Invisible Love Letter (6 page)

I looked around for him or his car. Nothing. Maybe he had other plans and would meet us wherever we were going.
One could only hope.
I shook my head at my thoughts. I was such a glutton for punishment.

“Come on, Emmy.” Axel held the limo door open. “You need to climb in first since you’re our guest of honor.”

Holding Axel’s hand, I lifted myself into the back of my limo. My pin straight hair shielded my face, but through the strands I noticed a pair of men’s shoes. I whipped my head up. Weston was sitting at the end of the couches behind the driver’s privacy window. Shocked, I hit my head on the ceiling. “Ouch!” I rubbed my head.

“Happy Birthday.” He leaned forward and reached for my hand.

“You could’ve warned me you were in here.”

“And what fun would that be?” He guided me to the seat next to him. “You okay?” He brought his palms to my head where I had been rubbing. “No dents, you’re okay.” He winked.

My breath caught in my throat. “Yeah,” I whispered.

Weston leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Happy Birthday, beautiful.” His voice was like a magic formula, soothing my rapid heartbeat. Lost in Weston’s stormy gray eyes, I had forgotten about everyone else.

“Do we have to separate you two already?” Axel shouted.

Weston balled up a paper napkin and tossed it at him. The limo began to move, and Leslie took out her camera. “We need to document the night.”

She angled the camera at me and I smiled. Before she hit the button, Weston wrapped his arms around my body and kissed my cheek. I giggled as the flash flickered. Leslie handed Weston the camera and tugged on my arm, pulling me towards her so Weston could snap a picture of us. Weston turned the camera around and held it in front of him. “Say legal drinking age!”

I laughed and rested my head on his shoulder. Weston snapped the final picture and handed the camera back to Leslie. Weston looked at his watch and pulled a bottle from the cooler. “You’re officially twenty-one … almost.”

He held up a bottle of champagne. Monica passed the glass flutes. With our glasses filled with Perrier Jouet, we all counted down until the clock struck midnight. It was the best way to ring in my birthday.

The limo pulled up to Duvet. I had never been inside the nightclub, but I knew where we were by the massive line that wrapped around it and the paparazzi that waited on the curb. The cover to get in was absurd, and the cost for a drink made you want to sip it from the narrowest straw possible.

Axel pushed the door open without waiting for the driver to come around. “We’re partying like fucking kings!” he shouted to the crowd.

We all filed out of the limo. Weston was the last one out, and I watched as he slid money into the driver's hand. Weston’s eyes met mine and I was greeted with the most delectable smile. I bit the inside of my cheeks to contain my excitement. We would be in line for hours, but at least I would be with him.

“You ready?” He extended his hand.

“Yep, but it looks like a far walk to the back of the line. Maybe the limo should have dropped us off down there.” I gazed down the endless line of bodies that stood next to the white cement wall that separated the normal from the elites.

“Back of the line?” Axel shouted excitedly. “Didn’t I say we’re partying like kings?” He looked over at the paparazzi, who had not even glanced in our direction. “Remember this face! One day it will make millions! Elephant Room—remember that name!”

I giggled at his drunkenness. My hand was still coiled with Weston’s. He pulled me towards him, and the rest of the group followed. When we moved towards the massive security guards and not to the back of the line as I’d expected, I peered up at him.

A devilish grin appeared on his face and he winked at me. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” His voice sounded silky as if he were singing it to me. Though it was a chilly night in January, I felt the heat flush over my skin.

We walked into Duvet like we owned the place. Weston gave his name at the door and the red velvet rope was pulled back to let us in.

Duvet was one of the most elegant clubs I had ever been inside. A round glass bar occupied the middle of the floor; blue track lighting ran under the bar. We headed up the stairs. The DJ booth was on the second floor, and California king-sized beds lined the walls, each draped with white goose feather duvets and matching pillows. White canopy curtains provided privacy between each bed.

A hostess handed Weston a menu and he looked it over before whispering something in her ear.

“How the hell does he have this pull?” I whispered to Leslie.

She leaned in so I could hear her. “He’s clearly as smitten about you as you are for him. I mean, look around, my dear friend, he didn't even do this for his own birthday.” She pulled away, placed her hands on my shoulder, then leaned in and whispered, “Emilia, put your fears aside and let this ride.” Leslie knew my hesitance about letting myself fall for a guy like Weston. Being with him went against everything I ever believed in about love. It couldn’t happen for me.

“Ready?” Weston asked. I nodded.

Weston had reserved two beds and a couple of bottles of liquor for our group. His arms wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me into him. “Happy?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I bit my lower lip to contain my excitement. He smiled and grabbed a bottle from the stainless steel cooler and handed it to Leslie, who poured me a drink.

