Killing Me Softly (17 page)

Everything was locked tight. Feeling slightly silly, she walked into the kitchen and nearly jumped sky-high as a knock sounded on the back door.

‘Alexia? Is that you?’

‘Daemon!’ she gasped, hand clasped to her chest as if trying to keep her wildly beating heart inside. She hurried over to open the door.

A gust of cold air followed him and she pushed the door closed, trying not to bang it. She turned around and looked at him.

He rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph it’s cold out there.’

‘What are you doing here?’

He blew on his hands. ‘I saw your light come on and then the ones downstairs and wondered what was going on. I was worried you might not be able to sleep and came over to keep you company.’

‘You didn’t have to do that.’ Her smile was slow, warm. ‘But I’m glad you did.’

‘So am I.’ Silence stretched between them as they drank each other in. ‘Nice pyjamas,’ he said with a slow grin.

‘What’s wrong with Bugs Bunny?’

His smile widened. ‘Nothing from where I’m standing. I just never imagined him surrounded by so much pink.’

She laughed and then, released from his gaze, walked over to the fridge and pulled out the milk. ‘I was just getting myself a hot chocolate. Do you want one?’

‘That would be great.’

The look on his face made her laugh. ‘How about I put something strong in yours?’

‘If you’re talking scotch that’d be even better.’ He sat at the table as she poured the milk, stopping her before she got to the second mug. ‘Make mine no milk.’

Her lips twitched. ‘Right.’ Turning, she put her mug in the microwave. ‘The scotch is in the lounge room. Help yourself.’

A few minutes later he was back, a glass of single malt in his hand. ‘You have a great selection in there, Alexia.’

‘Can’t stand the stuff myself, but Billy and Karl like a “wee dram” now and then.’ The microwave dinged and she put four heaped teaspoons of drinking chocolate into the hot milk. Looking up, she saw the incredulous expression on his face. Ignoring him, she added a dollop of honey and sat down opposite him. ‘You couldn’t sleep either?’

He shook his head. ‘Na. I’m not a great sleeper. Never have been. Da used to say I had too many things going on in the old noggin.’ He tapped his head. ‘Today didn’t help. Also, Nigel called earlier to say someone had broken into my house in London.’

‘What?’ She almost dropped her mug, the milk sloshing over the side and onto the table. ‘Was anything stolen? Are you okay?’

He smiled at her, reached for a cloth and wiped up the spilled milk. ‘I’m fine. It’s not the first time. Over-enthusiastic fans, that sort of thing. A few things taken, my music scattered. Nothing major. I don’t keep anything important there. Although Nigel thinks Darla might have been responsible for this break-in.’

‘Why? Why would she do that?’

‘Because whoever did it carved, “Lying Irish Bastard” into my Steinway.’

‘Oh, God. That’s awful. No wonder you couldn’t sleep. Do you want to go back there, take care of things? We could call a halt to the recording for a few days.’

He shrugged, brushed a curl from her brow. ‘It’s fine. The police have been called and Nigel’s on top of it. There’s nothing for me to do.’ He ran a finger over her shoulder, down her arm, tangling his fingers with hers. ‘What about you? Why did you put all the lights on?’

She shrugged, trying to ignore the sensations he was causing with his gentle touch. ‘Jenny’s murder made me feel a bit paranoid, so I came down here to get a hot chocolate and check everything was locked up. It was, of course – Karl always locks up and does a check of the house before he goes to bed.’ She lifted the steaming mug, took a sip.

‘I’m not glad you felt on edge, but I am glad you are up. That you answered my knock. Having company at times like this is better than sitting alone.’

She looked down, sipped her drink. ‘I was going to sit in the lounge room and read a book.’

‘Sounds good.’ He stood up and took her hand. ‘How about I light a fire and we can “canoodle on the couch together”, as Da used to say.’

‘Canoodle?’ Lexi asked, trying not to laugh.

‘You know, cuddle, kiss, snuggle, talk.’

‘That sounds an awful lot like a date.’

‘Call it what you like. I prefer to call it a head start on getting to know each other better. You promised to spend some time with me. I promise, no funny business.’

‘Canoodling sounds like funny business,’ she said, chuckling.

