"I'd like to go."
The words were an exhilarating punch to the gut. "Great. I'll pick you up around one thirty."
"See you then."
Abe shut her car door with a smile.
His wife was letting him take her out on a date. He could work with that.
THE REST OF THE WEEK DRAGGED for Sarah until at last it was Saturday.
She didn't know why she'd said yes when she'd instructed herself to stay friendly but distant with Abe. Then he'd asked her and he'd looked so... wary, as if he expected her to turn him down flat, and her mouth had opened and she'd heard herself agreeing to go with him.
"Sure, Sarah." She glared at herself in the mirror as she put on her earrings. "You're doing this out of the kindness of your heart, not because you have a dangerous weakness for a certain rock star."
The glare didn't help; bubbles of excitement still popped in her blood at the thought of seeing Abe again.
She knew she was in trouble. Bad trouble.
Which probably explained why she still hadn't 'fessed up to Lola about the fact that Abe was once more in her life. "Soon," she promised Flossie. "I'll tell her soon."
Her dog didn't look like she believed Sarah.
Having Internet researched what people wore to early performances of the symphony, she'd chosen a simple black dress and paired it with a fine string of pearls. Those pearls were real, given to her as a wedding gift by Abe's mother. Diane Bellamy had placed them around her neck before the reception, kissed her on the cheek with what felt like real maternal warmth, and said, "Welcome to the family."
Sarah should've handed them back during the divorce, but she hadn't. It wasn't because of their value, but... "Because a mother gave them to me," she whispered to her reflection.
Sometimes, when things got really bad in their marriage and she was so lonely, she'd pretended Diane was her mom as well. In real life, however, she'd never dared make such a claim. It wasn't that Abe's mother hadn't been kind to her, but Sarah had always felt as if Diane didn't think Sarah was good enough for Abe.
Or maybe those were your own insecurities messing you up, hmm?
It was Lola's acerbic voice, a memory of one of the many conversations she and her best friend had had over the time they'd known one another. That particular conversation had happened while Sarah was cleaning a Bel Air mansion not long after she'd gone out as a one-woman-operator; alone in the house but for a slinky black cat with a diamond collar who'd purred up a storm when she petted it, she'd called her best friend, and they'd spoken while Sarah dusted and wiped.
Six months later, Sarah had walked into that same mansion on Jeremy's arm. No one but the cat had recognized her, though she'd cleaned that mansion for five months before she hired her first employee and handed off the house. People didn't ever really look at their cleaners for the most part, and dressed-to-the-nines and elegantly made-up Sarah, her hair slick straight, appeared a different woman from dressed-down Sarah with her curls pulled neatly back.
Lola had once asked her if she felt more herself without the trappings of sophistication.
Sarah's response had been immediate. "No. All those things--the nice clothes, the makeup, the ability to hold a cultured conversation--I learned them, earned them." Glossy Sarah wasn't a mask she put on; it was simply the look that helped her navigate certain situations in this life she'd clawed out for herself.
Could she have done it without Abe's money?
No.
Sarah had never lied to herself about that. The divorce settlement had been relatively conservative because of the short length of their marriage--and Abe's own Rottweiler of a lawyer--but it had been more than enough to give her what she needed to set up a new life.
Abe had also given her something even more dear to her: his name.
It had infuriated Jeremy that she hadn't reverted to her maiden name of Smith, but that name held only horrors for Sarah, far worse than the most painful memories from her marriage. She hadn't even cared when, right after the divorce, certain snarky columnists had called her a "first wife" who wanted to cling to the fame of her ex-husband.
Sarah paid her good fortune forward every single month, writing out checks to charities that supported and tried to offer help to teens on the streets. She'd been one of those lost children not that long ago, knew that sometimes a teenager had a home so unsafe the street was the better option.
Flames. Fear. Grief.
Those were her last memories of her childhood home.
