Rainey's Song Ch. 08

The Grand Guthry Hotel was a local landmark. Built in 1888 on the shores of Elliot Bay, no other Seattle hotel had ever come close to matching the Guthry's innate class. Each year, thousands of tourists flowed through the Guthry's doors to take in the timeless beauty of her leaded-glass windows, recessed Corinthian columns, and the intricate, mosaic floor in the lobby.

That renowned lobby is where Aidan was on Monday; he'd been hired to photograph the Guthry's recently refurbished Grand Foyer. It was early afternoon and sunlight spilled through the tall windows near the main entrance. The glossy, wood-paneled walls, the color of burnt honey, seemed to glow from the caress of natural light. Long, angled shadows, the same pattern as the leaded windows, spread lazily across the famed mosaic floor.

And Aidan barely noticed any of it.

The photographer in him knew he should be awed by the gorgeous architecture. He should have been itching to photograph every inch of the historic building. Instead, he was taking his time, leisurely snapping photos while letting his mind wander.

His thoughts were entirely on Rainey. And they way they'd woken up that morning.

He'd woken up slowly, his neck stiff from sleeping at an odd angle. Still half-asleep, he'd tried to stretch and only then did he become fully aware of the soft form of Rainey's body nestled between him and the couch cushions. Her head was tucked up under his chin and he couldn't see her face because her hair had spread out around her and across his chest.

It should have felt strange, waking up with her like that. But it didn't.

Her breathing was steady and slow. Shifting gently, he stroked some of her hair away, tucking it behind her ear so he could see her face. She murmured in her sleep, turned her face slightly as if following his light caress. His pulse, awakened by her feathery sigh, gave a stuttering jerk.

Restlessly, he'd slid his hand further into the warmth of her hair, smoothing it back even more so he could run his thumb along her temple. Before he realized it, she was waking up, her body curving into his own as she stretched sleepy muscles.

Her eyes opened. Met his. For an instant, hers widened, surprised to find him so close, watching her. She turned her head into the hollow space between his shoulder and jaw, resting her chin on his collarbone. The warmth of her breath on his throat made him shudder.

Easy, he told himself. Easy.

He smiled down at her. "I think we've found a new hangover remedy."

"What?" she laughed, her voice still raspy from sleep. "Don't tell me you're deserting the frozen peas and pork chops already."

He grinned. "Don't need 'em when I've got a couch and a pretty girl at my disposal. Besides," he continued, enjoying her renewed laughter. "I seem to remember someone bad-mouthing those frozen peas last night."

"Hmm, I don't remember that," she said, shifting her head on his shoulder. "What I do remember is something about British people being heathens—" Cutting her off, Aidan swatted playfully at her bottom, drawing a shrieking laugh from her. "Ow!"

"Now," he asked, his hand poised for another swat. "What was it you were saying about the fine people of Great Britain?"

She'd buried her face against his neck, still laughing, but managed to spit out. "You're all bullies!" Anticipating his playful retribution, she tried to escape but he held her to him with one arm and swatted her again with the other.

"I can't seem to hear you properly," he teased. "Care to repeat that, my little Yankee?"

Popping her head up, she grinned at him. "I said—hey!" She protested, surprised when he swatted her mid-sentence. "You don't even know what I was going to say." She tried to look offended, but the effect was ruined by her laughter.

"Consider that a warning tap," Aidan told her with a cheeky grin. "Now, continue."

"Well, if I'm going to get swatted just for exercising my freedom of speech, all I have to say is 'God Save the Queen.'"

"That's more like it," Aidan triumphantly laughed while pulling her more securely into his arms.

Then, because she was smiling and so close, he had to kiss her. It wasn't a conscious thought on his part. He didn't realize that he'd leaned into kiss her until a moment before their lips met and…

Oh man.

Aidan had to shake himself, then. Actually had to work to pull himself out of the memory, remind his body where he was. In the middle of a public hotel lobby where he was supposed to be working. He couldn't get through an hour without thinking about how she'd moaned for him on Saturday, let him touch her in all the places, and ways, he'd been fantasizing about.

