The Treble With Men

by Smartypants Romance

  In the center of the room, slightly raised on a platform, was a grand piano more beautiful than anything I’d never seen. Glistening black and sleek.

  And there, lost to the music, was Devlin. It was a breathtaking sight. His fingers moved dramatically over the keys, seemingly without effort, his shoulders hunched.

  He was totally shirtless. And honestly, from this angle I could not tell if he was wearing pants. I could see a glimpse of a definitely hairy leg and bare feet. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Was this some weird musical-slash-sexual thing? Was I being intrusive? I should definitely leave.

  Except.

  His muscles. My goodness! Ropes of muscles bunched in his back and arms. They flexed and released with every movement. I thought Thor brought the godly muscles, but Devlin could absolutely wield Mjölnir or any other massive hammer. I was intrigued and curious and really, if he didn’t want to be caught naked in his super-secret music lair in the middle of the day by a guest in his house, then he should have locked the door. That’s on him.

  I crept closer. Okay, he was wearing jeans. And of course, as always, the bandana and hat were on. Shirt? No. That’s too much commitment, but a hat and bandana … those were essentials, apparently. Today the mask was a solid red and in the dim light it was haunting. He didn’t notice me come in. He was too lost to the music, which was now a dissonant, almost irritating piece that was somewhat reminiscent of Scriabin’s atonal scales.

  What would he do if I walked up and took off that mask? Would he be mad? Maybe I was even mad for thinking it. Would he kick me out of the symphony? Would he no longer want to work with me? Why was I suddenly so curious to see what was underneath? It wouldn’t change anything, would it?

  Something about the mystery of it called out to the darkest part of my soul—to the part that always got me in trouble.

  I moved closer, step by step, soundless in the cacophony. Just a peek. Who was he? What was he trying to hide?

  Closer yet. My hand reached out. My heart slammed in tempo with the music.

  I grabbed the fabric where it hung loose.

  Just a peek. What was the worst that could happen?

  Chapter 9

  Practice every day; music waits for no one.

  DEVLIN

  My hand shot out and grabbed hers just as her fingers grazed my neck, where the scarf was tied. The abruptly cut-off notes trembled in the air. Chills shuddered down my skin from the contact and goosebumps spread down my arms and chest.

  She gasped and reared back trying to squirm out of my grip, but I didn’t release her. Instead, I twisted my body on the piano bench, bringing her around at the same time so we were face-to-face. Even sitting I was almost as tall as her.

  “I’m sorry! I was just—”

  “What?” I demanded. “Wanted to see under this? Want to know what sort of freak wears a mask?”

  “No! I wasn’t … I wasn’t thinking. I’m still all foggy. I’m sorry!”

  I tugged her closer to me so that my face was inches from hers. She was rambling. I’d never heard her talk this much in rehearsal. She always sat quietly, watching me, glancing away any time I focused my attention on her. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth formed a perfect, horrified O shape.

  “You knew exactly what you were doing,” I said.

  “Please. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” I gentled my grip but didn’t let go as she carried on. “I just woke up. I’m in this big, beautiful house without any clue as to why. All while creepy music fills the house all around me. And you’re just down here playing like … like a maniac from a scary movie!” She stopped her rant to press fingertips to her cheeks. “I feel hot. Do you feel hot? It’s definitely hot.” She tugged at the collar of the too-big pajamas I had left for her.

  I placed my other hand over her mouth. A headache pulsed at the back of my skull. I had brought her here. That was my choice, yet I was embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable position. What if she saw the truth about me? It was too soon.

  “Stop talking,” I said.

  Her quick breaths warmed my palm covering her mouth. Her eyes widened at the unexpected contact. Bursts of sensation shot through my body.

  I glared hard enough that my annoyance would come across even with my bandana in place. I dropped her hand that had been reaching for my bandana. Holding her hand had unwanted consequences. It was best to avoid touching her at all. I released her mouth too, slowly, in case she started up again. Her full lips closed to suck in her bottom lip, actively fighting the words that wanted to spill out, no doubt.

