was clear they didn’t care to try to accept my decision to drop out of law school. I was the worst sort of vagrant to give up such a prestigious profession to perform in a travelling circus. They’d met Robert at that dinner—not that we were dating at the time—and my father had done an excellent job of questioning his life choices as well. Although, as memories of that awful last meeting resurfaced, I recalled my father practically throwing me at Robert as an excellent spouse who could help run a coaching business—so maybe they’d receive some pleasure in our wedding. If they somehow found out.

  “Here we are, my love.” Robert had emerged from the kitchen carrying a wooden cutting board. He set it on the coffee table before seating himself next to me on the sectional. Smiling, he handed me a small plate, “Ladies first.”

  “Oh.” Tears welled in my eyes and I wiped my cheeks with my fingers. I was so damn tired. He’d compiled just the right sort of foods. Things that were good fuel for my energy-depleted body, but also foods I enjoyed: turkey slices, Swiss cheese, cut vegetables with humus, and my favourite salty crackers.

  Despite the food and fatigue, I carefully set the plate on the table before turning and pushing Robert back against the cushions. I straddled him as I placed one hand on each side of his face and for a few seconds, gazed into his eyes. He was so unbelievably gorgeous—and thoughtful and loving—and he was all mine. I pressed my lips to his, and he responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around my lower back, pulling me a little farther up onto his hips.

  We kissed intensely. When was the last time we’d made love? Over a week ago? Two weeks? Already I could feel my heart pounding, my breath speeding up. I gasped for air when Robert shifted, breaking our contact briefly, long enough to lift and twist me off his lap, so I was the one reclined on the cushions. Our lips met again, and we continued to kiss with the enthusiasm of a couple of high schoolers.

  Underneath the weight of Robert’s well-formed body, I was beginning to sweat. Kissing was nice enough, especially when we hadn’t been intimate for a while, but now that I was into the groove of things, it was time to remove a few layers. I slipped my hands under Robert’s T-shirt and ran my fingertips over the ridges of his abdominals. In one smooth motion he slid his shirt over his head and tossed it off…somewhere. One article of clothing down, now it was my turn. I arched my back, lifting my chest off the couch pillows, while Robert slipped an arm under my back to support me as I peeled off the multiple layer of shirts I’d had on.

  I heard them ‘plop’ lightly on the floor nearby, but before I reclined back onto the couch Robert slid his free hand under the thick elastic band of my sports bra. He slipped his roughened fingers across my chest, brushing my breasts. The light scratching of his dry and cracked hands across my soft skin sent electricity rippling down the length of my body, as it had the first time we’d made love. Then he tugged at the bra. This was never an easy manoeuvre. Tightly fitted, often sticky with sweat, getting a sport bra off in a seductive manner simply wasn’t possible. Still supported, I grabbed the bra with both hands, crossing my arms like a pretzel, and yanked the thing off, throwing it in the direction of the other unwanted clothing.

  We paused again to meet each other’s gaze. I think I sighed. Robert’s lips twitched in a slight smile as he laughed lightly—something he sometimes did when he was supremely aroused, which I could easily feel through my thin leggings. Robert gently lowered us both back to the cushions and our lips met again.

  Food would come later.

  Right now, what we both needed was nourishment for our relationship. We needed to feel and enjoy each other’s bodies, taking pleasure from the other’s touch, not like when we trained together. When we worked our routine there was no shortage of holding and grabbing nearly every inch of our skin, but it was with a different purpose. When we connected with one another and moaned, it was from the exertion of pushing our bodies to the extreme of our circus abilities. We wanted it to appear sensual to our audiences, but for us, or at least me, it was all business.

  Tonight, was purely about our desire for each other, and damn, did I want his glorious body on top of mine right now. I wanted to moan with ecstasy, not with near-exhaustion or pain of running through a routine I couldn’t find comfort in. I wanted the euphoria of pleasure erupting throughout my body from gentle caresses and well-placed kisses of my lover, rather than the uncaring squeezing and pulling of the silks. I wanted to be filled with the feelings of satisfaction I’d been missing since moving to Northboro from an explosive ending to our love-making session on the sectional.