And, God help him, now that he'd woken up with her in his arms, all he could think about was having her in his bed, naked and wanting him with a desperation that matched his own. He never should have touched her. A sardonic smile settled on his mouth; he acted like he had a choice in the matter when it came to wanting Rainey. The truth was that he had practically no free will when she was around. Everything in him drew him to her with a sometimes frightening urgency.

So why have you been fighting it? asked a small, inner-voice.

That voice, which sounded suspiciously like his own, had been echoing in the back of his head since Saturday night. Could he do it? Could he give in completely to this almost overwhelming obsession he had with Rainey? Considering the question, he snapped several shots of the mosaic floor, making sure to capture the angled-shadows that fell in drastic contrast to the floor's circular pattern.

One thing he knew for certain, the minute he'd opened his door yesterday and found her standing there, he'd been glad. Yes, he admitted to himself, he'd been aching to see her. He wanted her. It seemed like he'd always wanted her. He just didn't want to…what?

He didn't want to what?

Hurt her. Scare her. Disappoint her.

Maybe lose her.

Disturbed by this sudden, if unvoiced honesty, he swung around, tilted his head back and aimed his Nikon camera at the Grand Guthry's newly-installed Chihuly chandelier, the centerpiece of the new lobby.

A 30-foot tall, blown glass sculpture by the world-renowned artist, Dale Chihuly, the hotel manager had told Aidan it was worth nearly half a million dollars. He zoomed in on the chandelier, snapping a few images from interesting angles. Actually, calling it a chandelier was a bit generous since it didn't so much give off light, as reflect it. Thousands of sculpted glass cones had been mounted together to form a larger, more organic cone-like shape. The smaller cones burst with bright orange, gold, red, and yellow hues.

As a whole, it gave the impression of an inverted pillar of flame, shooting up from the floor, blooming across the lobby's high, lacquered ceiling. All in all, the effect was pretty stunning. He could see why Chihuly commanded such exorbitant fees for his work.

Clearly, Chihuly was an exception to the whole idea of starving artists. Most artists had to choose between their passion and practicality, Aidan mused. In his own case, he'd chosen practicality, something that he sometimes regretted.

Panning his lens out, he framed a wide-angle shot, taking in the chandelier and the lobby as a whole. He released the shutter and considered the combination of bright, organic glass with the old-world, fussily antique charm of the Grand Foyer. While the chandelier was beautiful, it seemed out of place, almost gaudy amid the Grand Guthry's historic aura.

"Aidan? Is that you?" a feminine voice called out from just behind him.

Wondering who he could know who'd be inside the most expensive hotel in town, Aidan turned and came face-to-face with Colette Fitzroy.

She wore billowy, white linen slacks and a sleeveless, green satin top whose buttons were half undone, revealing the curve of high-perched breasts. A wide, canary yellow belt spanned her narrow waist and, at her throat, an equally bright yellow necklace of oversized faux pearls spilled down her chest into the crevice of her cleavage.

She reminded Aidan of the chandelier: beautiful, but in a manufactured way.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," she drawled, propping one bracelet-laden hand on her cocked hip. Her gaze flicked to his camera, then back to his face. "Ah, the artiste at work, I assume?"

Aidan shrugged, giving her a noncommittal half-smile. "I'm working, yeah, but I don't know about the artiste part."

"You're being modest. I'm sure your work is fabulous," she insisted with a cat-like smile.

Aidan had the uncomfortable feeling that she was undressing him with her eyes. He shifted, giving her his profile. "No, really," he said. "It's a pretty typical project. The hotel wants to highlight the restored lobby and the new chandelier." He gestured toward the massive sculpture. "It's a Chihuly."

"I know," she tossed back. "My father donated it." Her voice dripped with a socialite's boredom.

Of course he did, Aidan thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He knew Colette expected him to be impressed but he couldn't muster the effort. "Oh. Well. It's a gorgeous piece," he offered lamely. "Photographs well, too."

"It should, considering what Daddy paid for it." She crossed her arms, examining the chandelier with indifference.

He didn't know what to say to that, so he raised his camera. "True…but I'd better finish up—"

"Have you ever considered branching out?" Colette cut him off, demanding his attention, obviously not ready to be dismissed.

