Symphony In Rapture (9 page)

Later, as they lay wrapped in one another’s arms, Michelle asked mischievously, “Am I in trouble for breaking the rules?”

Nick growled and nipped at her shoulder. “Now, you’ll have to let me ass-fuck youtwice ,” he said.

“Promises, promises,” Michelle murmured drowsily.

Nick watched her for a long time after she fell asleep, marveling at his luck in finding such an amorous, generous female who wanted him so much, and seemed to enjoy him so completely.

(An extended musical passage, often improvised by the performer)

The doorbell rang precisely on time. Michelle felt an involuntary smile spreading over her face as she went to answer it.

“Hi,” Nick drawled. He stepped into the hall and wrapped Michelle in his arms, savoring her sweet lips.

“Hi, yourself,” Michelle murmured when the kiss ended.

“I loved waking up next to you this morning,” he growled.

Michelle smiled. “Me, too.”

She placed her hand in his and led him into the kitchen. “Perfect timing, by the way,” she said. She waved him toward a small table in the breakfast nook. “I guess we could have eaten in the dining room, but I thought this was more…” she searched for the right word.

“Intimate?” Nick provided.

Michelle blushed and nodded. She walked over to the stove. Michelle removed the covers from each dish and carried them to the table. Small dinner salads were nestled in bowls already placed beside each setting. Chicken picatta released its lemon-laced aroma into the air. Fresh green beans, diced new potatoes and quartered Vidalia onions—tossed in a lemon, butter and garlic rub, then roasted to perfection—rested on a bed of steamed cabbage.

To her surprise, Nick didn’t seem to expect her to serve him—he simply reached out and began filling his plate as she placed each dish on the table. Noting her bemused glance, he grinned. “It all looks delicious,” he said. “We don’t have to stand on ceremony, do we?”

Michelle shook her head. She was always so shocked at the intensity of their physical relationship, that she made herself into a basket case between each visit, worrying what he thought of her. Then, when he arrived, still acting natural and interested, she felt silly for being so apprehensive.

She sat down.

“Besides,” he murmured, “I’ve worked up quite an appetite these last few days.”

Michelle felt her cheeks grow furiously hot and avoided his gaze by concentrating solely on filling her own plate. “Oh, I forgot our drinks.” She half-rose, but Nicholas stood. “I’ll get them. What are we having?”

“I have iced tea, a white wine, ginger—”

“Iced tea sounds great.” Nick moved to the refrigerator. “In here?” Michelle nodded, and he opened the door, lifting out the sweating carafe of tea and carrying it to the table. He poured Michelle’s drink first, then his. “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass.

Michelle smiled, bringing her glass to his. As the crystal tinged, Nick experienced a swift rush of enjoyment at just being with her.

“So,” Michelle prompted as she cut into her chicken. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Hmmm. What do you want to know?” Nick speared a tender new potato and popped it into his mouth. The seasonings were perfect.A musician, a seductress anda cook, Nick thought.Damn fine combination .

“Well…where were you born?”

“Paris, actually.”

“Really?”

Nick nodded.

“I’ve probably read it in the papers, orMusician’s Weekly before, but I had forgotten. Besides,” she grinned impishly, “I want to hear the story youdon’t tell the papers.”

Nick felt uncomfortable for the first time since they’d met. He’d been ignoring it, up until now, the knowledge that there were things he couldn’t tell Michelle. Things that could keep them apart, despite the fact that he was falling in love with her. He hadn’t actually lied to her. Hedid want more than sex from her, he just didn’t know how in the world it could ever actually work.

Michelle sensed Nick’s discomfort as the silence stretched. She glanced up, but he averted his gaze. She set down her fork. “Listen, Nick. I don’t really expect you to tell all. Not at thispoint, anyway. If there are things you’d rather not tell me, that’s fine.”

“It’s not that,” Nick said, even though it was. He couldn’t tell her everything, but hecould tell hersome things. He took a long draught of his tea. “There are some not-so-great things that I think you should know. It’s finding a way to say them that’s hard. I have avery difficult time opening up to people.” He toyed with his salad for a moment, then looked up. “I actually shocked myself that first day, inviting you in. I haven’t dated in…well, I don’t want to say how long.”

