Indigo- The Complete Series, page 35
part #1 of Indigo Series
“There's so much I want to say to you.”
“Me too. A lot has happened since I last saw you.” Lucy was dying to share with him about what Melina had told her, but that conversation was going to have to wait.
“Tell me what you're doing in London. I want to know all about it.” He sounded more cheerful, trying to change the subject.
“Remember the cross I showed you at the exhibit?”
“The cross? Of course I do,” he said in a gentle voice.
She closed her eyes and pulled her hair loose from its knot and twirled a curl around her finger.
“Tell me about the cross.”
“A private buyer bought it through an art auction, and I’m in London to make the delivery.”
“Why would the Preston ask an intern to make a delivery?”
“There's also a conference in London that Greg thought would be helpful for me to attend. It's like killing two birds with one stone,” she said.
“So, you traveled to London with Greg?”
“Um, not exactly. Edward Pierce is here, too.”
“Edward is with you?” he asked in a low snarl.
“Justin, listen to me,” she pleaded. “We're staying at the same hotel, but that's it. Nothing has happened.” She left out the fact that they adjoining rooms and Edward’s creepy, goading behavior that would anger him even more.
Justin was quiet for a few moments. “You sent me the text message thanking me for sending you irises, but you know I didn’t. Do you know who sent them?”
His tone was accusatory, but she knew who he suspected. There was no point in lying. Lucy closed her eyes and said, “It was Edward. He told me during the flight over here.”
“Motherfucker!” Justin shouted.
“Calm down, Justin. It's only for a few days. Then we go home.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Carlton.”
“I want you to change hotels tonight,” Justin said in a firm voice.
“It’s late, and I don’t want you to worry about it,” she reassured him. “I’m not afraid of Edward, and I’ll be with Greg every day. This trip is good for my career. I won't go into the details now, but attending the conference might lead to some research opportunities for me.”
“Okay, being in London is good for your career. But I’m worried about you. I can ask Max to find you a hotel. It’s no trouble. I’d feel much better knowing you’re safe from that bastard,” he said with more patience.
Lucy blinked away her tears. “That’s thoughtful, but I’ll be all right. I promise.”
Justin remained silent on the other end until she asked, “Tell me about your concert. Was playing at Albert Hall everything you imagined it to be?”
Justin laughed. “I know you're trying to deflect me from Edward, but the Hall was an incredible experience. The fans were fantastic, and we played one of the best concerts I can remember. So, yeah, it was great,” he said. “I wish you could’ve been there.”
“So do I. It sounds like it was amazing. I’m so happy for you.” She regretted she hadn’t been there to share that experience with him. “It's late, and we both need to get some sleep.”
Something rustled in the background. “I wish you were in bed with me.”
“Me too,” she moaned. “More than you know.”
“Well, in a way we are together in bed.”
Lucy chuckled. “Kind of, but it's not the same.”
“Hmm…Let's see what we can do about that. I'm in bed; are you?"
“No, I'm lying on top of the bed.” She closed her eyes, imagining Justin's body.
“What are you wearing?” His voice was husky as his breathing deepened.
“Um.” She paused. “I'm in my favorite panda pajamas.”
“Panda pajamas?” He laughed.
“They’re old, but I love my panda pajamas.”
Justin said in a sexy growl, “Well, that won't do at all, my lovely Lucy. I want you naked for me. Take those pajamas off. I want to imagine your gorgeous body laid out on your bed. Do it now.”
“Okay,” she whispered, tugging off her pajamas and panties, throwing them on the floor.
“Good,” he said. “Now I want you to touch your breasts. Think of me watching your nipples get hard and pointed. I’m kissing them, licking them, and even biting them. Are you doing that?”
“Yes,” she murmured, closing her eyes, touching her breasts and nipples. She could remember exactly how Justin’s fingers and mouth felt as she tugged on her nipples.
“I adore your breasts, Lucy,” he groaned. “They’re beautiful, so full and lush.”