Aidan turned back to her. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged, fingering the clasp on her gray-green handbag, which looked to be made of crocodile skin. "This just doesn't seem like your element." She locked her gaze on his, tilted her head as if in deep thought. "I have a confession: I looked up some of your work. You're very, very good. Better than tiny in-set photos and useless pictures of hotel lobbies that no one's going to give a second glance to." She paused, giving him an inviting smile. "You're better than this, Aidan." She said his name like an intimate caress.

His jaw clenched. They'd met once before and here she was judging his career choices? He wanted to tell her to go to Hell and almost did, but remembered that she was Jean's friend, though he couldn't fathom why.

"Thanks for the compliment," he managed instead, "but I'm not really in the market for a career change."

"I'm not talking about a career change. Just," she waved her hand slightly, causing her bracelets to tinkle, "a genre shift. Fashion photography, Aidan. Haute couture. You have no idea what it could do for your career." She took a step closer, surrounding him with the scent of her perfume. "I have friends in the industry. You could make four, five hundred dollars a day as an entry-level fashion photographer. But if you know the right people," her tone went low, slightly sexual, "you could make a lot more. I could introduce you around. Set up some meetings. What do you think?"

Aidan tried to keep his mild disgust from showing on his face. It was obvious that she was trying to seduce him; he'd known the first time he met her that she was attracted to him. Not that she'd made any effort to be subtle about it, really. He'd assumed that it had been clear he wasn't interested, especially after he'd left her mid-sentence to follow Rainey.

Yet, even now, she spoke of the glamorous lifestyle she could introduce him to as if that would suddenly tip the scales in her sexual games. The fact that she thought he'd be so easily reeled in by talk of money was irritating, to say the least.

He cleared his throat. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm happy where I am. I…appreciate the offer, though."

Before he'd even finished talking, she opened her purse and pulled out a business card and pen. She scribbled something on the back and held it out to him. "You should think about it, Aidan. Really give it some thought. Give me a call if you change your mind." When he took the card, she let her fingers trail across his. "I'm always available." From her tone, it was clear that she meant it in more ways than one.

Reluctantly, he accepted the card and, because she was watching him, he bent down and pushed it into a pocket inside his camera bag.

"Well, I'm off," she announced. "Meeting Daddy here for a late lunch. Be sure to tell Jean-Philippe bonjour for me."

"Will do," Aidan replied, glad that she was finally leaving.

Then, before he realized her intention, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on either side of his face in the Parisian style; only, instead of kissing the air the second time, she brushed her lips against the outer edge of his mouth.

With that, she was gone, leaving behind only the scent of her expensive perfume. Aidan wanted to wipe the back of his hand across his face where she'd kissed him. Watching her walk away, he wondered why he found her presence to abrasive. She was self-centered and materialistic, yes, but he'd dealt with worse. Maybe it was her blatant, almost overbearing sexuality. Women had pursued him before, but with Colette, he felt like he was a challenge that she'd set for herself.

Abruptly, he picked up his camera bag and started packing his equipment. He'd been at it for almost two hours, so he probably had more than enough material to work with. But even that familiar task didn't wipe the unpleasant remnants of Colette Fitzroy from his mind.

This was only the second time he'd met her and, once again, he'd wanted to be as far away from her as possible. Her perfume, jewelry, make-up; even that expensive, yet God-awful outfit she'd had on. All of it bothered him; more than it should have, really.

Then, out of nowhere, it hit him: she reminded him of Julia. His jaw clenched. It was an uncomfortable comparison, but true enough. The two women didn't look alike—where bleach-blonde Colette was tall and curvy, Julia had been a petite brunette; almost child-like—but at the most basic levels, he suspected they were very much the same.

Julia had been out-spoken, level-headed and, as he'd later found out, driven by calculating ambition. To the point where, as she'd shown, her only concept of loyalty was to herself. His jaw clenched at the unpleasant memories. He saw that same single-minded, aggressiveness in Colette and it left a stale taste in his mouth. He'd once made the mistake of confusing confidence with cold-hearted determination, so he could easily see the same traits in Colette. All in all, they were two of a kind and just so damn…

Different from Rainey.

There was that inner voice again. His voice. Apparently, the only part of him able to be perfectly honest. It seemed like an odd conclusion, but one his mind latched onto it, it wouldn't go away.