They ate silently for a few moments, then he continued. “But, that’s not to say I’ve been celibate. That’s one of the things you should know. I’ve been using…escorts. They’re provided by a very private, very discreet company. One that tests its employeesand clients for disease. But however you look at it, they’re prostitutes.” He met her gaze. “Can you…accept that?”

Michelle thought for a moment. She wasn’t surprised to know he’d slept with other women; she’d figured that was a given, despite his media moniker, but shewas somewhat astonished to knowwhere the women came from. “Have you ever—employed—one of these women when you were seriously involved with someone?”

“God, no!” Nick exclaimed. “I was using them toavoid a commitment, not complicate one.”

Michelle met his gaze squarely. “I’ll admit I’m surprised; but in a way, what you’ve done is better than pretending interest in women you meet just to relieve an itch. Are you sure they were…disease-free?

Nick nodded. “Employees and clients are tested every six months, and the company maintains open files. They’ll even let you have the employee tested by an independent laboratory of your choice, if you have any doubts. Also, I haven’t actually used them in over three years.” He looked down at his plate, seeming embarrassed. “After a while, the need just…”

“Faded,” Michelle finished for him, thinking of her last five celibate years. “I know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s why I was so floored, when I saw you outside the window and felt so…eager again.”

“That’s how it was for me, too,” Michelle said. “Before that day…I hadn’t been touched in over five years—since before Angela died. I’d even stopped—” she hesitated, pink color rising in her cheeks.

“Masturbating?” Nick offered.

Michelle nodded, averting her eyes.

Nick reached out and took one of her hands in his. “Hey, everyone does it. They just don’t talk about it, that’s all. And I’m glad you told me. Think about it. In my opinion, that proves this thing between us must be something really worthwhile. For us both to throw such determined caution to the wind…”

Michelle looked back. “I guess you’re right.”

“So,” Nick rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, “Is it a problem? The escort thing, I mean?”

Michelle hesitated.

“What is it?” Nick tensed.

“Well, I just—I need to know if you’re willing to be monogamous. At least, as long aswe’re seeing each other.”

“Is that all?” Nick relaxed. “God, yes. I sure as heck don’t expect you to share me when I’m sure ashell not sharing you!

Michelle smiled, and brought the back of his hand up to her cheek. “Then, no, it’s not a problem.”

Nick turned his hand, his warm palm cupping Michelle’s cheek as he leaned over and kissed her—drinking his fill of her lips. She laced her fingers through his hair, returning his passion, sighing when he pulled away.

He grinned. “I think we’d better finish eating, before this wonderful meal gets cold.”

Michelle looked away, embarrassed that Nick was the one who had put the brakes on. But it was silly to feel ashamed. There wasn’t anything wrong with desiring a man who was beginning to mean an awful lot to her, andsomeone had to demonstrate some self-control.

After they had finished eating, Nick helped Michelle clear off the table, rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher while she put the leftovers away. Michelle grabbed a couple of wine coolers from the refrigerator and they retired to the living room.

They sat at opposite ends of the couch, Michelle turned toward Nick, with one leg drawn up under her. “So, how did you become interested in composing?” she asked.

Nick thought about giving her his ‘pat’ answers, the ones he’d invented for the reporters, but found himself wanting to give her the truth. Not all of it, of course, but at least an edited version. Because hedid want her to know him, the way he was beginning to know her. His soul—not just his body, and not just the phantom life he’d built. He’d have to be careful, though, and think before he spoke.

Nick opened his wine cooler and Michelle followed suit. After a few fortifying gulps, he began. “I was…deformed as a child. My face. It was a genetic defect.”

“Your face?” Michelle asked.

“Yes. It’s been corrected by surgery, now, but only after I became an adult. As a child, I—we—it wasn’t possible.” As an afterthought, he said, “Financially, I mean.” He certainly couldn’t tell her plastic surgery hadn’t even existed when he was born. “Anyway, being different—it made things really difficult for me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Michelle offered.

“I’ve accepted it now. But…my mother gave me up. When she saw my face, she couldn’t handle it.”

“Oh, Nick,” Michelle leaned forward, heartfelt sympathy brimming in her eyes.

Nick fought back the tide of an almost-forgotten sorrow. He didn’t remember his mother, of course, because he’d never known her, but he’d mourned for many years the fact that she hadn’t wanted him. “I-I can understand it, a little. They were very poor. They never would have been able to afford the kind of help I was eventually able to receive. The physician who delivered me kind of adopted me. It wasn’t an official thing. Officially, I was just his patient, but I lived with him, he put me through school—everything. Indirectly, he put me in touch with the people who were able to finally correct the deformity.

