The Crescendo (The Musical Interlude)
Read The Crescendo (The Musical Interlude) Online
Authors: KaSonndra Leigh
T
he
C
rescendo
The Musical Interlude Book Two
KaSonndra Leigh
Edited by Kristin Campbell and Alizon Duckwall
© 2014 by KaSonndra Leigh
All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold, copied, or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Art © 2014 Fantasia Frog Designs.
A small note from Erin Angelo.
I love him. Like, I
really
love him.
It means a lot to be able to say those words. A long time ago I made a promise to myself. I swore off love.
It’s such a small word, yet it has the ability to do more damage than a bomb. I don’t trust it. Or rather, I didn’t trust my heart after I lost so many people who claimed to be teaching me all about that word—love. They’ve been the ones who have left me behind in some way or other, taking a small slice of me along with them each time. Although now, because of him, my world has been forever changed.
I used to be lost, and
then he found me. I’ve been torn, broken, used; but he showed me a new day.
There’s this old song that says it can’t rain all the time
, which is true, but I’ve decided to change it up a bit—I am a designer, you know. A storm is a lot like a song—which curiously, mimics the stages of love—and in the midst of its raging winds comes its strongest moment, the peak. Similarly, it’s that time when you look at a person and know right away he or she is the one. Forever. Come hell or Heaven, or maybe even some small place in between the two—or whatever—nothing compares to being lifted to a high so great you can’t breathe or think or even eat; the feelings for this person consuming you more and more each day. The heart conducts the most beautiful Symphony of all. In a storm, it’s that moment when the sun shines behind the clouds, its rays eventually breaking through the mist.
In music, we call it the Crescendo.
Love, I have this to say to you: I still believe.
Erin
The song rips through the Teatro’s auditorium while the Maestro mercilessly commands the symphony that creates the tune. The melody reminds me of a cross between a lewd sex song and an opera. Standing backstage at the Teatro, I peek around the curtain and watch Aleksandr Dostovsky—aka, Alek Dostov, the man who has stolen every part of my heart and body and soul—as he directs his symphony through a medley of strings; violins, violas, and of course, the harp. I’m in awe.
Love struck.
The very essence of the man rips a hole inside me, even though we’re not touching each other.
Stabbing the air with quick jabs of his baton, he takes something that some people might consider unmanly and turns it into an experience of tunes and gasps from the crowd
along with their applause. On the lower stage, Nikolai’s dancers wind and twist their bodies into positions I’d never have imagined possible. Milan has never been touched by two of Russia’s most enigmatic and reckless personas as it has now that these two friends have stormed onstage and taken the city by storm.
Six months ago, I was alone and scared and falling into a period of numbness, my heart faltering more each day as I made the choice to cater to a life based on my career rather than to give in to the trials and heartache one must accept when love comes stalking to your door. Alek
has changed me, struck a dead chord inside me. Not only does he ignite my body in a sexual manner, but he also challenges my mind... and my temper. God, how he riles me up at times; but man, I can’t complain one bit about the makeup sex we have afterwards.
Our paths crossed six years ago, the day I lost my big sister, Jada
—the darkest moment of my life. That same month, I also lost my first love, and for me, those two events set me off on a path of vindication, even going so far as to make an ode to swear off love for the rest of my life. That didn’t last, of course. Thank goodness.
Standing backstage and watching the way both women and even men fall under the spell of the Maestro
—a child prodigy and one of the youngest symphony conductors to ever grace the halls of one of Italy’s finest theatres—I mentally prep myself for my entrance; the intermission, or in Alek’s arrangement, the Crescendo. It’s the height of the musical production, the spot where all instruments work together and build up to the cool down known as the finale.
“He’s so hot,” my best friend, Selene
, says as she checks my hair and makeup before she then sets to adjusting the straps on my dress. Even though I no longer work at Black Butterfly on a full-time basis, Selene has stuck by my side, volunteering to become my personal stylist and assistant as well as the liaison between my former boss and my new one, Katerina Dostovsky.
Now
, it’s my turn to take the stage.
Performing to a sold out crowd still brings out the nerves in me
; the insecure little girl who sent her sister to take her place in an audition that could’ve changed her life that day, putting her on the right path from day one after high school. Instead, I sent Jada to do what I should’ve been strong enough to finish. But then, I would never have met Alek if both my sister and the man I love hadn’t crossed paths that day six years ago.
I’m wearing a red dress designed by my ex-boss
, Luca Martuccio—the owner of Black Butterfly and reformed playboy thanks to Alek’s little sister, Adriana. I bow and the crowd goes wild. My red dress dips so low I’m afraid my boobs might spill out, however that’s what Luca’s designs provide for people—shock value. “Without the ability to shock the shit out of people, then what good is a woman’s most viable weapon?” Luca always says.
As my Maestro steps toward me standing in the midst of his symphony
, I find myself totally agreeing with Luca’s observation more. Alek strolls to my side, his black hair slicked back and his strange, hypnotic, brown-blue eyes directed straight into my dark brown ones.
He takes my right hand as he faces his symphony and I face the crowd, the front of our bodies turned in opposite directions but our faces less than a few inches apart, and then kisses my knuckles just before he leans over and brushes his lips across mine
. It’s the slightest touch, yet there’s enough feeling inside it to waken every cell inside my body, making me fearless. The applause and shouting almost deafens me.
“You are a stunning little Jaybird,” he whispers in my ear where only the two of us can hear.