“How did you pull this off?” I asked.

Weston twirled me around and coiled his arms around my body. His chin rested on my shoulder. “You see the deejay?” He pointed to the upstairs booth that looked as if it had been built into the wall. “He was my roommate in college. I called in a favor.”

I turned back to face him. His hands were still glued to my waist. “Thank you.” Standing high on my tippy toes, I placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

The sweet moment was short lived when Leslie tapped my shoulder to give me my first shot of the night. Weston walked over to where the guys were sitting and drinking. My cheeks hurt from the grin plastered on my face. This was turning out to be the best birthday I’d ever had.

Monica and Leslie walked over with a round of shots. Three shots later and I was beginning to feel the buzz. Sipping my drink slowly, I danced in place. Weston came up behind me. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. My voice was trapped with emotion. I turned toward him; his black blazer had been discarded and I could see the way his arms fit into his gray button down. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Wanna dance?” He grasped my hand.

Placing my glass on a table near the bed, I let him lead me down the few steps. Weston didn't stop at the dance floor like I thought he would. Instead, he took me through the crowd and around the bar to a quieter corner where thick white drapes hung from the ceiling and made it feel as though we weren't in a crowded nightclub.

He twirled me so my back was against the felt-like material covering the wall. His body towered over mine like a skyscraper as the bass of the song hummed around us. He captivated me.

I wanted him.

I wanted to kiss him.

“Dance with me.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled. Weston slid his tongue across his upper lip. His hips claimed the space between my legs, but we didn't move to the beat of the music; we moved to the rhythm of our heartbeats. Each movement caused my body temperature to rise, and the wall of steel that I had built to keep him out burned with the heat. I wanted his lips on mine more than I wanted my next breath. It was as though he was the oxygen my lungs desperately needed.

Weston’s hands dropped from my waist and moved down to my hips. His fingertips grazed past the hem of my dress, making my skin ignite. My breath caught in my lungs at his soft touch. He repeated it again but this time his finger moved in swirls as if he was scribbling something. Lost in his touch, I rested my hands on his chest. His lips brushed my hair as he began to sing with the music that played in the background. His voice, his touch, became too hard to bear. All I had to do was move my head to the right and our lips would meet.

“You smell like heaven,” he growled, his body pressing my back against the wall. I felt his erection straining against me. “You’re driving me insane, Emilia. It’s becoming really hard to be a gentleman.”

I could erase my own rule of not following in my mother’s footsteps or I could throw caution to the wind and leap headfirst off the Weston cliff.

It was now or never.

Inhaling all the air my lungs could take, I let my heart speak. “Then don’t be a gentleman.”

Then he did the one thing I needed most.

His warm lips brushed against mine and sucked the air from my lungs. My heart pounded with each second his mouth remained on mine. Once every plump morsel of his lips was engraved in my memory, I opened my mouth. Our tongues connected and the world around us vanished. My hands clenched around his neck, pulled him in harder, deepened our kiss as much as humanly possible. One rule about kissing: you cannot give a kiss without taking one in return, and I took everything Weston gave me. I laced my fingers together, dug my nails into the skin of his neck, and caged him to me. He growled in response and pushed against my body. His hands held me in place as he claimed my mouth in a way no one had before. I moaned against his lips, and the ache between my legs grew like wildfire.

Weston lowered his hand. His fingertips trailed along my spine and stopped at the seam of my dress. His pelvis pressed against my body and I whimpered into his mouth. It was too consuming. Weston’s free hand moved up my arm. Locating my collarbone, he tickled my skin before he gripped the nape of my neck. He deepened his kiss and I moaned louder.

When he pulled away, it was like he had taken my breath with him. My fingers traced the outline of my swollen pout. My mouth tingled from his passionate and possessive kiss.

“We should head back. I can only hold out for so long before I decide to hold you captive and never let you go,” he whispered against my lips. His fingers pushed my hair from my face. I wanted to hit the pause button and savor this moment a bit longer.

“I wish I’d done that a long time ago.” He placed a chaste kiss on my lips. “Come on, beautiful.”

Weston gripped my hand as he led me back to the others. Peering over my shoulder, I gazed at our spot one last time. Lost in the moment and mesmerized by how he’d made me feel, I let him bring me back to my friends.

Inebriated from the alcohol and high from his kiss, I peered up at Weston. He ran the pad of his thumb over my lips. My eyes felt heavy from the alcohol and I was ready to call it a night. I dropped my body onto the bed. My head landed on Leslie’s shoulder.

“You ready to go, love?” She pushed my hair from my face. Her hand was cool on my warm skin.

