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Instead of meeting her halfway, Kline put down his glass and walked around the counter behind her. He pressed his body up against hers, wrapping one arm around her waist, sliding his other hand up into her hair to pull out the clip that held it. When it was free, he took a handful and gently used it to guide her head back against his shoulder, then he pressed his lips against hers, fingers spidering down her throat as he kissed her.
She slid her hand up along his arm until her fingers were brushing his collar and tangling in his hair, drawing him closer as the kiss deepened. Kline turned her slowly in his arms and began trailing his lips down her chin and along the expanse of her throat. "Have you decided?" he breathed against her neck, raising gooseflesh on her skin.
Rhiannon turned her head and nipped at his ear. "The bedroom's down the hall."
Without another word he picked her up by the waist and she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her in the direction she'd indicated. He pushed the door open easily, and deposited her on the bed, his lips on hers, hips pressing into hers.He took the time to kiss as much of her body as he could reach before pushing up her skirt and peeling her out of her g-string. Then he buried his face between her legs and took his lazy time exploring with fingers and tongue until she was begging him for more.It was a pride thing. No one was going to say Kline Scott was bad in bed.
Rhiannon strained to meet him when he finally brought his body in line with hers. She knew what she was doing, and she knew what she wanted him to do, which was a nice surprise. It made the coupling much less first time, and much more let’s do that one more time. So, he did.
She was still thrumming when he rolled away and slipped off to her bathroom. He used the toilet, flushed and washed his hands, then he walked back in to her appreciative smile. "Someone works out."
"Part of the job," he grinned, winking at her. "You okay?"
"I dunno, am I?" she teased, arching an eyebrow with the question.
"You're delicious, darling. But I want to make sure you're not riddled with regret."
"No regrets here," she said, shaking her head as she raised the sheet and peeked under it. "None here, either."
Kline laughed. "I should go home." He rubbed his face. "I try to be there when Jack wakes up if I'm not there when he goes to sleep."
"Ah. Well, so much for calling me from my shower in the morning," she said, gathering the sheet around her and sitting up.
“I can call you from my shower. I just can't let him wake up without me there.Not without telling him first.He'd be hurt."
Rhiannon shook her head, "No, of course, I understand. I was just teasing. I do that a lot." She laughed. "You should definitely be there."
He nodded and raked a hand through his sex-tousled hair. "Right. I'll call you then? We could have dinner on Wednesday."
"Absolutely. You know where to find me," she said, sliding from the bed and wrapping the sheet around her more securely. "You might want to put some clothes on before you go, though. Otherwise, you could get arrested."
"Easier to strip search me this way."He pulled her close and kissed her. "Wednesday night.I'll pick you up around eight.If I don't call before then, it's because I don't have a moment free, but I'll see you Wednesday."
Kline drove home, humming along with the radio, feeling as relaxed and content as he had in weeks. Rhiannon had been an unexpected pleasure in a random day, and he was already looking forward to seeing her again. It was nearing six in the morning when he pulled onto his street. There were already (or still) a handful of girls at his front gate, so he turned left and went in the back way, parking in the garage for a change, then entered the house through the kitchen.
He grabbed a banana from the fruit dish and lingered there munching on it. His eyes fell on the corkboard by the phone and followed the thumbtacks down to the card at the bottom. Jill. Why was Jill in LA? She'd always been ambitious, but only for stage acting. She hated television and film, calling celluloid actors unprofessional and undisciplined. In theater, you had to know your lines, your blocking, and your audience. You couldn't afford retakes and cue cards. It made her crazy when a popular tv or film star took the boards expecting someone else to feed them lines.
She had emailed him a few times after he'd left New York. He'd answered maybe twice. She'd been tentative, and tried to be positive about his move, but was obviously hurt. He'd been cavalier, ignored her hints that she could come to visit, and glossed over her heartbreak with generic talk of how perfect life was in LA, and how busy.
Word had come from August that she was despondent. Kline cared. He truly did, but at the time he couldn't force himself to act on it. He figured that he couldn't afford to be tied down. He knew that his marketability had to do with his single status. "Love isn't enough," he'd written in his last email. She'd finally worked up the nerve to ask about his former declarations and he'd been as poetic as possible in blowing it off. He cringed now at some of the things he'd said.
Kline plucked the card off the board and sat down, flicking it between his fingers. The first time she'd broken up with him he'd shown up at her door with an armful of flowers, begging for a second chance.
"I love you," he'd told her. "And I want to be with you. I can't promise perfection. I can't even promise decency when it comes to me. But I'm offering to be there for you in the bad and the good. I want you." And he'd meant it. He had loved her. He just also loved attention, women, and he had a dream to chase.
So there had been more bad than good, but the good was perfection. She put up with the infidelities for whatever reason. Maybe she liked the kiss and kick as much as he did. Given her mother, maybe she was only comfortable with love when she had to beg for it. He shuddered hearing his therapist’s voice in his head.
He hadn’t been able to figure out how to end things when he was preparing to go to LA. He knew she loved New York and would hate it there. He knew he'd never be able to do long distance. So, he'd done the passive-aggressive thing, slept with her best friend and let her come home to find it. She'd broken up with him. But then he couldn't stand that she'd started to date August, and he'd seduced her back. She'd thought it was a new beginning.
He tossed the card down and rubbed his face. He'd always felt bad about it, but it had been out of sight, out of mind. Now it was living in LA with him. And looking better than ever. Fairy tale pretty had grown up into quiet, classic beauty, but her eyes still telegraphed everything she felt. It was part of what made her such a great actress.
He mused a little longer, then got up. He'd been what he'd been, and he couldn't change it. All he could do was move ahead and learn from the mistakes.
Before hitting the shower, he shot his assistant a voice text with some delivery instructions. A box of Cubans to be sent to Thad James with the attached note, "I owe you one." Two dozen lilies to be sent to Rhiannon Charles with the attached note, "Not as beautiful as you. See you Wednesday." And a bouquet of daisies to go to Jill Parker's rental, the note reading, "Are they still your favorites? I'll call you soon." That done, he washed up, and went to bed.
Rhiannon Charles
"Aw, who died?" Thad asked, frowning at the arrangement of lilies on Rhiannon's desk.