  ∞∞∞

  My phone, nearby—somewhere—buzzed. I’d shoved it into the kangaroo pocket of my shirt after arriving home last night, but where it had landed over the far side of the sectional, I didn’t know. I sat up, and as the cold air hit me, goose pimples rippled across my flesh and my nipples tightened. We needed to up our thermostat now that winter had truly hit. I grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around me like an oversized shawl as I searched for the phone.

  The heap of clothing was easy enough to locate, and shifting through the pile, it only took a few tosses of undergarments and pants to find my shirt. By the time I’d unearthed my phone from my pocket it had stopped ringing. Unknown number. Simon again? My grip tightened around my phone. What did he want? We hadn’t even been together all that long, so why was he suddenly so keen to speak to me? The only way to find out was to answer him over one of the several channels he’d tried to reach me on.

  Quietly, I padded back to the couch, pausing at the elbow to look down at the sleeping face of my fiancé. We’d taken our time making love last night, and by the time we were done, neither of us wanted to move from the sectional. We’d laid on our sides like Romans, curled up together, as we munched on the snack Robert had so considerately prepared. Once we’d satisfied our bellies, we’d dragged a couple of the quilts we kept around the living room area over us to keep warm and had fallen asleep.

  My laptop sat on the edge of the coffee table. Pulling my blanket-shawl closer around my body, I retrieved my computer, then retreated to the bedroom where I could turn on the light and read my emails. Or possibly scream into pillows—or throw them—depending on the reason for Simon’s sudden intrusion into my life. As I waited for my laptop to load, I grabbed a pair of sweats from the back of the easy chair we’d stationed in one corner with the idea we could use it for reading. Mostly it gathered stuff we couldn’t be bothered to put away.

  I cleared the rest of the clothing that had piled up on the chair, and sat down, settling my computer on my knees. After a few clicks, I scanned the email from Simon. It said the same as the text. He’d be here on Thursday, staying until Sunday. He wanted to speak to me.

  About what? Why was he being so cryptic?

  My fingers hovered over the keys as I tried to think of how to respond. I could tell him I didn’t want to see him; that after what was it, seven, eight years, I didn’t have anything to say to him; that, his timing seemed awfully convenient and had my parents put him up to this, whatever this was? I interlocked my fingers and stretched my hands over my head as I rolled my head from one side to the other. Sleeping on the sectional hadn’t been the best for the chronic aches and pains in my shoulders and lower back.

  When Circus of Flight had stopped in my hometown last spring, I’d met up with of my old high school buddies—except Simon, who’d been the only other person besides myself to dream big enough to move away. I’d learned after our get together that one of my fr
iends, Lisa, had been through tough times, and worse had ended up dating my manipulative jerk of a brother. We’d talked one-on-one a few days later and I’d been able to help her. She’d changed her life, dumped my awful brother, gone back to school. She and another high school friend, Miranda, were the sole people from my past invited to the wedding.

  Simon had always been incredibly driven; that was the main reason we’d gotten together in our senior year—we both had fanciful ideas of how we were going to change the world. We’d probably been the only people at school who could stand the other’s righteous talk. Then we went off to different colleges and broke up. End of story. We’d never pledged undying love, we’d been far too practical for that kind of romance. I’m not sure we’d even muttered something embarrassing like, I really like you, to the other.

  Still. Maybe Simon had lost his path somewhere and felt he needed to circle back to me to find it again?

  I stretched my arms and neck again then, after a couple of attempts, managed to come up with a response I hoped wasn’t too snarky.

  Simon,

  Thanks for your message, I hope you’re well. I’m surprised to hear from you after seven and a half years.

  I’m sure we can find a time to meet; however, I’m quite busy at present. I teach Thursday evening, and I’m performing at corporate Christmas parties both Friday and Saturday night. Also, if you haven’t heard, I’m getting married in two weeks and have a number of things still to do to get ready. I might have time to go for coffee in the morning on Saturday, or maybe Sunday depending on when you’re leaving. Give me some times that might work for you.

  Can you tell me what you want to speak to me about, your messages have been extremely cryptic?