“Hmm, yeah.”

“Are you about to be sick?”

I shook my head before everything began to blend as one.

T
he chilly air
hit my skin and my eyes peeled open. Weston was helping me walk to the car. His arm was wrapped around my ribs and my head was using his chest as a pillow. I guess I’d had more to drink than I thought.

“Can you climb in?” I heard him ask.

“Um-hmm.”

Releasing his grasp, I climbed into the limo and headed for the back seat behind the nine-shaped couch. My head hit the crisp black leather; I needed to sleep. A warm body sank to the seat next to me. A familiar touch brushed my hair back and made my heart skip a beat. Opening an eye, I peered up at him.

“I’m leaving a bottle of water here for you. Just shout if you need anything, okay?” He turned to leave, but I extended my heavy hand toward him.

“Wait.” My hand fell to the cushion. “Stay with me.”

Finding the strength to push sleep away for a few more seconds, I sat up so Weston could sit next to me. He leaned back and patted his chest for me take. I quietly thanked whoever designed this limo for making the back seat wide enough that we could both lie down. Weston’s hand draped over my shoulder, keeping me on his chest. His fingers danced over my skin and I sighed with contentment. His soft lips pressed on my forehead and my lips pushed up into a smile.

“I think I might like you, Weston,” I whispered. It was a confession induced by the alcohol.

“I think I like you, too.” His words made my smile grow.

“I’m drunk,” I slurred. “I don’t like being drunk.”

“Shh, we’ll be home soon.” His mouth was in my hair.

I knew my feelings for Weston were growing at a rapid speed, but I was too inebriated to think about it. Instead, I took my hand that rested on his chest and moved it under his shirt. I wanted the heat of his skin on my palm. I needed to feel his heartbeat. His skin was smooth with a few strands of short hair residing on his pecs.

I heard him hiss before he moaned, “Yellow gel.”

S
unday afternoon
I was still in bed. I had woken an hour prior, swearing to never get out of bed, and then I swore to never, ever drink again.
Ever
. After I used the bathroom and found some toast to settle my stomach, I crawled back into bed.

I remembered the ride home, and how Weston had walked me to my door and kissed my forehead before he’d left. And if I closed my eyes, I could still taste his lips on mine. I was completely smitten over a guy I’d despised only a few short weeks ago. There was a very thin line between love and hate.

Love?

Could I eventually love him?

S
haking my head
, I tucked the covers under my chin. I dozed off for a few minutes, but woke when my cell phone vibrated. My headache vanished when I noticed the light on my phone shone with a missed message.

My Love: Good morning. Call me when you get this.

Clearing the hangover and sleepiness from my throat, I hit the call button. It rang twice before he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” I tried to make my voice sound soft but it was still hoarse. I kicked my feet out from under the covers to keep my body from overheating.

“How do you feel?” He sounded refreshed, his voice pure as silk.

“Like I’m never drinking again.” Muffled voices sounded in the background. “You can call me later if you’re busy.”

He mumbled something to the person and then spoke to me. “No, I’m okay. I’m just in the studio.”

“That sounds like you’re busy.” I didn’t want to hang up, but I didn’t want him to think I was needy. This was why I didn’t do relationships; it came with too many rules, too many worries.

“I’m never too busy for you.”

His words filled my body with heat. It reminded me of his mouth … his hands tracing swirls on my skin …

“Did I lose you?”

“Hmm.” I hummed to let him know I was still on the phone.

Weston began to sing along with the music in the background and goosebumps rose on my skin. His goddamn voice. Just raspy enough to be smooth. When the beat stopped, he continued to sing and I closed my eyes, listening to him sing. The song had pain, depth, and was filled with soul.

He stopped but I needed more. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

“I haven’t written the rest of the song.”

“You write your own songs?” Weston surprised me yet again.

“Yeah, and I produce my own beats.” I heard him play a couple of keys on the keyboard.

“You’re very talented.”

“Thanks.” He laughed and the beat began to play again. “I hope to take the band away from doing covers and start doing our original songs.” He replayed the song.

“Hmm,” I sighed, falling in love with the bridge.

“Can I ask you something? Well, two things, actually.”

I swallowed a ball of nerves.
What could Weston want to ask me?
“Shoot.” I rested my head on my arm.

“Do you make it a habit to kiss random men?”

“What?” My eyebrows flew upward. As I recalled, he was the one who constantly had a girl in his arms.

“Well, the day I met you, I saw Axel kiss you, then you kissed that guy on New Year’s, and last night it was me. I want to think it was different with me.” His voice was quiet and my breathing became rapid.

