Highly Strung (9 page)

Lydia wasn’t so sure. But she was too tired to pursue the argument.

The next morning, over croissants and coffee, Milan suggested that she cultivate her friendship with Mary-Ann.

“I’m not going to be your spy!” exclaimed Lydia.

“I’m not asking you to spy.” Milan came around behind her, leaning over her chair, resting his chin on her shoulder so that his irresistible warmth and clean scent flooded her senses. “I just think it would be good to know what’s happening in the orchestra and she will know first. Besides, you know, she needs a friend. Since I’m such a bastard, making her life so hard.” He laughed, but Lydia didn’t join in. Plotting made her uncomfortable.

“I’ll be a friend to her,” she said, “but I’m not making any promises. Don’t make me this go-between. I like a simple life.”

Milan straightened. “Why the hell are you here then?” he said, a tad sulkily.

“Because I want you,” she said, the words coming easily this time. “I want to be with you.”

His fingers ruffled her hair. “I want you too,” he said softly. “Don’t think I’m going to let you get away now.”

Her heart skipped, but she wished it hadn’t. She wished she hadn’t fallen this hard, this far, this quickly. But now it was done, and there was no way around it.

Lydia and Mary-Ann’s friendship bloomed along with the snowdrops as January ice gave way to a February thaw. They settled into a routine of post-rehearsal coffees and occasional weekend dates with takeaways and DVDs, chatting long into the night about music and the frustrations of life.

Mary-Ann was certainly experiencing those.

Despite the nature of their relationship, with confidences and secrets regularly exchanged, Lydia never once let slip that she was involved with Milan as more than a colleague, although on several occasions she came very close to blurting it out.

Mary-Ann spent weeks trying every approach she could think of to get the orchestra on her side, but she seemed to be thwarted at every turn and, by the end of February, she was becoming resentful and paranoid, even beginning to doubt her skill as a conductor.

Lydia hated to hear Mary-Ann’s doubts and fears, but she found herself torn. Now completely under Milan’s spell, she could find no way of helping her friend that would not compromise his position. Sometimes she lay awake at night, thinking that he really deserved to have his mean-spirited little scheme exposed…but then he would reach for her, pull her close, murmur in his sleep. She would wonder what nightmare shadows were passing through his mind, what caused that expression of infinite sadness she saw behind his devilishly glinting eyes.

Despite her best intentions and the dictates of her head, she knew she had fallen in love. The stupid urge to fix him, to make him whole and happy, consumed her.

You can’t change him
, she chided herself. Then her good sense would be undone by a little voice saying
probably…

Floundering in these dangerous waters, she fell deeper into Milan’s vortex, knowing she was being groomed for her place in the threesome, but wanting to carry on, to find out what would happen, how it would work,
if
it would work.

To this end, she found herself, one blustery Saturday in early March, waiting in the restaurant of an art gallery for Evgeny to meet her for lunch.

Over the preceding month, Milan had divided his time between her and Evgeny, never pushing the ménage concept when she didn’t seem ready, though he occasionally speculated on things they could do in bed, to quite devastating and orgasmic effect at times.

Staring at the menu, Lydia thought of the previous night’s sex, her on all fours while Milan held her shoulders, all the better to pound into her.

“Next time you’re in this position,” Milan had rasped from behind, “perhaps you’ll have Evgeny’s cock in your mouth. Or maybe you’ll be riding Evgeny while I fuck your arse.”

Lydia had groaned and clenched her fists around the sheet. They hadn’t tried anal sex yet, but Milan had been preparing her—with well-lubricated fingers and a selection of toys—over the course of the week, so she knew it was on the cards soon.

“Would you like that, Lydia?” His words travelled over the rough slap-slap-slap of their connected bodies. “Would you like to be fucked by two men at once, using you hard, giving you what you need?”

Yes. But I don’t want to admit it. But yes.

“Are you okay?”

Lydia dropped the menu, aware of the heat in her cheeks, and looked up at Evgeny. She hoped he didn’t have the ability to read minds. Although, perhaps that would make this whole deal easier. Some things were just too hard to talk about.

“Yeah, fine,” she said. “Tube’s gone to shit again, hasn’t it?”