Rubbing her nipples harder, she whispered, “Justin.” There was more rustling in the background.
“I’m kissing your nipples and then moving down your body until my hand touches your slick pussy. You’re so wet for me. Just me. You drive me wild,” Justin said in a growl as Lucy moved her hand slowly down her body.
“Now touch your pussy for me. Do it now,” he said with a grunt.
“Hmmm,” she purred, feeling her folds.
“Tell me how wet you are.”
“I’m drenched,” she replied in a breathy voice. “Only you make me this wet.” Wild with need for him, she moaned loudly.
“Good.” He chuckled. “That’s what I want to hear.”
“Yes.” She groaned.
“Now I want you to touch your clit. Rub it gently, tease yourself. That’s what I would do to you if I were there.” His breathing quickened. “I would barely touch it at first, and then I would pull my hand away. I wouldn’t touch you again until you begged for it.”
“Yes, yes.” Her body tightened, desperate for release. She gasped.
“Would you beg for me to touch you, to fuck you?” He released a long moan.
“Yes. I would do anything you asked me to do.” She was going crazy. She wanted him here with her.
“I would keep you just on that edge for as long as I could,” he whispered. “And then I would plunge into you and fuck you so hard.”
Without waiting for instruction, Lucy rubbed her clit faster. “It feels so good.” She was panting.
“I need to fuck you hard and fast.” He gasped. “I want to lose myself in you. I would fuck you all night long until you pleaded for me to stop. And then we’d do it again. Shit!” Justin cried.
“I want that so bad.” Her body arched as she sucked in a deep breath and felt a powerful orgasm move through her.
They remained on the phone together as their breathing calmed down and they mentally returned to their solitary hotel rooms.
“Not quite as good as being with you,” Justin said.
“Next best thing.”
“I’m dying to see you.”
“I’m sorry this is happening. But in the meantime, can we talk again tomorrow?”
“I’m already counting the hours,” he said with a heavy groan. “We’ll be together again. I promise. Until then, remember, you’re in my heart.”
“Me, too.”
“Until tomorrow night then,” he said in his deep voice.
“Good night, Justin.”
“Sleep well, my beautiful Lucy.” And then he ended the call.
CHAPTER 16
Lucy
Lucy had finished dressing when there was a knock on the door. “Just a minute,” she called out. She took one last look in the mirror, smoothing her hands over her moss-green turtleneck sweater dress that she had cinched around her waist with a black belt. “Not bad,” she said with a satisfied nod at her reflection.
She slipped on her black heels and went to the door. She peeked through the peephole before opening it. The young bellman was carrying an enormous glass vase holding a few dozen irises.
She unlocked and opened the door. “Good morning, Trevor.”
“Good morning, Miss Bianchi,” he replied, holding up the flowers. “Dr. Pierce asked me to inform you that he’s unable to attend the conference today. He said he had an urgent business meeting at the Tate Modern.”
“Thank you,” she said with relief, inwardly celebrating that Edward would be busy today. “And please take those flowers away.”
His brows knitted together and he gave a small shake of his head. “These aren’t from Dr. Pierce.” He walked into the room and placed them on her coffee table, pointing to a small, white envelope nestled among the flowers. “There’s a card.”
“Oh?”
“I have a cab waiting for you downstairs. Whenever you’re ready.” Trevor smiled, and she could have sworn he was blushing.
“I’ll be right down,” Lucy replied. When Trevor closed the door, she opened the envelope. Smiling, she read the note:
For my sweet Lucy. Jx
She kissed the note, tucked it into her purse, and picked up her jacket.
As the cab made its way through morning London traffic, she scrolled through her text messages. The first one was from Edward:
Good morning, Ms. Bianchi. You’ll be on your own today and this evening. I’m sure Greg will take good care of you until I see you tomorrow.
Lucy frowned as she re-read the message. It was as if he had proprietary rights to her. Well, at least he wouldn’t bother her today.
