A Dance for Him (36 page)

I think she’s already figured it out - the other day when she mentioned “Signorina Courtenay” to me I turned completely red and I swear a hint of a smirk crossed her face for the briefest of moments. I mean, it’s not like she’d be shocked or anything, but I’d rather she not know for now, at least until such time as bedding the lovely Evie becomes a
fait accompli
rather than a mere aspiration - which will be soon, I hope, or I’ll run mad at this rate.

What I can’t get over is how
sweet
this little Evie is, how grateful for this trifling favor - I’ve dealt with enough temperamental, demanding diva types to appreciate how different she is in this respect. Besides, it isn’t exactly the most altruistic of favors, after all …

Because I’d be lying if I denied that the idea of having her so close by turns me on. It’s true I will probably not get very much done at this rate, especially if she keeps walking around the place in exquisitely slutty outfits like the one she’s been wearing today - although better that she do that here than in some other place, where she might attract attention of the sleazier sort, like with this rascally landlord!

Such a strange, charming girl, so young and unworldly and innocent-looking on one hand, and yet with untold depths suggestive of a certain perverse precocity …

Oh my God she’s just walked out of her room and is coming downstairs now, looking utterly enchanting and provocative. The saucy ingénue of earlier today appears to have morphed into an elegant woman of the world - or, perhaps more precisely, a sweet young thing playing at being an elegant woman of the world. She’s left her luxuriant hair loose around her bare shoulders, and is in a tiny black dress that’s so tight it caresses her every curve.

I can already imagine unzipping it and easing it off her. As much skin as she’s already showing, I’d like nothing better than to see her naked loveliness in all its glory …

My cock, so well-exercised in the last two days, engorges yet again at that thought, which is mildly embarrassing given that we’re about to go out, but the walking will probably provide some relief.

She approaches, looking slightly taller than usual in her stilettos.

It’s probably a good thing I’ve more or less given up trying to
not
have an erection around her …

I can’t restrain myself from grinning like a fatuous idiot at her as I say “Hello, Evie,” in what comes out as a hoarse whisper, and offer her my arm.

She looks up at me, wide-eyed, as she slips her slender hand onto my arm, and for some reason, that simple gesture leaves me smitten. I mean, I’ve wanted to have her since I met her, but this is something more than just that, I don’t know what exactly, and I certainly don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve never met and bedded lots of beautiful women before, and if I wanted to be cynical about it, it’s probably Lorenzo Moretti the conductor who is causing her to stare back into my eyes in that mesmerizing way, not Lorenzo Moretti the man, even if I am a rather excellent specimen, if I do say so myself.

But I don’t want to be cynical.

As I walk out of the palazzo with her, we glance at each other again and smile and blush, and my mind starts wandering to thoughts of what life would be like with her on a long-term basis.

It seems insane, given her youth, given my work schedule during the season proper, given that she’ll probably be embarking on a brilliant career of her own within the next few years or so.

And yet it feels like somehow I could, with her, be
happy
for once …

It’s crazy, it’s the first time in a long time I’ve ever thought about being with
anyone
on a long-term basis. And by “a long time”, I mean twenty, almost twenty-one years …

CHAPTER TEN

And so here we are at the restaurant. It’s now pretty much beyond doubt that this is a date of some sort, he kept glancing at me on the way here and beaming at me every time
I
turned to meet his gaze, and his eyes were soft and sparkling in a way that I’ve never seen in any of his photographs or videos.

He looks even more handsome than he usually does when he smiles like that, if it’s even possible for him to be even more handsome than he is. I know that must sound a bit silly, and yet that’s how it seems to me …

And he’s definitely being more touchy-feely.

On our way here he put his hand on mine a few times, as though to press it against his forearm, and when we were waiting for the maître d’, he looked at me, smiled, and brushed a stray curl from my face.

That gesture in itself made me tremble with anticipation - there’s something about the way he touches me that just makes me want more - but what really made my knees go all wobbly again was the way he looked intently at me afterwards, as though to gauge my reaction to his advance, and then grinned roguishly when I smiled shyly at him.

And then when we were being shown in to our table he gently rested his hand on the small of my back - which was bare, I should add, because while the dress I’m wearing is cut pretty low in front, it’s cut
really
low in the back - and I swear he caressed it ever so subtly before he looked at me again and smiled, a lovely smile replete with
meaning
.

My panties were soaked before I’d even sat down, and considering how short my dress is I can’t help but wonder if he caught more than a whiff of my arousal - he must have, he’s grinning like the Cheshire cat, he must know he’s turning me on.

I guess tonight’s the night I’ll be turning in my V-card …

But right now there’s the waiter, saying something or other, asking if we would like to order.

We both start slightly and smile at the realization that we’ve been staring goofily at each other since we sat down.

“Not yet,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on me as he runs a finger suggestively against the border of the menu, “we haven’t looked yet.”

When the waiter asks if we’d like to order a drink he gestures towards me and smiles when I ask for an orange juice.

“Ah, of course, a nice American girl,” he says, presumably alluding to the difference in legal drinking age between the US and Italy.

