Connected

I pull him to me, crushing my lips to his. He responds instantly. He licks my top lip then sucks on it; he does the same to my bottom lip before locking his mouth on mine. He moves his hands down my backside and presses me closer to him so I can feel his hard body on mine. He slides his tongue over the roof of my mouth, and I know I’m moaning as I step back.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” I manage to say breathlessly.

He shakes his head, and his fully dimpled grin returns as he, just as breathless, responds. “I wasn’t just kissing you. I was also whispering in your mouth,” he says lightly laughing. “Do you want lessons? Because I might be able to swing something for you.”

Laughing together now, both out of breath and both panting, he laces our hands together and looks at me. “I want to tell you something before we go,” he says, pulling me back into his body. “Do you know my band’s song Once in a Lifetime?”

I nod my head because I know that song very well. It’s one of the ones I used to listen repeatedly on my iPod.

“I wrote that song about you. About meeting you that night.”

Smiling, while trying to swallow the emotion that was lumped in my throat, I manage to verbalize only a fraction of the feelings welling deep within me; the true appreciation of being someone’s muse and just the absolute awesomeness and gratitude that he wrote a song about me. My words are short and clipped, and I don’t care anything about a one-night stand or not. “You wrote a song about me? Really?” It’s all I can say before throwing my arms around his neck and crushing my lips to his. I kiss him hard before whispering, in my most seductive voice, “Take me back to your hotel. Now!”

River sighs as he stares at me for a few seconds, blinking his eyes before saying, “You’re just so beautiful.” He grabs my hand even tighter, if that is possible, and leads me quickly down the strip. In our haste, we abandon the idea of a cab because at this time of night, we can honestly walk to the hotel faster than a cab could get us there. As we walk, I notice he has lost that sway of a walk that I admire. Instead he’s walking fast, with purpose, and I’m following his lead, finding it hard to keep up as we stride into the night.

Reaching the hotel lobby, he sits me in a chair and tells me to stay put as he walks over to the front desk and has a short conversation with the clerk. The lobby is quiet with just a few people coming and going. I don’t even know what time it is. I watch him as I sit back in the chair and think, God he is so hot.

I see him hand the clerk a bunch of cash and wonder what the money is for; does he pay his bills in cash instead of credit card? As he walks back over to me, he’s smiling and I melt again. He reaches for my hand, pulling me out of the comfortable chair, and leads me through the lobby.

The closer we get to the elevator the more nervous I become. My breathing accelerates as memories of Ben flutter in and out of my head, and my stomach starts to flip-flop with thoughts of River.

My mind is shouting at me to proceed with caution, and I wonder if my thoughts are echoing off the walls. What am I doing with this man? I have slept with one person my whole life. Am I betraying Ben by consciously deciding to have a one-night stand, because this cannot possibly be more? I know that. He’s a player, I’ve read this, and I know this. God, how many women has he slept with? And even through all these warnings, the thought that is loudest in my head as I grip River’s hand as tightly as if we were walking down the street of a dark alley is, Am I ready to be with someone else, someone who isn’t Ben?

While my mind echoes, ‘Don’t take that path.’ My body is screaming, ‘Yes, take the road less traveled.’ My body is telling me I want this man, his touch, his kiss, everything he wants to give and more. And the longer we walk into the unknown, the more my mind starts to agree with what my body is screaming.

So, as he pushes the elevator button, my own light turns red. I can’t do this. I can’t sleep with him. I’m trying to absorb the tranquility in the room, my breath starts to shallow and I try to decide how to jump off this ride I so willingly boarded.

Sensing my nervousness or even my apprehension, he caresses my cheek, gliding his thumb over it and asks, “What’s wrong?”

When the elevator doors open, I clear my throat and yank on the hand guiding me down the wrong path away from the open doors. Looking at nothing but the shiny marble floor, I drop his hand and manage to say, “I am so sorry River, I’m not sure I can do this, that I can be with you.”

He gently repositions me so my back is against the wall, and he’s standing in front of me. Placing his thumb on my chin, he guides me to look at him, to gaze into his powerful green eyes. While intently staring at me he says, “You know the song I wrote about meeting you? Have you ever really listened to the lyrics?”

I shake my head. I know the song well, but right now I can’t recall any specific lyric. My mind shuffles between thoughts of both of them. Ben, River, River, Ben.

He pauses, removing his hand from my face; he places both his hands against the wall on each side of my head. I know what I just said to him, but his nearness makes my heart accelerate to twice its normal rate.

He continues to talk, and I continue listen. He has my full attention when he very softly starts to sing.

You were my once in a lifetime.

This I knew from the moment your eyes met mine.

You were my once in a lifetime.

This I knew the first time I whispered into your ear and my heart stopped.

You were my once in a lifetime.

This I knew when your face touched my spirit.

You were my once in a lifetime.

This I knew when I kissed your lips and felt it in my soul.

So where did you go, where did you go?

He sings those beautiful lyrics into my ear, and tears start streaming down my face.