Crap. He had seen Mike kiss me. “It was. And I didn’t kiss them, they kissed me. Axel’s like an older brother to me. He did it to be an ass. And I waited for
you
at New Year’s, but when you didn’t come back at midnight, I kissed Mike—
on the cheek
—but he turned his head.”

“I
did
come back for my kiss.”

My heart thundered. “Oh.” I cleared my throat. “I … I didn’t know.”

“I guess I was a few seconds too late.” His line went silent for a few beats. “I was different?”

“Can we not make this awkward?”

“Fair enough.” He chuckled. “What are you doing Thursday night?”

“
Not
going to a club. But I might need to work a shift at Sparrows.”

“Yeah, I think my partying days are done for a while. What do you have planned for Friday?”

“Work.”

“Have dinner with me?”

“Yeah.” I bit my lower lip, trying to contain my smile.

L
eslie was
in the kitchen making herself lunch when I walked in. “Someone is oh, so strung,” Leslie joked.

“No, I’m not,” I lied through my teeth.

“Please!” Grabbing her camera, she flipped through pictures until she found a specific shot and showed me. It was the picture where Weston was kissing my cheek. We looked really good together. His lips were on my skin and I was laughing with glee.

“Even now, just looking at the picture makes you all mushy. Not to mention, he threw you this insanely lavish birthday party, invited all your friends, and stayed by your side the entire night.” She rested her camera on the table. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you two were gone for like two hours.”

“Okay!” I threw my hands up in defeat. “Yes, I like him.”

“Oh, Emilia, that I knew. You’re falling for him.”

“I think so.” I stared at the cabinet, thinking of his lips and our recent conversation.

Leslie grabbed the dishtowel and threw it at me. “Just promise me you’ll be careful with him. We know how he is with girls, and he
is
a hot musician.”

I nodded. He had a different girl on his arm every time I saw him.
Was I really any different?

W
eston rang
the doorbell at seven. It was strange to have a man come to the door, but it reminded me that he wasn’t a typical ass who would beep the horn as he waited for me outside. I think my father would have liked that about him.

I glanced in the living room mirror one last time before I opened the door. I didn’t know exactly where we were going for dinner, so I’d dressed in tight fitting jeans, a cute loose fitting sweater and a pair of flats that I’d borrowed from Leslie’s closet.

I pulled the door back and my breath caught in my throat. He was dressed in Chuck Taylors, fitted black jeans that hugged his waist, and a white T-shirt covered by his leather jacket. His killer smile was present on his face, but his aviators covered his stormy eyes.

“Hi, beautiful.”

He tugged on my hand, bringing me close to his body, and pressed a chaste kiss on my lips. The second he pulled away, I missed him. He winked before he tapped his finger on my nose, and I giggled at his charming ways as I followed him down the steps.

As he drove, he sang songs he had written for different rhythms, and it was my own personal Weston Carter show. I was mesmerized and captivated by his charisma.

He pulled up next to an abandoned building. The windows were boarded up with plywood, the parking lot was empty, and there was garbage scattered around. “Uh …” I looked at the darkened building. “I don't think they're open for dinner.”

“I guess it's been a while since I've been here.”

My stomach growled, and I giggled. “Do you like fish tacos?”

“Love them.”

“Okay, make a left up ahead.”

Weston moved his car out of the parking spot. “Not a great first impression, huh?”

“It's fine. I'm about to wow you with the best fish tacos. This place is a hidden gem.” I directed him toward the Santa Monica Pier. He parked and we walked a few blocks until I spotted the food truck.

“Best fish tacos?” He looked at the old steel truck and arched a high brow while twisting his lips.

“The best. These guys moved down from Seattle. They drive up and down Venice Beach. Max, the cook, told me they are eventually going to open up their own spot, but for now this is it.”

Weston looked over the menu, but I didn’t ask him what he wanted as I ordered two of my favorite specials. He slipped the cash from his wallet and slid it over the high glass window.

“Wow, and here I thought I was going to impress you with fine dining. Thirteen bucks paid for our dinner.” He took his white Styrofoam box from my hands.

“Wait!” I reached up to stop Weston from taking a bite.

“You told me they're the best, but now I can't eat them?”

“You'll appreciate it more with the view.” I motioned my head towards the beach.

Crossing the street, we walked down towards the sand. Though it was a beautiful day in January, the beach was quiet. I kicked off my shoes and dug my feet into the cool sand. It had been a mild Southern California winter, making it perfectly acceptable to be on the beach in January. Weston looked at me like I was insane, but I giggled and continued to walk. I had a spot where I enjoyed sitting. It was close to the pier and practically under the wooden boardwalk.