  Her skin was colorless this morning. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, fuzzy on the side she slept on. As I’d checked in on her throughout the night, she’d remained sound asleep in the same exact balled-up position. Her chapped lips and bleary eyes concerned me.

  “Did you eat?” I asked her.

  She looked at me as though this were some sort of test. After a moment, she nodded.

  “And drank some water? You don’t look so good.”

  With that, her eyes narrowed, but she held her tongue. Now that she had quieted, the lack of rambling made me feel self-conscious. I didn’t like to be the one required to make conversation. It never came easy for me like it had for Wes. Her silence made me uncomfortable. Being uncomfortable made me angry.

  “Are you done pawing at me?” I asked.

  She nodded once. So this was the game.

  “You can speak,” I said.

  “How kind of you.”

  I stood to tower over her. “At rehearsal, you rarely talk.”

  “I’m respectful.”

  Somehow, I doubted that. I saw the looks she shot the clarinetist, Erin. I crossed my arms to mirror her stance.

  “Right,” I said.

  Her eyes kept darting to my body and after a pointed look she blurted out, “I’m not the one that’s basically naked save for a mask. It’s very misleading. Either be naked or put more clothes on.”

  “Am I bothering you?”

  “No … I’m not bothered. This isn’t … I don’t care.” With every protest her voice grew an octave higher. “A man’s body. Pfft. It’s whatever.” Her gaze moved from my chest to my face to the ceiling to the piano and back to my chest again in a second. At least some color rose to her cheeks. Maybe that was key. Distraction from the oddness of the situation.

  “You seem flustered.” I stepped closer, purposely invading her space.

  Even now, as she pretended to metaphorically clutch her pearls, her gaze had trouble staying still. Her tongue popped out to lick her lip and her swallow was audible. I flexed my pecs, a quick jump. Her eyes widened a fraction before refocusing on my face.

  “I’m not flustered. A body is a body. My mother is a painter. Naked people constantly traipse through my house.” She frowned as what she said sank in, like she hadn’t meant exactly that. I had to admit, I was having a little fun now.

  “Hmm.” I stepped closer. My voice rumbled lower. “You’re totally comfortable?”

  “Yup. Mm-hm.” Her focus returned to the ceiling.

  I leaned lower. She smelled amazing for having just woken up; like a sun-warmed blanket on a summer picnic.

  “And now?” I asked lowering my voice to a growl.

  “Well, I mean, typically my personal space isn’t violated like you’re doing.”

  I bit back a smile. This was more like it. “Are you saying you feel uncomfortable with me getting too close?”

  “I’m not intimidated by rock hard abs and imposing biceps.”

  “Clearly.”

  She lifted her chin and poked my pec. Like a pebble thrown against a rock face, I didn’t react. “You don’t scare me,” she whispered.

  “I should.”

  “You think because you grumble and wear a mask that you can intimidate me?”

  “No.” I stopped my tactic and used my work voice. “But as your Maestro and composer, you should show some respect.” Her jaw swayed in the wind, so I kept
talking. “And how would you like it if I came up to you and tried to take off your shirt?”

  “That’s hardly the same,” she said with haughty disdain.

  “It’s not?”

  “No, you’re half naked and—” A blush burned her cheeks as she spoke.

  “Because I’m not fully dressed, I deserve your unwanted touches?”

  As soon as the words processed, her face drained off color and her shoulders slumped. Okay, maybe I’d gone too far, but I had a point to prove.

  “No, I would never blame … I wasn’t trying—”

  “I know you weren’t,” I said to take away some of the pain I inflicted.

  Her brows drew together in seriousness. She took a deep breath as she stepped back. The cool air rushed in between us, immediately leaving me surprisingly cold.

  “I’m sorry.” Her focus shifted to the floor. “You’re right. I apologize, Maestro.”

  The words cut as they’d intended to. I had gone too far. I was still learning the balance of authority without hurting people. Typically, I failed. This was why face-to-face conversations were troublesome.