"That's in the past," she whispered aloud. "No one will ever link Sarah Bellamy with the unwanted girl born in a one-bedroom shack in Miami, or with the teenager who became the star witness in a murder trial." She was gone forever, that fifteen-year-old girl with her skinny face and bruised arms and legs, her hair cut tight to her skull.
The people who'd known her then would never recognize her in Sarah.
And this strong, successful woman she'd become, she had a date to attend the symphony.
"I'VE NEVER BEEN TO THE SYMPHONY BEFORE," she confessed to Abe after they took their seats.
"Yeah?" A pleased smile as they waited for everyone to finish filing in. "It's fucking amazing."
Sarah bit back a smile as the blue-haired matron in front of them turned to give Abe an admonishing look. "Really, young man. Language."
"Sorry, ma'am," Abe said with a rueful smile. "Got a little too excited."
As Sarah had mentally predicted, the matron melted. Smiling her forgiveness, she returned her attention to her partner, an elderly man in a dapper brown suit and spotted bowtie.
"Charmer," she whispered under her breath to Abe.
"Nana Bellamy would call it good solid manners."
Cheeks creasing at his choirboy response, she said, "Do you ever think about giving up the band to join an orchestra?" He was a gifted classical pianist who'd been offered placements at prestigious music academies right out of high school.
"Nah." Abe played with the program for today's concert. "I love listening to it, but this isn't the kind of music I want to make--and those people would never be my family."
Not like Fox, Noah, and David.
Sarah glanced away, reacting as she'd always done to mentions of the band, her jealousy a bitter creature inside her. She turned back the instant she realized what she was doing.
She wouldn't make the same mistake twice, not after the way the band members, as well as Kit, Thea, and Molly, had closed ranks around her after the nightmare with Jeremy. Not after Molly had invited Sarah into her home and her wedding. Not after all three women had extended the hand of true friendship.
Abe was right--his bandmates had never been the problem.
"Noah and Kit," she said under the cover of rustling and mumbled conversation as people settled down. "I always knew they had chemistry, but I could've never predicted their relationship." It was obvious the couple was madly in love, however. Any idiot could see they were a unit, two halves of a whole.
Stretching out his arm behind her seat, Abe leaned down to speak against her ear. "Kit's good for Noah, really good. And he's nuts for her."
Sarah was having trouble thinking with Abe so close, his warmth enticing and his mouth almost touching her skin. "At Zenith, they did that thing with the eyes," she finally managed to say.
Abe's fingers brushed her shoulder. "What thing?"
Butterflies in her stomach, her skin hot, the bad, bad trouble becoming ever more dangerous. "You know, when couples don't speak but they're communicating with their eyes."
"Huh."
The lights dimmed on Abe's bemused response, the haunting song of a single violin filling the void until that void was music and there was no more darkness.
The concert was unlike anything Sarah had ever before experienced, the soaring highs making her feel as if she were flying while the somber notes brought tears to her eyes. She was on her feet with the rest of the audience come the end of the concert, clapping enthusiastically and calling for an enco
re.
They got one.
"That was so wonderful," she whispered in the aftermath.
Abe, his hand firmly clamped around hers as they stood to exit the concert hall, passed her his program to hold. "Not their best performance, but damn good."
"Not their best?" Sarah's mouth fell open. "How much better can they get?"
"You'll have to keep being my plus one if you want to find out." He maneuvered them through the crowd milling around in the large atrium outside the performance chamber.
Sarah didn't consciously realize he was still holding her hand until they were in the elevator to the parking garage, and then she didn't want him to let go. Just like she hadn't been able to stop herself from saying yes when he asked her out. Fear licked over her heart, quelling the breathless joy she'd found in the music.
Abe had hurt her so much.
"You want to stop for a snack?" Abe asked after they were in the SUV.
And the words just spilled out. "Let's go to bed." It was only chemistry, nothing more. She'd surrender to it, let it burn out. And see what was left.
CHAPTER 22
ABE WAS FUCKING GLAD HE HADN'T started driving, or he'd have plowed into something right then. "Sarah."