When we were close enough to hear the waves crash, I sat on the sand. “Now you can eat.” I popped open the lid to my container.

He dropped next to me. I watched as he brought the soft taco shell filled with locally caught fish, cole slaw and zesty mayo to his mouth. Biting into it, his eyes closed. “Hmm.” His moan was the most seductive sound I had ever heard.

“Good?”

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

We enjoyed our dinner with the waves crashing in the distance and the sun setting on the horizon. When we were done with our food, Weston stood and then sat behind me. His legs opened to hold me in the center of his body. We gazed out into the ocean, watching the water wash over the sand and then flow back out again. It was picture perfect. And the best part was Weston.

“Tell me about yourself?” he asked.

“There isn't much to say. You know where I come from, who my friends are, who my parents were.”

“No.” He coiled his arms around me. “That's the basics. I want to know the real Emilia. What runs through your mind when nobody's listening?”

I took a few beats to think about the question. “Music and silence.”

“That's a contradiction.”

I gazed upward. The sky was painted with pink, orange and red clouds, and the sun masked the horizon. “My head is filled with music all the time. I didn't get my dad's talent in the singing department, but it's in my blood. Everything I hear I turn into a song or a melody, and when I close my eyes, it grows louder.”

“And the silence?”

“I use it when something frightens me. When my father passed, I didn't hear any music for a long time. It was as if the world had shut off.” My fingertips moved like an S in the sand. “When I’m content with life, there is music all around me. I love my job because I’m around it, but when something scares me, I choose the silence. I come here.”

“Are you scared now?”

I exhaled. “Petrified.”

“Why?”

“You make me feel things I’ve never felt before,” I whispered.

“I know that feeling well.”

Weston held me in his arms, and the fear, excitement and hesitation washed over me. The sun set on the horizon and the lights came up from the Ferris wheel on the pier. Time passed before us, but we enjoyed each second.

Weston’s phone rang. Shifting to the side, he pulled it from his back pocket. “Crap. I’m sorry, I have to get this.”

I moved to let him stand, but he stayed put, his arm still around me. “Hey, man, what’s up? … No, I sent it earlier … Corrupted? Are you sure? … I’ll get it to you as soon as I can, but I’m going to have to cut a new take … Okay.”

“Is everything okay?” I twisted my neck to look back at him as he shoved his cell back in his pocket.

Weston’s lips pressed on the tip of my nose. “Nothing major, but I have to lay another track in the studio.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

The last time I had been in a recording studio was with my father. My mother dropped me off with him so she could go for her first chemo treatment, though we didn’t know it at the time. That night my mother was ill—violently ill. She sat us at the kitchen table and explained she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. That time in the music studio with my father was the last time I remembered him smiling.

“Can I come with you?”

“Sure.” He tightened his arms around my body and shielded me from the cold. His soft lips kissed my hair. “Let’s wait until the sun sets.”

T
he drive
from Santa Monica to Weston’s seemed to pass quickly. The scent of salt from the ocean lingered on my skin. We’d sat on the beach a few minutes longer, watching the sun set. Weston’s arms shielded me from the dropping temperature before we decided to leave.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. Never had I truly admired how handsome he was. I had spent the last few months hating him. I knew he was handsome in the sexiest way possible, but sitting in his car, admiring his masculine features as the street lights shone in, I was captivated by him. His jawline was rigid, his cheekbones high on his face, and his hair buzzed short. My hand reached across the wide leather front seat and I ran my fingertips up from his neck to his scalp. The prickles from his hair tickled my skin.

I didn’t noticed that we’d parked until he peered over at me and the most delectable grin appeared on his face. “This will be quick.”

I looked out the window and noticed we had stopped at a house. It was a Spanish-style ranch with clay roof tiles. The stucco had been painted taupe to compliment the elegant tiles, and pavers lined the driveway to the detached garage.

I looked back at Weston. “This is your studio?”

“That’s my studio.” He pointed to the detached garage. “That’s my house.” He shoved his door open and I followed him. The house seemed big for just him.

“How many roommates do you have?”

“None, why? Do you need a place to stay?” He winked and slid a key into the door handle.

“No, smart ass, it’s just that’s a big house.”

“It’s my mother's house, and it’s not that big. She moved in with her new husband when they married, so I rent this from her.”

Weston flicked the lights on in the garage and I felt as though I’d walked into a professional studio. Halfway into the room there was a dark merlot colored wall with a glass window. Behind the glass was the booth where black foam covered the four walls. A microphone and a chair occupied the floor, and against the red wall was one lager computer screen and a soundboard the length of the wall. Near the door where we stood was a black leather couch.