Mozart's Piano Concerto N. 21 played softly over the Bose stereo. Thorne came from the kitchen, a bottle of Chardonnay in one hand and two glasses in the other.
Jeannie's actions stopped him in his tracks.
Unaware she had an audience, Jeannie had eyes for nothing but the delicacy in her handâa chocolate truffle from the gold-colored box with the blue ribbon.
And she was taking her sweet time eating it.
I want her to look at me like that, Thorne thought.
As the violins and piano played, Jeannie slowly licked the outside of the truffle, removing its dusting of Dutch cocoa-powder. When the cello came in, she took a bite, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, her chest rising in ecstasy. Thorne's breathing hitched when her tongue licked the top of her lip where a smudge of ganache had smeared.
By the time the woodwinds finished, so was the chocolate and Thorne right along with it. Why had he ever thought they could be just friends? Jeannie was one of a kind. A rose among the thistles from his past. He had to have her. He couldn't live the rest of his life without ...
Just a taste, he told himself. Just a taste and I can let her go.
The Source would be none the wiser if he didn't let it go beyond a kiss.
As Jeannie licked her fingers, cleaning off the chocolate residue, Thorne slowly backed into the kitchen until a cupboard blocked his lower half. He waited in the shadows until his desired cooled.
"This is excellent chocolate, Hawthorne," Jeannie said, selecting another piece.
"I have a friend who sends them straight from her shop in Brussels. I'll make sure I keep some on stock for you."
Jeannie's manufactured smile saved her from answering. Thorne mentioned yet again what favors another woman had done for him.
He'd talked about the woman he'd bought the wine from. Next was the woman who'd given him the gourmet popcorn. And then there was the woman who'd recommended his couch.
Jeannie couldn't help but think, Women will always be after him, and if you slip, you'll be one of the many. Don't forget that.
Thorne took a sip of his wine, eyeing Jeannie furtively as she dropped her half-eaten truffle onto a napkin. She had gotten a lot quieter since he came back from the kitchen. He didn't know why, but he would find out.
"Everything okay, Jeannie?" he moved closer with the pretense of filling her glass with more wine.
"Just fine, Hawthorne."
She smiled, but Thorne noted it failed to shine from her eyes.
Thorne put his wineglass down and moved even closer. So close, that if Jeannie turned just right, her lips would brush his. As they now sat, he was talking to her hair all she had to do wasâ
Jeannie leaned forward to pick up her wine and... shifted away from him."Let's watch the movie, shall we?" Jeannie grabbed the remote and pressed the play button.
Thorne took another sip from his glass. While the movie music cued up, he didn't pay attention to the images, but to the woman beside him and how much he wanted that taste.
After lots of conversation, two empty bottles of wine, and with the credits rolling on the screen, Thorne had to admit, he was having the best evening in his life.
Jeannie and he had made comment after comment about the movie, stopping, starting, and rewinding it to sway each other's opinion on the various characters. At one point, Thorne's arm had casually draped over Jeannie's shoulders, and when she didn't shake him off, he left it there.
She now had her head tucked into the crook of his arm. Her eyes were closed. And Thorne wanted nothing more than to kiss her.
"Jeannie?"
Thorne moved, and she groaned. She wanted to keep listening to the beat of his heart that lulled her to sleep.
"Jeannie?" Thorne said again, nudging her.
"Whaaa?"
"Jeannie, the movie is over."
"Hmm, ok." Jeannie wanted to stand, but she couldn't be bothered. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so comfortable.
"Jeannie?" Thorne murmured. "I want to kiss you."
"Hmm. Sure."
Kisses were okay, she thought. What's wrong with a kiss?
She felt his hand cup her chin, gently tilting her head up. Lips as soft as creamed butter and ten times as sweet whispered across hers in the most feather-light of kisses.
"Nice," she mumbled.
Again, lips grazed hers, but this time there was more pressure, more urgencyâmore feeling. Jeannie opened her mouth.
She wanted more, too.
What am I doing? Thorne thought. Taking advantage of a girl who is half-asleep and full of drink.
True, but it felt too good to stop.
Just one more.
He brushed her lips again, adding a little more pressure.
When Jeannie's lips molded around his, he leaned into her, holding the extent of himself back.
That is until Jeannie unexpectedly thrust her tongue into his mouth, kissing him for all she was worth.
After a long interlude, Jeannie withdrew. Through the light of the TV screen, he saw his desire reflected in her eyes. An overwhelming urge to take whatever she was offering came over him. He had to act.
Pushing Jeannie down on the couch, he laid his body on top of hers, letting her feel exactly what she did to him.
They kissed for a few more moments, the TV fading to black when his knee hit the off switch.
The darkness did little to dampen the mood. In fact, it heightened it. They were free to explore each other's bodies in the dark, and it was hands, fingers, and curling toes until Jeannie, doing a slow grind, pushed him almost to the point of no return.
Thorne damned The Source to hell and himself along with it. He intended to see the night through with Jeannie and take whatever circumstances the agency meted out.
He trailed his thumb from Jeannie's chin to her lips, tracing them. His hair tickled her cheeks, and she smiled, but the light from the kitchen was too dim for him to realize her happiness didn't reach her eyes.
"Will you stay with me tonight?" he asked, his mouth so dry with nervous anticipation he barely got the words out.
Jeannie bit her bottom lip and lowered her lids. "Yes, Thorne."
Thorne felt the switch in him flip to "off" as shards of ice-cooled his blood. His body, which until a moment ago, was as supple as a reed blowing in the wind, grew as rigid as a board.
Thorne had allowed no one but Quentin and Dalton to use the name his beloved mother had called him. For a mark to utter it, made his stomach turn. Jeannie had tainted what he revered as sacred.
She had to go.
Thorne stood and snapped on the overhead light. Jeannie rose from the couch. Thorne glared at her with narrowed eyes, his face red with rage. He lifted a finger and pointed at her. "Don't call me that. You aren't ever allowed to call me that."
Stop! You will regret it, his mind screamed, but he was too full of righteous wrath to listen to reason.
"And I think it's time you left."
Jeannie nodded and turned to gather her coat from the chair.
I'm stronger than I thought, Jeannie concluded with grim satisfaction. She turned back for one last look at her sacrifice.
Even with his face contorted in ire, Thorne made her heart race.
But fantasy time was over.
Jeannie could no longer fool herself into thinking she could have a man like him. There wasn't a scenario in which they could ever be together. He had women from coast to coast. She was just one of many.
Rationale had won out, but it was a hollow victoryâone she felt no joy in achieving.
"Keep the movie," she told him.
Jeannie knew she would never look at it again. There would be too many "what if's" especially when the credits rolled.
Thorne made no move to stop her as Jeannie walked out of his apartment. She didn't even look back as she closed the door softly behind her
"Hello? Jeannie?" All Alex Jones could hear, was his daughter's sniffling on the other end of the line. Listening to her pain, his blood ran cold.
"You had to do it, Jeannie. They wouldn't let you let you live otherwise. You know that."
Jeannie took a moment to think of the words in the language she and her parents had spoken when no one else was around.
"Ñ Ð·Ð½Ð°Ñ, Daddy." (I know, Daddy).