Moving a little closer, he places his leg in between mine. With a strained voice he whispers, “Those lyrics tell the story Dahlia, our story. I wrote that song five years ago and even now when I sing it, your face is the face I see. You’re unforgettable Dahlia. You’re perfect, really.”

My body quivers without control as he leans in and lightly kisses my forehead, sliding his lips down my temple to my ear. “I just wanted you to know because I felt connected to you that night in a way I’ve never felt connected to anyone. Then today, when I saw you again, that connection I felt years ago instantly returned.”

Feeling light-headed, I close my eyes. I’m unable to speak. His words are so moving, so raw, so emotional.

He kisses each of my eyelids and hovering his mouth over mine, he talks around my lips. “Ever since I met you, no one else has been worth thinking about.”

I open my eyes, and he presses his forehead to mine as he continues, “I feel like fate has brought us together again. I also believe that one night, so long ago, just wasn’t the right time for us. But tonight is.”

I close my eyes again at his confession. Keeping them closed this time, I stand there motionless, still unable to speak. When I open my eyes, I drink him in, all of him, everything about him, especially his beautiful words.

Looking into his eyes, I find him gazing back at me as he says, “Dahlia you don’t have to apologize for anything.”

With a small grin, he motions his finger back and forth between us. “And even though I’m sure you can do this, it’s ok if you don’t want to right now. We can just hang out, talk, or watch a movie. Whatever you want. Just stay with me, don’t interfere with fate now that we’ve reconnected.”

And with that, I nod my head, turn to press the elevator call button, and realize I never spoke a word during that whole conversation. I didn’t need to. Because somehow, he knew exactly how I felt.

Chapter Ten

FADE INTO YOU

You turn the light on slowly and I ask

Does your heart have a home

You put our hands together

And your smile covers mine

As I fade into you.

Separating my job from my personal life has not gone as seamlessly as I had hoped. Dahlia the photographer and Dahlia the girl whose fiancé was killed in front of her have mixed together, and I’m standing next to the person blending the two.

We are on the balcony staring into the night. Looking up into the heavens, I notice the sky is the deepest shade of blue, and the stars are brighter than they have been in a long time. He is next to me, leaning over the railing and gazing up at the stars. I smile to myself as I realize that I’m no longer in the fire pits of hell. I’ve been grieving for Ben for so long, I couldn’t even see past him and even now with this beautiful man beside me, my thoughts can’t shut him out completely.

River nudges me with his shoulder, and my thoughts return to him only. He captures my full attention with just a simple brush of his body against mine. With just our arms touching, I can feel the electric current traveling through my body, and my heart beats a little faster. I look over at him and smile. His head is cocked to the side, preventing me from seeing all of him as his gorgeous face fades in and out from the shadows of the night. He gives me a smirk that is so sexy I want to lean over and kiss him. He has to be the most attractive man I have ever seen.

Sure enough, true to his word, the view from where we stand is the most spectacular view of Las Vegas. The wondrous mountains, the clear night sky, and the flashing neon lights from the strip below act as our backdrop as we discuss his band and his own impending emergence into the limelight. River is down to earth and not in the least bit pretentious. So of course, not having been witness to it, I’m curious about his interaction with his fans. “How do you feel about being famous? Being asked for autographs? Do fans follow you?”

He looks confused for a second, then laughs, “I’m not exactly famous.”

I softly clear my throat and then insist, “Yes you are! Your picture is all over the Internet. Your band has a huge fan base, and I wouldn’t be here with you now, prepping for a photo shoot that will announce the launch of your second album if it were otherwise.”

Grinning at me, he asks, “How do you know my picture is all over the Internet?”

“I had to do some research before coming. I’m a professional you know,” I answer, slightly laughing as I tell him this.

“Did you find any good ones?”

Feeling like I might be blushing, I sidestep his question. “So have you had to sign anyone’s bra yet?”

Shaking his head, he snickers a little at my question. “I don’t sign and tell.” He sighs and adds, “When the band is together, sure we get asked for autographs, and sometimes when I’m walking around LA someone will recognize me. But really, I mean it when I say, it hardly ever happens. When we toured, we had fans following us around and people asking for autographs. To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure how I feel about it. Part of me just wants to stay unknown. The whole touring thing was hard. It was a constant infringement on my personal life. That’s why I’ve put off doing a second album for so long. There’s just so much . . . you know what, never mind. And don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I’m ungrateful,” he pauses and laughs, “If it weren’t for the fans, I wouldn’t be here—with you—trying to set up promotional shots.”

His raw honesty captivates me. “Sure, I can see how all of that can wear on a person. It always sounds so glamorous, but I’m sure it can get old.”

He seems to get lost in his own thoughts, so trying to lighten the mood I say, “Well no one seems to recognize you here.”

He looks around at our surroundings before answering, “I think people who come here aren’t looking for anything but themselves. Everything around them is just irrelevant.”

I nod in agreement as I repeat the adage I saw as I exited the airport this morning. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”