The second message was from Justin, sent late last night:
I can’t wait to “talk” to you again. JXO
Grinning as she remembered his sensual words, she quickly typed out her reply:
Thank you for the beautiful flowers. I’ll think of you all day. LXXOO
She sent her parents an email letting them know she was well and excited about the conference.
Lucy put her phone away and took a few moments to gaze out the window. The dense clouds varied in shades from gray to black. Luckily she would be indoors, because it was likely going to be a stormy day.
“We’re here, Miss. The National Gallery,” the cockney cab driver said over his shoulder.
“Thank you.” She pulled out a few pound notes and handed them to the driver. She walked toward the neoclassical building and waved when she saw a familiar face.
“Here you are!” Greg Winston exclaimed.
Lucy laughed. “And here you are. It’s good to see you, Greg.” She gave him a quick hug.
As they walked together, he apologized. “I’m sorry I abandoned you.”
She gave a brief nod of her head. “So, who’s this friend?”
“We go way back to our undergrad days. But look,” he said, changing subjects, “any problems with Edward? I can always adjust my plans.”
“It’s all good,” she said with a dismissive wave.
“You and Edward are good?” Greg frowned. “That doesn’t sound so convincing to me.”
“I’ll fill you in later,” she said as they approached the Sainsbury Wing Theater.
He held the door open for her. “Hey, I almost forgot. How was it meeting Professor Somerville? I’ve been told she can be intimidating.”
She giggled. “You mean Beatrice?”
“Beatrice?” he asked, his eyebrows arched in surprise. “You do have a lot to fill me in on.”
Lucy patted his arm. “Later.”
When they entered the building, a banner welcomed them to the National Gallery’s Annual Medieval Conference. Once they registered and received their name tags, Greg introduced Lucy to a few medieval art historians he knew.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Beatrice approaching.
“Lucy!” Beatrice cried, walking to them. “I’m so glad you came.”
Lucy smiled as she greeted the elderly scholar. It was evident Beatrice did not stand on formality. She was wearing a similar plaid skirt as the night before, that was again hiked up under her bosom, and a traditional sweater set to match. “I’m happy to be here, Beatrice. And I’m looking forward to your lecture.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Beatrice cast a sharp glance in Greg’s direction.
“Beatrice, I’d like to introduce you to my supervisor at the Preston Museum, Dr. Greg Winston. His specialty focuses on the Middle Ages—French Gothic, to be specific. Dr. Winston,” she said, motioning to Beatrice, “allow me to introduce you to Professor Beatrice Somerville.”
“It’s an honor, Professor. I’ve been an admirer of your research for many years,” he said.
“Thank you, Dr. Winston.” Beatrice scrutinized him for a few moments before addressing Lucy. “I like him much more than that dreadful Dr. Pierce.” She sniffed. “Dr. Winston, I understand you are also presenting today?”
Greg nodded. “Yes, I am. My lecture is ‘A Feast for the Eyes: Sensuality in Medieval Visual Culture.’”
“Sensuality?” Beatrice chuckled. “My goodness, you will no doubt have good attendance at your lecture.”
“I hope you’ll be in the audience, Professor,” Greg said with an earnest smile.
“Perhaps,” Beatrice said, her cheeks pink.
Lucy was charmed by Beatrice even more.
“Well, I must get going. I’m the first speaker, and I have to make sure my assistant has my slides in order.” Before turning to leave, she said, “Remember, Lucy. I’m introducing you to Michael Burke later.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Good luck, Beatrice.” Lucy waved goodbye.
They watched Beatrice waddle away, and Greg shook his head. “I can’t believe you two are on a first-name basis.”
She shrugged and laughed. “What can I say? We’re BFFs.”
“Seriously, Lucy.” He raised an eyebrow and said, “Beatrice Somerville is a formidable woman who has a reputation for frightening everyone in her orbit. You met her last night, and you’re already friends?”
