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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sunday, June 27
Connor makeslove to me all night long. When the sun begins to peek over the skyscrapers outside our window, I can barely move. I’m blissfully exhausted. I can’t imagine how he’s not. He’s ordered me to say in bed, order room service and rest while he tends to a matter of business with his lawyer in Manhattan. It’s an order I’m only too eager to comply with. Even my Inner Sex Goddess is sore from Connor’s amorous attentions. At times, he was gentle and sweet, coaxing pleasure from my body with the experienced hand of a man who knows every trick of the trade to bring a woman to climax. Then, his thrusts would turn primal as he claimed me over and over, growling out his own pleasure. The man is a beast between the sheets. My beast. #luckyme
At five o’clock in the afternoon, I emerge from a nice hot bath to a knock at the hotel room door. Connor probably just forgot his key, so I wrench it open, surprised to see a delivery man carrying a long white box.
“Miss Raven Flynn?” he inquires politely.
“Yes,” I finger a piece of wet hair and clutch my robe tight around my neck.
“Mr. Rose asked me to deliver this to you with instructions to be downstairs at 6:30 p.m. sharp.”
“I see.” I accept the box and hold up a finger. He smiles as I take it. “Wait, let me get you something,” I pause, backing a little bit into the room to fetch my purse.
“No need, ma’am. Mr. Rose took care of it.” He gives me a two-fingered salute and turns to disappear down the corridor.
I practically run to the bed to see what’s in the box. I untie a thick black satin ribbon and lift the white lid to reveal a cloud of white tissue paper. I fold it back and find a black strapless evening outfit. The bustier is adorned with black sequins. Layers of light sheer black fabric flow down to a full-length skirt — that isn’t a skirt at all, but wide-legged pants that flow out like a full ball gown. The hem is trimmed in the same black sequins. It’s gorgeous.
Inside is a handwritten note with a tiny sketch of a bird in one corner. It looks as if he’s used his tablet to write the note and make the sketch and then printed it out for me. I bite my lip, loving this special touch.
Raven, please wear this and be downstairs at 6:30. The doorman will have a car waiting. I’ll meet you when you arrive. And stop worrying, it’s a good surprise. — C
I smile because I was worrying. And now, I’m just excited. Connor’s surprises are the best, and I have no doubt this one will be, too. I hurry to dry my hair, apply some makeup and slide into the beautiful outfit he’s given me.
The doors of the elevator slide open at exactly 6:29 p.m. An older doorman at the hotel hands me a single white rose. “Miss Flynn?” he says nodding and tipping his hat to me.
“Yes, thank you.” I take the rose and lift it to smell its sweet scent.
“Your car is waiting. One moment.” He waves down a shiny black car parked across the street and opens the door to hand me inside. Then, I’m whisked away like Cinderella in her carriage.
“Where are we headed?” I ask the driver.
“57th Street and Seventh Avenue,” he says in a proper British accent that oozes charm. His answer tells me precisely where we are going, and at the same time tells me absolutely nothing. I sit back and try to enjoy the ride. I shove Miss Insecure back into her closet and lock the door. I give the key to Miss Adventure who grins like a Cheshire cat. My Inner Sex Goddess is still recovering from last night.
We pull up to a building I know all too well. Connor stands in a black tux waiting for me. He looks amazing — hair long, flowing over his shoulders, and a freshly shaved jaw that only draws my attention to his very kissable, warm mouth. A mouth that draws my mind back to all of the sinfully delicious things he did with it last night.
He kisses me softly and I melt.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, looking at the darkened building. When there is a performance, Carnegie Hall is aglow with lights and sound and people milling around everywhere. Tonight, the venue is eerily dark and quiet.
“You look incredible,” he says. He kisses my cheek and offers me his arm.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I counter, allowing him to walk me through a side entrance into the building. Once inside, I’m met by a thin Asian woman with long straight black hair and charcoal eyes behind gold wire-rimmed glasses. She’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Good evening, Mr. Rose, Miss Flynn. If you’ll follow me. I have everything ready.”
“Everything ready for what?” I ask both her and Connor, though neither answers me.
“Go with Mrs. Kim,” he says. “I’ll see you in a minute.” Connor takes my rose, twists off the stem and tucks it into the lapel of his tux jacket. Taking my hand, he pulls it to his lips and plants a soft kiss against my knuckles. “See you soon.”
“What?” I ask, as I’m practically pulled away. Mrs. Kim navigates me through a maze of corridors and halls before we step out onto what I’m sure is the backstage wing. On the stage, I see a single chair, a microphone on a stand and a cello. My heart stops. Miss Adventure has thoughts on letting Miss Insecurity out of her locked closet, but I mute her for a moment. It’s a dress rehearsal probably. A famous cellist, perhaps?
“Are you ready?” Mrs. Kim inquires.
“Ready for what?” I ask, glancing around to see who the performer could be.
She smiles broadly and graciously gestures toward the stage. “To play Carnegie Hall, of course.” She extends her hand palm up in invitation toward the chair. My eyes grow huge.
