A Dance for Him (30 page)

“I wonder what that was about, that thing with Grant and Ashley,” I say to Sebastian later when we’re sitting in the limo that’s whisking us home. “Did you see how big her eyes got when you gave her his card?”

“I have no idea,” he says, shrugging. “Grant gets around, you know, maybe they had a brief fling or something at some point. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Interesting,” I say.

He laughs.

“Why, you aren’t thinking of fixing her up with Grant, are you? I mean, it would be great, she’s a really nice woman, but I’ve got to say, it would be quite a coup. He’s really not the settling-down type.”

“Mmm. I didn’t think you were the settling-down type either, you know.”

“Oh, I’m pretty tame compared to him, believe me. Just look at how fast you snagged me … So, baby girl, how does it feel to be Mrs. Sebastian Morland?”

I snuggle up to him.

“You know, I love you madly, and I love being married to you, but I have to admit that ‘Mrs. Morland’ sounds strange, in a way … So formal, so respectable. Especially since I still feel like a naughty girl around you.”

He strokes my hair and kisses it.

“Paige, darling, I love you too, and I hope you’ll always be my naughty girl, no matter which mode of address you choose to use. I think you’re going to find that out very soon when we get home … Because why do you think I didn’t want to have us rush straight to the airport for our honeymoon? I mean, Italy is all very nice, but dammit, I want my wedding night privileges with my sexy wife! I’ve been staring at your cleavage all day, with no chance to get at you.”

I raise a flirtatious eyebrow at him and climb on his lap.

“Ooh. Yes, I
definitely
can tell. So, have you really? I mean, were you really looking down my dress all day? I like that … You’re so hot, such a bad boy, Sebastian Morland.”

“A bad boy and his naughty girl, eh? Sounds like a good match to me,” he murmurs as he slides his hand onto my thigh and lets his hot mouth trail down to my neck as I whimper with pleasure and start grinding against him.

“Besides,” he continues roguishly, “I think ‘Mrs. Morland’ could sound quite naughty. It’s all about the modifiers and tone of voice, as you should know from my classes. For instance, ‘naughty young Mrs. Morland’ sounds like something you’d hear straight out of a Victorian erotic novel. You know, one involving a lot of spanking and bondage. Not unlike our sex life.”

I smile at him.

“Mmm. I think I could get used to that … Mr. Morland.”

MASTERED BY THE MAESTRO

CHAPTER ONE

It’s good to be back in the old Venetian palazzo again for the summer, to hear that soothing sound of waves lapping against the walls rather than the grind of traffic …

All I can say is, it’s a much-needed break from all that running around.

Those concerts and rehearsals make me feel alive, it’s true, but one has to recharge every now and then. And while it’s flattering to have all those beautiful divas all over me, Sofia calling me from Moscow while I’m having dinner with Marie-Hélène in Paris, not to mention Francesca and Elsa panting after me in the green room during the
Così
rehearsals, it has its tedious moments.

And then dealing with the orchestra administrators, God almighty!

There’s no question life was easier when I was a just a pianist, too bad I prefer what I’m doing …

Speaking of which I have no idea why my old teacher’s just sent me a student of his to work with. Some nineteen-year-old American girl. He apparently taught her privately in Milan, and she’s due to start formally with him at the conservatory in the fall, it seems.

But I haven’t performed publicly as a pianist in years
, I told him over the phone.

Nevertheless, he was oddly insistent, and what Maurizio Alfieri wants from me he gets from me. He was like a second father to me back then, and it was he who got me my first gigs.

I haven’t forgotten that.

Besides, he’s never once called in a favor, not in all these years. He’s not the type to do this sort of thing, so this must mean something …

So this girl, this Ms. Eva Courtenay, is due to show up in an hour, it seems. I haven’t talked to her yet - my personal assistant Aurelia takes care of all that. Good old Aurelia, so reliable and coolly efficient. Easy on the eyes too, and always impeccably dressed, which doesn’t hurt. Everybody thinks I’m fucking her, all my flings have been madly jealous of her, except what they don’t know is that she plays for the other team, and she goes home to a very sweet woman who is nice enough to put up with her crazy schedule as my PA.

I like it that way. It’s safe and comfortable, she’s like an older sister to me. It’s easier to have flings with my soloists, there’s a set end date to everything, nobody has any expectations beyond maybe a hot night when I’m next in town, or when we’re working together again.

Because, really, who has time for a relationship? We rehearse, we study, we travel, we perform … and then in between we fuck, maybe, and have a damn good time while we’re at it.

My flings understand that - I have a well-deserved reputation as a ladies’ man - and nobody gets hurt, at least not in any serious way.

Obviously there are those of us who
are
married, happily married, even! - but I have no idea how they do it, and to be honest I can’t be bothered to find out. I haven’t thought about marriage since I was twenty and stupidly in love, and luckily it didn’t work out, or I might have been stuck twiddling my thumbs, being the kept man of a spoilt rich girl who wanted us to go and live on a yacht.