"You heard what I said." Tone firm, she stared straight through the windshield, but her breathing gave her away, shallow and a little too fast.
His eyes dipped to her breasts, those magnificent breasts he'd always loved. They seemed to swell in front of his eyes. "Are your breasts already more sensitive?" he asked before he could stop himself.
"A little." Her response was husky. "It's just the start."
Cock rigid, Abe nonetheless wanted to quiz her about her sudden invitation. Don't be an idiot. It was a ringing slap from the part of him that knew the physical stuff between them had never been just sex... no matter what Sarah might believe.
After driving to her place, he parked inside her garage beside her little red car.
He'd have hauled her into a kiss the instant they walked into the house, but he wasn't in charge today; this was Sarah's show. She greeted an excited Flossie and made sure the dog was happy to play outside before she led him to the bedroom, kicked off her heels, then placed her purse neatly on the vanity.
Sarah always had a purse with her, and it always had some cash in it along with a credit card and her phone. He remembered how they'd once gone to a party to celebrate a close friend's birthday, and in the rush to leave, she'd forgotten her purse at home. She'd remembered halfway to their destination, asked him to go back; he'd tried but it had proved impossible in the traffic.
That was the day he'd realized how badly Sarah needed the security blanket of her purse. She'd been near tears by the time they arrived at the party, had only seemed to breathe again after he gave her his wallet and phone, told her to look after them both. That was one time he hadn't been an asshole to her. He'd kept her tucked close to his side all night, taken her home as soon as he could without it being an insult to their hosts.
And he'd started to understand that Sarah didn't just need a little cash at hand--usually all it was was a fifty. She needed a phone too. Where Sarah went, so did her phone and enough cash to get her home. The purses were vehicles for those two things, but they also just made her happy, as beautiful musical instruments made him.
"You still hoarding purses?" Having kicked off his own shoes and socks, he sprawled on the bed with his legs stretched out, body braced on his elbows.
A sheepish look from the only woman who'd ever gotten to the heart of him. "I can't help myself," she admitted as she removed the pearl necklace he recognized from their wedding.
She'd been a magnificent bride, statuesque and with an innate sense of presence he didn't think she'd ever realized about herself. He remembered how she'd glowed--and he remembered what they'd done to each other in bed that night, her body arching under his caressing hand and her arms holding him possessively close.
"Yeah?" His voice was rough. "How many in your collection now?"
That was another thing he hadn't been an asshole about: he'd bought her as many purses as she wanted, had often come home from tour with three or four that he'd picked up along the way. It would've been better had he taken her with him so she could choose her own favorites, but that was done. Abe wouldn't excuse his behavior or forgive himself for it, but he intended to do better now.
Sarah looked so guilty right then that he chuckled, his chest going all tight. "I bet if I hunt around this house, I'll find a dedicated purse room."
"No comment." A sudden, dazzling smile that caught him right in the solar plexus. "Don't tease me. You were such an enabler."
He grinned past the emotions crashing through him... and Sarah reached back to undo her zipper. "Let me." He wanted to adore her, seduce her, addict her.
She hesitated for a taut second before dropping her hands.
He rose to go stand at her back, then kissed the bare skin of her exposed nape, her hair up in a sleek knot.
Sarah shivered. Her skin was warm and toned and flawless under his lips, her curves just made for his big hands. Quickly unzipping and pushing off her dress because he loved Sarah naked, he let her step out of the dress, then unhooked the black lace of her bra.
It joined the dress on the floor.
Out of patience, he cupped the heavy weight of her breasts from behind, rubbing his thumbs over the swollen nipples that had always been sensitive. When she cried out, he petted her breasts, whispered, "I'll be careful." It was a sensual promise. "Treat you so well, Sarah." A kiss to her throat, her body melting back into his.
His cock pulsed.
Shuddering, he moved his hands from her breasts and down her body. Splaying the fingers of one hand over her abdomen, he slid his other one into the lace and satin of her panties. One arm rising to hook around the back of his neck, Sarah rasped his name. It was as if she'd clasped his cock in those long, capable fingers of hers, squeezed.