Evgeny sat down, grinning that sparkly-clean grin.

“Engineering works everywhere,” he agreed. “What’s good to eat here?”

“I was just going to have a club sandwich and coffee.”

“Okay, but I’ve just come from the gym. I need more than a sandwich. Maybe some pasta.”

They spent an awkward, artificial ten minutes discussing the finer points of the menu, studiously avoiding any conversation that did more than skate on the surface of the situation.

Only after the food arrived, when Evgeny had speared a pasta shell, chewed on it and swallowed, did he deliver the words they had both been putting off.

“Milan wants me to fuck you.”

Lydia’s bite of club sandwich turned huge and indigestible on her tongue. She struggled to get it down, then nodded.

“I know. He thinks we should get to know each other in and out of the bedroom. How do you feel about it?”

Evgeny raised his eyebrows, looking down at his pasta.

“It’s fine,” he said. “You’re a nice girl. You know, I’d maybe ask you out if I wasn’t with Milan, anyway. So…”

He shrugged.

“Do you…are you in love with Milan?”

“Of course.”

“Do you ever wish you could be exclusive?”

Evgeny sneered.

“I suppose you do?”

“I’m asking you.”

Evgeny sniffed and leant back in his chair.

“I like to play the field,” he said. “Milan allows me to do that. As long as I tell him who I’m fucking, he’ll let me do what I want.”

“So it suits you—this arrangement?”

“Sure it suits me. I get lots of sex, and some of it’s with Milan, who I love. It’s good.”

“I suppose so.”

“You sound doubtful. I know your type. I’ve seen this before. You want him for yourself. Well, it won’t ever happen. He won’t be tied down to one person. He won’t even be tied down to one gender, so why don’t you give up on that little idea and share the wealth?”

“You’ve seen this before?”

“So many times. Boy, it’s boring. Like your friend Vanessa. She couldn’t handle it, wanted Milan all to herself. Greedy bitch. He dropped her like a stone. So get your head together, Lydia. Accept that, if you want him, you have to share him, or get out.”

“Don’t you ever get jealous?”

There was a beat of silence before Evgeny said, “No.”

He’s lying
.

“So, are we going to have sex?” said Lydia.

“That’s the plan.”

“Even though you obviously don’t like me?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

Lydia thought back to Milan’s words. She didn’t have to like Evgeny. She barely even had to know him. How odd it all was.

“A lot, surely! Isn’t it a bit weird to have sex with someone you don’t like?”

“No. I do it all the time. It’s kind of good. Different, but good.”

“You can cut the sex part of yourself off from the feelings part?”

“Easily. Can’t you?”

“Umm…”

“So you
like
Milan?” Evgeny laughed incredulously. “He’s a bastard. Come on. You have to agree.”

“He might be a bastard, but I love him. That makes the sex…that’s what the sex is
about
.”

Evgeny’s lip curled in disdain. “Love,” he said. “It’s such a stupid thing.”

“I know that. But we both love him, don’t we? And that’s why we’re doing it, when it comes down to it. It’s got nothing to do with sex—it’s all about love. Your love, and my love, for Milan.”

Evgeny’s lips turned down.

“Think what you like,” he said, hunching his shoulders. “I’m doing it because I fancy a shag and you’re here.”

“Well, that’s certainly not why
I’m
doing it.”

“I know. But you have to try sex with a person you don’t like. Let me show you how it can be.”

Lydia pushed her plate away. “This is weird,” she muttered. “Even by recent standards.”

“What’s weird? You fancy me, don’t you?”

She looked him over, long and thoughtfully. He was very attractive, beautiful really, with a look of Rudolph Valentino about him. Not many girls would pass him up, she supposed. If only he didn’t have the pouty, prima-donna personality to match.

“You’re pretty,” she said. “Pretty on the outside.”

“You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re from Minsk and you play the cello and you’re Milan’s lover. And you don’t like me.”

“And that makes me ugly on the inside?”

“It makes you unappealing to me. It’s only natural.”

She flinched as Evgeny’s foot brushed her ankle under the table.

“No, that’s not natural. I can show you what’s natural.”

“Evgeny…”

He moved his foot up her calf, rucking the denim, prodding little dints in the heavy fabric.