That wouldn’t have lasted. I’d have been bored to death by her rich friends - all chattering about money and who’s got the latest new status symbol.

I like living well, it’s true, and I do live well now,
very
well indeed, but surely there is more to life than that!

She never understood what I was doing. If I’d married her, I certainly wouldn’t be who I am right now, twenty years after, absurdly rich, celebrated, the music director of a leading orchestra
and
an opera house, with guest engagements all over the world, in New York and Paris and London and Vienna and so, so many more places …

But enough of that. I’ve got to go look at something in the Mahler 5th, I woke up with an interesting idea and want to experiment with it. So much of music is about pacing, breathing, so that everything works up to the inevitable climax. Take your time, wind it up just right, and then unleash everything you’ve got.

Result: maximum ecstasy, when done right.

It’s all rather like sex, to be honest, and it’s probably no coincidence that I’m pretty good when it comes to pleasing women. At least, they seem to keep coming back for more - I’ve been getting a slew of veiled and not-so-veiled hints from Sofia and Marie-Hélène about visiting them.

Luckily Francesca and Elsa are both on tour, or I wouldn’t have time to eat my dinner …

It might seem odd, actually, but I haven’t been with anyone since the end of the season. I mean, I could, with just a snap of my fingers, but I don’t need any extraneous drama during my down time - so many more important things to think about.

Like music.

Except here’s a call from Aurelia! I wonder what that’s about. She normally knows not to disturb me when I’m in my study, so this is unusual.

She sounds hurried, embarrassed. A scheduling mistake. How unlike her. It seems this Ms. Courtenay is here early, and she’s shown her in. Oh, I suppose I might as well. Maurizio sent her, so I ought to be nice to her …

“Yes, send her upstairs to my study,” I say.

It’s not long till I hear footsteps coming up the stone staircase - the familiar click clack of Aurelia’s heels, and a lighter, quieter step, presumably the girl’s. Then a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I say.

Aurelia opens the door and shows the girl in. She’s pretty,
very
pretty, a delicate little brunette with huge eyes in a thin white sundress.

A bit young for me perhaps, but it certainly won’t be unpleasant to see her around
, I find myself thinking, before I smack that thought down - she’s Maurizio’s student, I shouldn’t be behaving like some old perv around her.

“Maestro, this is Ms. Courtenay,” Aurelia says, and I nod at her to indicate that she can leave.

“Good morning, Ms. Courtenay,” I say, standing up and approaching to shake her hand as Aurelia closes the door behind her.

“Good morning, maestro,” she stammers, looking at me with those huge eyes of hers as I take her hand in mine. “I - I just wanted to thank you for agreeing to work with me - it’s a great honor. Um, you don’t have to call me Ms. Courtenay, Evie will do just fine …”

Very sweet of her, of course, but what a nervy little mouse! A very pretty little mouse, it’s true, but a mouse nevertheless. Maurizio said she was his most talented student, and yet she’s behaving as though she’s only here on sufferance. Completely lacking in confidence.

What was Maurizio thinking? If she’s
that
timid, I can’t imagine what the bright lights of the stage will do to her.

You’ve got to behave like you’re entitled to be there, young lady
, I think …

“A pleasure, Evie,” I say aloud instead. “I assume you’ve brought something to play for me today?”

She nods and smiles - a lovely, slightly nervous smile. God she’s pretty. Nice figure, fair, with fine features, delicate bone structure, long wavy hair cascading over her shoulders. A sweet, innocent face. Probably a virgin, she has that ethereal, untouched air about her. I wonder how that could be, for a pretty girl like her - too much time spent alone in the practice room, probably?

She’d probably be a lot less timid if she got laid, poor thing! …

Her hand feels wonderful in mine, so soft, so warm, so yielding. But why am I holding her hand still?

No wonder she’s looking nervous, poor thing.

I let go of her hand and gesticulate towards the piano. She smiles and sits down, takes a deep breath, and a strange serenity comes over her as she starts playing.

She’s picked the Chopin B minor sonata - ambitious. I like that. It also doesn’t hurt that it was an old favorite of mine back in my pianist days …

And I’ve got to say, she’s got a beautiful touch. Everything perfectly calibrated. So easy to bang away at the opening, but she does it just right, landing on each chord with ease, playing with the contrast of the high and low registers, then lingering or pushing forward just so when the big soaring melody comes in …

Well,
that
was sensual. Totally unexpected, coming from this shy little slip of a girl. Fuck, old Maurizio knew what he was doing when he sent her. She’s also completely lost that nervousness in the meantime, is radiant, knowing, sure of herself. A manner so much more fitting for one of her talent … and of her beauty.

Because she’s gorgeous, ridiculously gorgeous. It didn’t fully register earlier, probably because she seemed so modest and timid and unassuming.