At once, the audience and the symphony behind me, along with the dancers hiding in the shadows over the lower stage, all disappear. My heart speeds up; not because I’m nervous, but because that’s how much love I feel inside my soul for this man—my heart, my lifeline. He is the anchor who weighs me down—not at the bottom of a sea, but the one who keeps me from floating away to be forever lost in a world of the mind that oftentimes snatches me away inside its clutches of sadness and heartache.
He moves back and brushes his lips across mine
, the simple touch jolting awake every single nerve in my body; the same way he has done since the first time we made love seven months ago. Alek worked for my kiss, something I no longer wanted to do; and to this day, I can’t believe I made him wait so long before giving in to something so heavenly and divine. What would life have been like for me without experiencing something like this every day?
Boring. Well, yeah, that’s a given.
Numb. So many women fall into that trap.
Celibate. Uh... Don’t think so.
The crowd roars and it’s hard to believe this is supposed to be a cultured group. There’s something mystical about a man who can command the notes inside of a song this way, a magician of melody and harmonies and voices. Nikolai’s dancers dance along to the tune, caught up in a web of musical sex and wrapping the audience up in the clutches of the god all this centers around.
I love everything about him: his head of deliciously dark hair that won’t stay in place when he awakens each morning, his broad shoulders, his tapered waist, his smile
and dangerously sexy brown eyes that have just the slightest bit of blue inside the irises. It’s official. I’m completely hooked, a woman who has promised herself she’d never allow herself to feel the sweet temptation of another man’s lips on hers let alone fall in love with him. Standing here with the Maestro, I cannot describe the way my heart flutters each time I glance at his handsome face and strong hands!
Oh
, God, those holy hands of creation.
Could anything in this world be any more perfect than the way Alek Dostov can blast through choreographing a song
, and then later on use those same hands to drive my body wild with desire, temptations and experiences of the mind I’ve never even dreamed possible?
Inside the limo on the way back home, Aleksandr and I begin the next part of our song, a tune of kisses and hair pulling and his growls together with my moans. I inhale his scent, a fresh mix of cologne and maleness
; a sexy mix of the power of the man behind it, making me dizzy with need.
“God, I love you, Erin Angelo,” he whispers against my neck, his breath a hot rush of wind that stirs my desire, making me get heated with warmth between my legs.
“And I love you, my Maestro extraordinaire,” I whisper against his ear. Little shudders roll through his body as I remove his jacket, unbutton his shirt and dip my head to his chest, aiming the heat flowing from inside my body onto his nipples.
I
inhale sharply as I begin to suck each nipple while Alek snakes a hand through my hair, wrapping it around his big fist to maneuver my head down the belly of his bronze skin, stopping only when my head is situated over his trousers. I move to unfasten them, but he slips a hand underneath my chin, lifting my head so I’m now staring into his eyes. I can feel the heat flowing from his skin, can smell the musky-sweet scent of his arousal. And he’s hard... for me. Just for me. All mine. I still have to sometimes pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming all of this. Of all the thousands of women—no, wait, I’m pretty sure that number has escalated to around a million or so women—Alek has chosen me, the little designer girl from a hole on the map town called Lafayette in Louisiana.
“So eager to please, my delicate bird is, yes?” he manages to say through gasps.
“As you are for me,” I respond, anxious to get back to my, um, expedition.
“Come here, my love,” he whispers and something in his voice, a slight hoarseness in the way he speaks
, puts me on alert for some reason. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Hesitantly, I lift up and position my body on the seat so I’m now eye level with Alek. I’ve changed into a peach mini dress with white stockings, an outfit to protect my delicate skin from the elements of a cool February day in Milan. I ache for spring’s return.
“That’s something you’ll never have to worry about. I promise,” I say, smiling from within my heart. Alek pulls me into his arms, cradling my back, so now, he stares down into my eyes. I’ve never felt any safer or more complete than the way I do when this man holds me. I can see the firestorm of the love he feels for me, the sensation stifling my ability to breathe, a pool of passion pulling me under and holding me down. His love is the air I need to survive underneath the water. In a way, the love Alek and I share creates our own Crescendo; a living, breathing medley of the joys and heartache of two people who’ve fought against incredible odds to be together. Alek has survived the trials of his violent past. And me? Let’s just say I no longer think about the one who got away—the boy who stole my heart just before he moved back to London, leaving me all alone and consumed by the grief I suffered over losing my sister.
Didn’t someone once say that a love like that can’t last?
I want to find that philosopher and shout in their face
; to tell them how mistaken their theory on the notion of finding the impossible love has been. For every Crescendo there comes a finale, and for every person who seizes the chance to find themselves caught up in such a tune, then there’s a reward waiting at the end of the song. A sense of satisfaction and peace of mind and heart that men and women have fought over and wrote about throughout the millennia. That’s what I’ve found with Alek.
Lifting my mouth and closing my eyes, I beckon his lips toward mine
, and he doesn’t disappoint. The Maestro with the scandalous past proves to be just as skilled with his mouth as he is with his hands—even more so, I do believe. I return his kiss with eagerness fueled by the heat flowing through my body, hardening my nipples, clenching inside my stomach and ultimately setting a fire to the area between my legs.
“How far do we have to go?” I ask, unsure as to whether I can hold off on devouring this sexy hunk of a man before the car even reaches the next corner let alone his house ten or fifteen minutes away. “Alek, I don’t know how much longer I can wait,” I breathe in between our kisses.
“No need to wait, little bird. We have all the time in the world,” he answers and slides a hand up under my skirt, touching me. “I am yours. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.”
Those are the only words I need to hear.