“Don’t you want what Milan wants? What I want?” he said softly, caressing the back of her knee with booted toes. “Don’t you want to have us both? All our attention on you and what you want? Wouldn’t you like to have four hands touching you and two tongues licking you? I know you would. I know what you are. I know you dream of getting fucked by two horny men at once. Don’t you, Lydia?”

Blood roared in Lydia’s ears. Her jeans were uncomfortable, hot around the crotch. Evgeny found her thigh and moved his foot inexorably upwards.

“Answer me, or I’ll get under the table and get those jeans off you right here.”

Lydia’s throat was dry, but she managed to croak, “Let’s go.”

Evgeny beamed and gave her crotch a nudge of approval before withdrawing his foot.

“Milan’s out but he said we could use the flat. As long as we promised to film it all.”

“Film it?”

“Just for us. He likes to watch.”

Evgeny threw some money down on the table and drew Lydia away by the elbow.

For you, Milan
, she thought, clattering down the gallery stairs behind the Belarusian.
I hope you appreciate this.

Chapter Seven

Budapest, Hungary

One month later

From the hotel window, Lydia could look out across the Danube to the castle on the Buda side of the city. She took in its ancient winding paths and turrets before turning to Vanessa, her roommate, and sighing with appreciation of the beauty around her.

“What a place,” she said.

“The Paris of the East,” remarked Vanessa, unpacking toiletries from her suitcase and ranging them on her bedside table. “Or so they used to say.”

“How many times have you been here?”

“This is my third, I think,” said Vanessa, wrinkling her brow. “These tours all become a bit of a blur after a while.” Her expression softened and she smiled at the younger woman. “But you never forget your first. We’ve got a whole day to ourselves before rehearsals start tomorrow. Why don’t you get your coat and I’ll show you some of the sights?”

Lydia bit her lip, looking away.

“I promised Milan…”

Vanessa sighed heavily, thumping a can of deodorant down on the table.

“Oh, of course you did. Milan.”

“I know you don’t approve—”

“Damn right I don’t.”

“But he’s good to me, Ness. He’s never done anything to hurt me. We’re happy.”

“Secretly happy. Don’t you ever ask yourself why you can’t make your relationship public? He isn’t committed to it, Lyd. Don’t kid yourself he ever will be.”

“Perhaps I just want sex,” said Lydia belligerently. “Perhaps I’m not necessarily looking for happy ever after.”

“Just as well, because you won’t get it, not from him.”

Just because
you
didn’t
, thought Lydia rebelliously, but she didn’t say the words. She liked Vanessa, despite her pursed lips on the matter of Milan, and valued her opinion.

“I must admit,” she said, looking back out to the cityscape, “I wish he’d drop all this crap with Mary-Ann. She doesn’t deserve it. Sometimes I physically itch to write to the trustees.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I can’t be the one to rock the boat. I’m the newbie here. Why don’t
you
tell them?”

“If I grass Milan up my life won’t be worth living. But he likes you—seems to even care about you. Perhaps he’d forgive you, if you spilled the beans. Made it look like an accident, or a drunken confidence…”

“Don’t, Ness. I can’t do it. Don’t make me feel bad.”

Vanessa shrugged. “He seems to have eased off her a bit lately, anyway.”

It was true. Rehearsals over the month of March had been relatively pleasant with only occasional spanners thrown into the works by her jealously intense lover. She had a feeling, though, that he might be saving up his big guns for this tour.

He had been good-humoured for weeks, spending lots of time with her, devoting his attention to their developing relationship. While he encouraged her to sleep with Evgeny, he never pushed her into anything, taking time to ease her into the triad dynamic. She was even starting to quite like the cellist and understand what made him tick. At bottom, he and she had a lot in common. Their mutual love for Milan was only a part of it.

But tonight was to be the night. The first proper threesome.

Lydia shivered a little, then was galvanised into action, remembering that she had arranged to meet her two men in the lobby in five minutes.

“Let’s hope this tour goes smoothly,” she said, reaching for her jacket to ward off the April blusters. “Where do you recommend we visit, then?”

Vanessa lay down on the bed, lacing her fingers behind her head.