Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Sixteen

"A few more shots, lads.  Then we'll go to the next set." The director said, before the photographer snapped a few more pictures of the posed Beatles.  

When he was done, they lost their smiling faces and relaxed their hunched shoulders.  Paul was probably the most posable out of the four, and he leaned against the wall they were standing by, quite tired.  I felt bad for keeping him up so late the night before.  

"Are you alright, love?" I asked.  He smiled.  

"Never better, babe." 

I glared at him.  He rolled his eyes and sighed like it was the most annoyed moment of his life.  "Sorry, darling."

But he took on a more serious look, and said, "How's well...you know..." He pointed to his head.  

I looked down at the ground, feeling slightly embarrassed.  "Um, well...it hasn't happened again.  I would have told you."

Turning my back to him, I was about to walk back towards Brian, but he told my hand.  I tried to avoid his eyes, but that's all he wanted me to do.  

"I didn't mean to upset you, Elle.  Please don't-" 

"Paul, it's alright.  I"m fine."  I turned away from him again, but he grabbed my arms and pulled me back to him.  Clutching me in his arms, he kissed my cheek and said, "You aren't getting away from me that easily."

He kissed me again, and I said, in a low voice, "Paul, we're in public."

"So?"

"Aye!" John scolded, "Get a room!"

Paul just rolled his eyes.  "You just wish you had a girl, Lennon."

I thought about last night.  John had obviously left out the detail of our little dance last night.  He had kissed my cheek, just like Paul was doing then.  But John just gave me a sad look, and turned back to talk to Ringo.  

Why did he look at me like that?  

"Here," Paul said, taking my hand and pulling me along, "come with me."

Paul lead me to another part of the street, behind a building.  The street was sectioned off by the police to prevent fans from mobbing the band.  And he was taking me to a place where no one could see us.  

Leaning up against the wall, he said, "You can come a little closer."

"A little more."

He signaled Closer with his finger.  I obliged, and he smirked, pulling me into him.  

Kissing him, my face grew warm with a blush.  I could feel him smile.  I ran my hands through his hair as he deepened the kiss.  When I pulled away, my teeth grazed his lip, and he moaned softly.  

"Say my name," He whispered into my lips.  

"Paul," I said, kissing him.  "Paul McCartney." My voice rose a few octaves at the end of his name, because his hands wandered down to my bum.  I could tell he was smiling again, happy that he could get this type of reaction out of me.  

"Hey!  I didn't realize that this was the honeymoon suite!" John shouted.  I pulled away from him as he leaned against the wall.  His hair was messed up and he had someone of my lip balm on his mouth.  He looked at the ground like a guilty little boy.  

Brian was there too.  He was probably beginning to think that this was all I ever did with Paul.  

The younger Beatle tried his best to stutter out an answer.  "I, um...we were just, um..."