“Anyway, I was so…aware of my abnormality. I thought about it night and day, wishing I could be like other people. I don’t remember consciously thinking about anything else until the day I heard Schumann play.

“Although he wasn’t very popular at the time, everything he composed came from somewhere deep inside. His music was so…tortured. He played like Ifelt . I could lose myself in his music, and my problems disappeared for a while.”

Michelle smiled sympathetically. “You speak almost as though you were there.”

Shit.Nick thought.You’ll have to be more careful, damn it! He thought quickly. “That’s how it felt, sometimes, when I listened. Like I was there.”

Michelle put her hand on his thigh, a gentle touch, meant to offer comfort. Despite the long-buried anguish his story was bringing to the surface, he felt himself willing her to move her palm higher, to stroke his crotch. Having that thought during such a tender moment irritated him.

“Anyway, I guess that kind of explains why I put off talking about myself. I don’t much like to remember certain things about my past.”

Michelle nodded.

“Will you play for me?” Nick asked abruptly.

“Ummm…sure.” Michelle set her bottle back on the table. She hesitated for a moment, caressing his leg. “Are you all right?” Nick nodded, and she went down the hall to the music room and came out with her guitar. She arranged herself cross-legged on the couch, facing him, and strummed a few notes, checking for tune.

Nick couldn’t help himself. His cock had expanded as her hand rested against his leg, and the throbbing in his groin was painful. Insistent. “Wait,” he said. Nick stood and took the guitar from her, placing it carefully on the table. Michelle’s heart raced as he lifted her arms into the air. She held them there as he pulled her shirt off and reached behind to undo her bra. When he had slipped that off as well, he handed her the guitar. “That’s better.”

Trying to ignore the electric twang of erotic need strumming in her already-damp crotch, Michelle started singing one of the songs fromSomething Wild ’s usual playlist. With a wave of his hand, Nick stopped her after just a few words. “Not any of that,” he said. “Not the ‘falsetto’.” His gaze bore into hers. Michelle felt herself drowning in his stormy blue eyes. “The real stuff. The music you write for yourself.”

“What makes you think I write anything else?” she asked. Nick eyed her patiently.

Michelle bowed her head. Somehow, he knew. Knew that the stuff she wrote forSomething Wild was just a mask—a curtain hiding the real Michelle. Shedid write other things. Music from her soul. Music she’d never played for anyone but herself.

Trying to see through the wild waterfall of Michelle’s hair, Nick wished he could read her face, know what she was thinking. It would be hard for her, he knew. If it was written from the heart, the music would reveal things about her, things she might not be ready to reveal—or face. If she did offer it to him, it would be a gift. Not for the first time, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He was becoming attached to Michelle far too rapidly. Starting to entertain impossible ideas.

Michelle raised her head, pushing the drape of her long, silken curls behind her. Positioning the guitar, she began to sing. At first, Nick was completely engrossed in the rise and fall of her breasts; in the fact that the guitar rested lightly upon one, pushing it into her chest. He imagined the feel of that dark, cool wood against her nipple. Imagined her nipple swelling, its erect tip pressing into the instrument. The other breast actually perched upon the guitar’s outer curve, its nipple flirting with him enticingly, dropping shyly one minute, offering itself pertly the next, in response to her movements. A strumming electric vibration had established itself in his loins. His cock strained eagerly against the smooth fabric of his slacks. Nick wished briefly that he could feel what Michelle was feeling; could know if her body ached for him as much as his ached for her.

But as Michelle relaxed, her self-conscious performance becoming more natural, her tone deepening with a husky resonance as she lost herself in the music, Nick’s physical desire faded into the background. Michelle sang of great joy, a joy so powerful it verged on the painful; and then crashing loss, and a pain that never ceased, never lessened. Though most people listening would have assumed it to be a powerful ballad about failed love, Nick could feel that this song was for her daughter. He felt an answering resonance humming through him. Her music was dark and dangerous. Seductive. No music had touched him so deeply in a long time. No longer engrossed in Michelle’s body, but immersed in her song, Nick rested his head back against the couch and let himself be carried away, feeling as though he were joining with her, somehow.