‘Not too funny.’ He stepped forward, his expression serious. ‘You can’t sleep, I can’t sleep. How about we just sit and talk and take comfort in that?’

Oh God! How could she say no? ‘I’ll just get some biscuits to nibble on, but I don’t know about the “canoodling”.’

‘How about we just start with the talk?’

‘Okay.’

He took her hot chocolate, his fingers brushing hers. A familiar spark of excitement raced through her veins and over her skin; by the flare of awareness in his eyes, she could see he had felt it too. She reached up and touched his mouth as it curled into the lopsided grin she’d found so annoyingly charming when they’d first met. ‘Why do I feel so safe with you?’

He kissed the pad of her fingers. ‘It’s the music. You can hear my soul just as I heard yours. You know me.’

‘Yes. I think I do.’

Smiling, his eyes glinting with promise, he walked backward away from her. ‘I’ll go and light that fire.’

‘Yes.’

He disappeared up the hall. She stood there for a moment, wondering why she felt dizzy. She suddenly realised she wasn’t breathing. Inhaling, she rubbed her tingling fingers on her pyjamas and turned to the pantry to get the biscuits.

When she entered the lounge room a few minutes later, flames were licking at the dry kindling. He’d pulled the coffee table closer to the big comfy sofa, placed her hot chocolate and his scotch on it, and stood there now, watching her.

She hesitated.

What was she supposed to do? She had no idea. The only man her age she’d ever been alone with in the past ten years was Billy, and those situations were definitely nothing like this. Was she supposed to walk over to him? Was this a funny quip situation, or was it more serious? Not that it mattered – she couldn’t think of anything to say, let alone something funny or serious. Did he expect her to sit at one end of the couch while he sat at the other? Or were they supposed to sit next to each other?

She hated being uncertain, not knowing what to do, how to act. Was it too late to turn around and head back to the kitchen?

Before she could do just that, he crossed to her, took the plate and then her hand in his and gently led her to the sofa. He placed the plate on the coffee table and, still holding her hand, sat in the corner of the couch and drew her down beside him. He gave her the hot chocolate and picked up his glass of scotch and then putting his arm around her shoulders, relaxed back into the deep cushions, pulling her with him.

She stiffened. He didn’t move, just kept his arm around her, his grip on her shoulder light – if she wanted to move away, she could.

She didn’t want to move away. She clenched her hands in her lap, concentrating on breathing normally; concentrating on not letting the warmth flooding her system colour her skin. He took a sip of his scotch and then began to hum under his breath.

The melody wove around her and after a moment she relaxed, leaning into his side. As the tune came to an end, she looked up at him. ‘That was lovely. What was it?’

‘An old Irish lullaby. Da used to sing it late at night when he was closing up the pub.’

‘Are you close to your da?’

‘It took a while, but yes, now I am.’

‘Do you see him often?’

‘Not as often as I’d like and certainly not as often as he would like.’ He laughed softly, then took another sip of his scotch.

She watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. She wanted to put her hand there, to feel the vibration, but didn’t feel comfortable enough yet to just touch him like that. Instead, she turned and stared at the fire, letting the silence surround her.

It was so strange to be doing this, here, with him, but at the same time, it seemed completely right.

The fire crackled, the soft golden glow casting friendly shadows around the room. Lexi glanced up and saw him looking at her. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘How beautiful you look with the firelight glowing on your face. I know that sounds clichéd, but it’s true. How about you?’ He ran a finger down her cheek, over her lips and down her throat.

She trembled, desire flickering low in her belly. When she spoke, her voice was husky. ‘I was thinking how comfortable I am right now.’

‘It’s nice to know I make a good cushion.’

She laughed. He had a way of putting her at ease. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ She snuggled into his side again. ‘You’re a bit too firm to be a good cushion. Good cushions aren’t quite so muscular.’

He laughed.

Lexi turned in his arms and put her hand over his chest, feeling the rumble of his laugh through his ribs. ‘So what should we talk about?’

‘What would you like to talk about?’

She bit her lip, thinking about it for a moment. ‘I don’t want to talk about my past tonight. I don’t want to start off with our bad memories.’

His smile faded. ‘Neither do I. So, where would you like to begin?’