Maybe the fact that he disliked Colette wasn't only because she reminded him of Julia. Maybe it was also because she was so different from Rainey.

And maybe, he considered, Jean was right. If part of the reason why Aidan disliked Colette so intensely was because she reminded him of Julia, maybe his past with Julia was haunting him in more ways than he realized. Was he being fair to himself by still letting Julia's betrayal bother him all these years later? Was he being fair to Rainey?

Funny how his thoughts always came back to her.

Then again, nearly all of his thoughts bore some relation to her these days. Without his realizing it, she'd somehow become the ruler by which he measured other women. He finished packing his bag and left the hotel, heading to his car. Thinking about it, he realized that since meeting Rainey, he hadn't even looked at another woman.

"Oh, hell," he muttered, as he crossed the street outside the hotel and rounded the corner to where he'd parked. He'd been an idiot to think that putting some distance between them after the party would work. Bottom line: it all came back to Rainey. Always. He was so thankful she'd taken the step to show up at his apartment when she had. But, he admitted to himself as he slid into his car, he knew that if she hadn't come to him, he would've gone looking for her.

Just like he had on the first night he drove her home, Aidan sat and stared sightlessly through his windshield. He was done working for the day, so he could go home. But the idea wasn't appealing. At all. After running into Colette, he wanted to see Rainey even more. Sure, he'd just woken up with her that morning, but it didn't make a difference to him.

He thought about it. Go home; sit around thinking about her. Or he could do what he really wanted: go see her. The car's engine gently rumbled. It didn't take very long to decide; as if he'd had a choice, at all. Shifting the car into gear, he pulled out into the early evening traffic and headed for Rainey's college.

***

Since spring break was over and her classes had resumed, Rainey's last English class of the day was almost over. She was trying to pay attention but couldn't bring herself to focus on the discussion about Shakespeare's early life.

And how could she focus when every few minutes, unbidden memories of that morning…of Aidan's hands and mouth, touching her, came flooding back into her mind? They'd just been lying there talking when he leaned in and kissed her. Things started out slow, but then, because she was still partly asleep and focused entirely on the pleasure he was giving her, she opened her mouth wider and dug both hands into the fabric at the waistband of his sweats. Before long, he rolled on top of her and wedged himself between her legs, rubbing the length of his erection against her.

Slipping out of the memory, she became acutely aware of the fact that she was sitting in a classroom full of people while thinking about the very intimate places Aidan had put his hands.

And mouth.

Her traitorous mind simply wouldn't let the subject rest, though. Mostly because she still couldn't believe how far things had gone. As they'd kissed, he'd shoved her shirt up above her breasts and began laving the sensitive, engorged nipples through the silk of her bra. Wanting, needing him to touch her, she'd clung to him. Then he reared back on the couch, kneeling between her legs. In the dim, early morning light, she couldn't see his eyes, but she could feel his heated gaze burning into her flesh. Long seconds passed with him just staring down at her. Unconsciously, she flexed her hips, brushing her inner thighs against his own.

He swore quietly.

"Aidan?" her voice had sounded loud and echoey in the semi-darkness of his living room.

"Shhh…" he whispered, then leaned down and ran his hands up the length of her bared belly, across the faint bumps of her ribcage and, finally pressed them against the swell of her breasts.

Without warning, his hands shifted. Moved so that he was cupping her breasts in the V between his thumb and index fingers. She caught her breath, then bit her lip when he leisurely ran a finger along the edge of her bra, dipping inside at the valley between. Rested there. Suddenly, it was clear to her that he was struggling for control.

Staring up at him, she wet her lips. The movement caught his attention.

"God," he groaned, drawing the word out like a prayer and a curse combined.

Then he flattened himself out on top of her, covered her mouth with his and kissed her until they were both breathless. Finally, he'd pulled away, panting.

"We need…we need to stop," he said, pressing his face against the heated skin at her throat. "I'm going to take you home," he whispered, kissing her neck. "Even though it might kill me."

Now, hours later, Rainey was still trying to figure out what, exactly, he'd done to her. It was like she'd been drugged. After nearly six hours of classes, she had no idea what had been discussed in any of them. She'd spent the entire day thinking about Aidan.