I laugh, because I’ve been feeling so naughty this whole time, albeit in a different context, that “nice” seems so incongruous a term, especially when my breasts are in continual danger of liberating themselves from my dress, and I don’t even mind that one bit, because the idea of exposing myself to the ardent gaze of this gorgeous man is nothing if not intoxicating in itself.

Besides, if we get up to any hanky-panky, I want to actually
remember
it, ha!

He then orders a half-bottle of red for himself, and when the waiter comes back with our drinks we place our order. All that dealt with, he leans forward conspiratorially.

“So, Evie,” he says, his voice velvety as always, “tell me more about yourself. The only thing Maurizio told me was that you were his best student and that he thought I should meet you.”

I blush, confused and happy - that certainly wasn’t something that Maestro Alfieri had ever told me!

“I-I don’t know what to say, really,” I stammer. “I haven’t had a very interesting life. I’ve spent most of it in boarding school.”

“No boyfriends?” he asks.

His tone is light but somehow deliberate, and his dark eyes flash fire at me as he speaks.

He can’t possibly be
jealous
, can he?

“I don’t have any - I’ve never had any.”

He visibly relaxes, and his sexy smirk returns. “That’s hard to believe, Evie - a beautiful girl like you! Though I must say I’m happy to hear that you haven’t been snapped up yet.”

He slides his hand over mine, and the combined effect of his touch and gaze reduces me - as always - to a puddle of flustered happiness and helpless desire. I mean, he’s clearly flirting with me now, but how does one respond to something like that?

It was almost easier when all he did was stare smoulderingly at me in silence …

Inwardly I curse my lack of experience in these things; outwardly I squeeze his hand and smile at him.

“Well, you don’t seem to have been snapped up yet, and yet you always end up on music bloggers’ Sexiest Musicians lists,” I venture, blushing terribly when I say the word “sexiest”. “At least, I think you haven’t been snapped up yet? …”

He laughs, his eyes dancing with a delight that’s almost boyish - such a beautiful thing to see in a man of his age.

“No, Evie, I haven’t been snapped up - at least not until two days ago I wasn’t, but I’m not so sure that’s still the case now - though I suppose that would ultimately depend on the lady in question,” he says, and raises my hand to his lips while looking at me meaningfully.

Surely he can’t be serious. What, he’s not just looking for a quick fling, of the sort that he’s known for?

Or maybe he thinks I need to hear that before I’ll agree to sleep with him, now that he knows that I’m a virgin. Maybe he thinks I’m some kind of prissy little miss.

Because he can’t possibly want me as a girlfriend - or can he?

He’s looking at me with a strange glowy tender expression on his face, and instinctively I blush and lower my gaze, then look back up, still smiling, at him - a reaction that seems to please him a great deal.

“You’re a very unusual young woman, Evie,” he says, almost as if by way of explanation, and leans back in his chair, looking at me with a cocky grin of appraisal.

Seconds later I feel his foot nudging mine flirtatiously. I guess he can’t possibly think I’m
that
prissy, in that case!

I smile, still half-hypnotised by his piercing gaze. Fortunately I’ve watched enough movies to know what to do in this sort of situation, and so, blushing furiously, I slip my foot out of my shoe and brush it against his lower leg, fully aware of the message I’m sending, though part of me can’t quite believe that I’m doing what I’m doing, and with
Lorenzo Moretti
of all people!

In response,
he
turns very red, raises an eyebrow, then winks at me, looking absolutely adorable as he does.

I can’t believe I’m actually causing him to blush, and for the first time it occurs to me that maybe I have an effect on him that’s not all that different from the one he has on me.

Can that actually be possible?

It’s a bewildering thought - and a heady one.

We sit there in silence, playing footsie under the table while staring at each other and smiling, and this continues even after the waiter delivers the appetizers. I have no idea how I look to the Maestro but
he
looks fit to devour me, and it’s making me incredibly wet - I can feel my juices inundating my already-soaked lace panties.

At the rate this is going, there’s probably going to be a huge wet spot on the chair under me by the time we’re done with dinner …

Our strange, sexy game is interrupted only when the waiter arrives with the pasta. Maestro Moretti sits back up again, though his foot maintains contact with mine.

“
Buon appetito
, Evie,” he says with a knowing grin that makes me suspect he’s alluding to appetites that go beyond those of the gastronomic variety.

I can only smile at him as I mumble “
Buon appetito
, Maestro”, but that seems to be enough for him, he looks so happy it’s almost touching …

After a while he says, casually: “So, Evie, tell me, how did you end up at the Milan conservatory? So many places in the US you could have studied at - Juilliard, Curtis, Peabody - what made you pick Italy?”

I blush, not sure if I should tell him that I wanted to study with Maestro Alfieri primarily because he taught
him
, just in case that sounds a bit too stalker-ish - and so I tell him the other, more respectable reason.

“I’ve actually spent much of my life in Europe,” I say. “My grandparents lived for quite a while in Italy - my parents as well, when they were still around. And then I was in boarding school for years - first in Switzerland, then in France.”