"I've got you," he said, kissing his way up her throat as he stroked his fingers through her lush folds.
She was liquid with need for him.
He felt like a fucking god.
Tugging on the plump bud of her clit, he wasn't prepared for her to pull away his hand and spin around to face him. He'd opened his mouth to ask if he'd touched her too roughly when she went to work on his shirt buttons.
Oh.
More than willing to be stripped by Sarah, he stood in place and let her undo his shirt, push it off. She pressed kisses across his chest, his shoulders. He loved that she was tall enough to do that, that they fit together like they were two halves of a whole.
Moving one hand to her ass, he cupped a cheek, stroked.
Her breasts rising and falling in a rapid, harsh rhythm, she dropped her hands to his belt buckle. He was wearing his favorite old belt--it was simple black leather but had a slightly tricky clasp... which gave Sarah no trouble at all. And he remembered this was his wife in his arms.
Ex-wife, the civilized part of his brain reminded him for the umpteenth time.
Fuck that, Abe muttered silently. Sarah was his and he intended to put his ring back on her finger. He had no intention of repeating his stupidity in letting her go. Not this time. Gripping her chin as she was undoing the button on his jeans, he dropped his head and kissed her long and slow and deep, his other hand thrusting into her hair to unravel it.
He licked his tongue over hers, drank her in.
Sarah moaned in the back of her throat but pulled away. "I want you naked."
He smiled even as his cock jumped. "So you do know how to talk dirty." Fisting his hand in her hair as she ducked her head, her skin no doubt hot with a blush but her fingers busy, he tensed his abdomen in an effort not to bring things to a premature end.
It was hard. Not only was she touching him, she was nearly naked. The position of her arms pushed together her breasts, creating a deliciously deep cleavage that put all kinds of sinful ideas in his head. "You're killing me, swee
theart."
"You're the one with your fingers brushing my..."
"Brushing your what?" Abe teased her with those fingers, caressing her through the gusset of her panties. "Did you mean to say your pussy?"
Shivering--and proving she was still delightfully susceptible to a bit of dirty talk from him--Sarah pushed down his jeans and underwear at the same time. She closed her fingers around his cock before he could step out of the clothes.
"Jesus, Sarah, I--" He lost his mind and his words as Sarah went down on her knees in front of him.
Flicking her eyes up to meet his gaze, she took his cock into her mouth.
Abe's grunt of pleasure had her lashes lowering as she sank into her self-imposed task. He realized he was tugging too hard on her hair, tried to get himself to relax, but oh, sweet fuck-- The sight of his wife with her lips stretched around his cock, the feel of her tongue pressing up against his length, the heated wet, her nails digging into the backs of his thighs as she gripped him with open possessiveness.
Abe barely managed to give Sarah a warning that he was about to come.
She pulled away her mouth but then gave him that sultry smile of hers he only ever saw in bed, and cupped her breasts in sensual invitation. Abe lost it. Gripping his cock as his balls drew up impossibly tight, he came all over his wife's full breasts.
Legs shaky afterward, he somehow untangled himself from his clothes, then tugged Sarah to her feet. "That was hot." He kissed her, one hand gripping the back of her head as he thrust his tongue into her mouth.
Her throaty moan was all the encouragement he needed.
Shoving down her panties to partway down her thighs, he touched her between her legs, felt how swollen she was, how wet. Her body clamped down on the single finger he slid inside her. Brain hazing, he withdrew the finger and said, "Hold that thought."
First he stripped off her panties, then he tugged her into the bathroom.
Using a wet facecloth to wipe her breasts clean after lifting her up onto the counter, he kissed her again and again. She didn't resist, hooking one of her legs around his hip, her arms locked around his neck. He'd come blindingly hard just before, but he'd been wanting Sarah forever. He knew he'd be ready again soon. He decided to spend the time driving his wife crazy.