‘Tell me how you got this scar.’ She reached up and touched it, her fingers gliding along the patch of smooth, white skin that cut through one of his eyebrows. ‘If it’s not a bad memory.’

He chuckled. ‘It’s not a bad memory, just kind of stupid, really. When I was little I used to like to pretend I was a rock star. I’d stand in the street and sing and play air guitar with my friends.’

Lexi curled into his side, hearing the rumble of his voice through his chest, and sipped at her hot chocolate while he told the story.

‘We were living in Dublin. My mates and I decided one day to climb up on old man O’Keefe’s unused WC next to the alley and put on a concert – we were pretending it was a stage. Anyway, we made so much noise that the deaf old coot heard us and called the bobbies. When we saw them coming down the alley we tried to make a run for it. Unfortunately, the WC roof wasn’t stable enough to put up with four boys running across the middle at the same time.’

‘Did it collapse?’

‘You betcha. The next thing I knew I was flat on my back on a bed of tin and splintered wood, surrounded by broken pots, dirt and crushed marijuana plants. Apparently old man O’Keefe’s grandson had been growing his stash there.’

‘What did you do?’ Lexi asked, looking up at his face, noting the glint of humour in his eyes as he remembered.

‘I had a gash through my eyebrow and down the side of my face and my mate Lewis was on top of me. When he saw the blood he passed out and the bobbies caught us.’

She laughed. ‘Did you get in trouble?’

‘Not as much trouble as old man O’Keefe!’ She felt the rumble of his laugh. ‘He finally managed to prove the stash wasn’t his. They carted me off to the hospital to get checked out and have my face stitched up. We were let off with a warning.’

‘You were lucky none of you were seriously hurt.’

‘I know. I think little boys are made of tough stuff. I can’t remember how many times I did things that should have been the death of me.’

‘I bet your mother was scared to let you out of the house if that was the sort of thing you went and did.’

He stiffened, the smile dying on his lips. ‘My mother didn’t much care what I did.’ He looked down at her and frowned. ‘Surely you know that. It’s been splashed all over the tabloids in recent months.’

‘I don’t read the tabloids. It’s rare if I even read the newspaper.’ But now she wished she did. What had happened to bring that look to his face? She wished she knew, but she couldn’t probe into his bad memories when she didn’t want to talk about hers.

He looked like he was about to say something, then changed his mind.

Unable to stand the pained expression on his face, she brought his attention back to his story. ‘So that’s how you ended up with this scar on your face?’

He nodded slowly as if coming back from an unpleasant dream. ‘Mm-hm. The wound healed up surprisingly well. People only notice if they get up close. I’ve always thought it lent a bit of roughened character to my face.’

She smiled at him. ‘You’re right. You might have been too pretty otherwise.’

He chuckled. She was relieved to hear it.

‘Glad to know my appearance meets with your approval.’

‘It does more than that.’

He turned, the longing in his eyes matching hers. He stared at her for so long she thought she might pass out from the stress of anticipation. Then slowly, as if waiting to see what she’d do, he leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss.

As he pulled away, she smiled. ‘Mm,’ she said, enjoying his scent. ‘Perhaps I don’t mind a bit of canoodling after all.’

He kissed her again, softly. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He kissed her again, once, twice; little pecking kisses, then turned and took a sip of his drink. Swallowing on a sigh, he settled back into the cushions, pulling her more snugly to his side.

Lexi laid her head down on his shoulder, her palm splayed over his chest. Silence surrounded them. She could hear the beating of his heart, the soft sound of his swallow, the crackle of the fire. It was so cosy. She felt sleepy, but she didn’t want to go to sleep yet. She had other things she wanted to know. After a long moment she took her courage in hand and asked, ‘Did you always want to be a musician?’

His lips brushed her hair. ‘For as long as I can remember I’ve had music playing in my head. It seemed natural to follow that path. What about you?’

‘The same. Music was such a part of my life I couldn’t imagine the world without it.’ She smiled. ‘Cat was always a better singer than me and her piano playing was angelic, but I could play lots of different instruments, picking up new ones with little trouble. I used to write songs for her to play and sing and I would accompany her on whatever instrument I played at the time.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I could have those days back again.’