“We bonded over the cross,” she said, sipping her coffee. “We just talked and shared stories.” She laughed again. “And, she dislikes Edward, which is always a plus.”
“Did you get to see the cross again?” They tossed their coffee cups into the wastebasket and walked into the theater.
Lucy raised one eyebrow for effect.
“She let you hold it?”
“Without gloves,” she replied as they found two seats in the third row next to the aisle.
“What?” Greg exclaimed.
A stern-looking older man in a dark tweed suit and bright red bow tie gave her a sharp glance.
“Sorry,” she said apologetically to the man as she sat down next to him and Greg on the aisle seat.
Lucy got settled and inspected her surroundings. The theater contained about 200 seats and had cream-colored acoustic walls with a state-of- the art-projection screen and audio system. The lights dimmed as a stylishly dressed woman crossed the stage.
“Good morning. My name is Victoria Hart, and I’m the Director of the National Gallery. Each year it’s our privilege to host this annual conference, where a wide variety of medieval scholars gather to present their latest research. The scope of medieval studies is broad and encompasses diverse cultures from many parts of the world, and I believe this year’s presenters exemplify just how varied this field of study can be.”
There was polite applause from the audience, and then the director said, “It is a great honor to introduce the first speaker for this year’s conference, Professor Emeritus Beatrice Somerville, from Oxford University. Her research has increased our knowledge about the Byzantine Empire, and more specifically, life in Constantinople during the medieval period. Professor Somerville has received innumerable awards for her research.” She gave a little shake of her head and chuckled. “But she has expressly forbidden me from mentioning them.” The audience broke out into laughter, and the director said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming Professor Beatrice Somerville.”
The audience applauded enthusiastically as Beatrice walked onto the stage. The logo for the Royal Centre for Byzantine Research appeared on the screen.
Beatrice nodded in acknowledgment as a technician clipped a microphone to her sweater.
“Good morning,” Beatrice said with practiced authority. “The title of my lecture is ‘Virtuous Warriors: Varangians and the Fourth Crusade.’”
The image on the screen changed to show a black-and-white drawing of a medieval soldier clad in a metal helmet and metal chain mail that covered his entire head and shoulders, leaving only his eyes exposed. The rest of his clothing consisted of a chain mail shirt worn underneath a leather cuirass. On his feet, he wore leather boots. The figure held an axe in one hand, and a round shield in the other.
“From the tenth through the fourteenth century, the Varangian Guard were a select group of the Byzantine army in Constantinople. Many of these soldiers were of Norse background, but there were also Anglo-Saxons represented.”
The slide changed to a gruesome depiction of a bloody medieval battle.
Greg whispered with a huge grin, “God, I love this stuff.”
“The role of the Varangians was clear: protect the Byzantine emperors. They were ferocious warriors who, much like the Norse Vikings, would fight to the death. Their strategy was to wait to enter the fight until the precise moment when the enemy was most vulnerable. Their methods of fighting were violent and brutally effective.
The slide changed again to show Beatrice’s new possession: The Varangian Cross
Greg turned to her and winked.
“By the thirteenth century, a good portion of these soldiers had integrated into the Byzantine Greek culture. Most of these warriors were attached to the imperial palace, but some became part of a Byzantine aristocrat’s household. They made alliances, married, and had children.”
“This is the Varangian Cross. It is gold and inlaid with the semi-precious stone lapis lazuli. It looks enormous on this screen, but it is smaller than two inches in height and is, therefore, easily portable.”
“As you can see above—” Beatrice used a laser pointer to indicate the Greek inscription on the reverse side, “there’s an inscription. Translated the text says, May my cross provide courage and protection for Stefanos Varangopoulos Sebastos. So who was this man Stefanos? Judging by the inscription,” she said, pointing to the word, Varangopoulos, “we know he was a member of the Varangian Guard. What we don’t know is why this cross was inscribed with his name. Including someone’s name on such an object was not the customary practice. Why would someone make that choice if it was against the usual style?”