  “You can call me Devlin.” I glanced to the side. I didn’t want animosity between us. I only wanted boundaries. “While we’re here. Away from everyone at work.”

  “Okay. Why do you call me Kim?”

  I knew what she was really asking—how I knew her as Kim and not Christine—but I played dumb. “Tell me what I should call you.”

  She hesitated. “Christine is fine.” She lifted her hands to smooth her ponytail. “Or Kim. It doesn’t matter. I answer to both. But honestly, whatever. You pick.” She laughed nervously.

  “What do you prefer?” I asked.

  “Oh, I don’t care.”

  “Pick one.” Her indecisiveness was frustrating. If she was going to help me, she had to learn to stand up to me. I stepped closer.

  She stepped back. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Kim or Christine?” Closer.

  Back. “Fine. Kim. Kim is good.”

  “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

  But it was for her. Her chest heaved up and down and the exposed skin at her neck was splotchy with stress. The same as it had been when she had performed her solo. Even her eyes were glossy. I’d gone too far once again. I felt like a jackass. I had only been trying to get her to push me back.

  “I’m sorry—” I stepped forward to comfort her.

  The action had her lurching back again, but she had reached the end of the short platform. Her heel was off the edge. Her arms wind-milled for purchase where there was none. In slow motion, she started to fall backward. I reached out as her arms shot forward to wrap around my neck. Our bodies slammed together. You couldn’t slide a piece of paper between us.

  “Oh dear!” Her hands shot to her mouth, causing her to fall back again. I had to twist with her in my arms to keep us both from losing purchase. Her face buried into my chest to hide. I thought her humiliation was the reason, but after a second, her shoulders began to shake and it seemed alarmingly like …

  “Are you laughing?” I asked, with skin still searing from our contact.

  “I’m sorry.” She choked out a laugh-snort.

  “You are laughing.” The sweet sound instantly soothed me. I found my own smile start to grow.

  “I don’t mean to be. It’s just so inappropriate. I molested you. How am I supposed to ever look at you in rehearsal?”

  “You’re laughing harder.” I wondered if she could hear my matching smile.

  Her whole body shook in my arms and started to crumple forward.

  “I’m sorry—I’m nervous. This is me freaking out.”

  “You’re an odd duck,” I said softly.

  “Said the man in the mask.” She laughed harder. “God, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.”

  She fell so that she was crouched, almost hugging her knees, and I was forced to let go of her. I carefully pushed her back from the edge of the platform. I knelt down to see her bright cheeks unsuccessfully hidden behind her hands.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I asked in a teasing tone.

  “I’ll survive somehow.” Her voice was muffled. She looked up and dropped her hands, revealing a dazzling smile. The air was sucked out of my chest. I blinked away and rocked back to give her space.

  There was an assumed reputation with conductors. Especially younger male conductors. We flew all over the world depending on where our agents got us the best positions, and we were known for “cellos in different codes,” as it were. I, however, had a strict and relentless no-physical-relationships policy. No relationships, period. The mask was not only to protect myself, but also to keep a very specific barrier between myself and those who played for me.

  “Okay.” She gained her composure with a deep breath. “Maybe we should talk about why I’m here.”

  Chapter 10

  If you trip through an entrance, get the hell back up.

  KIM

  At first, I thought maybe the weird exhaustion from the night before was to blame for my odd actions. Now I’d clearly lost my damn mind. Devlin had always intimidated me. More than anybody I had ever worked with or for. But he’d never scared me. I knew that was what he wanted with the mask and the cranky-pants temper, but all it did was make me want to get to know him more. He was a puzzle that needed to be solved. Sadly, my attempt to not show fear while simultaneously being completely embarrassed and confused came out as nervous laughter. I was officially a hot mess.

  Maestro.

  He had reminded me. There was a dynamic. And not a kinky, fantasy role-playing sex dynamic. Gah! Why did I even make that analogy? Okay. Focus. No more fumbling, just answers.

  “Have you made your decision?” he asked avoiding my own question.

  “No. Not yet.”

  He blinked at me. It was really hard to read someone’s emotions when they only showed a quarter of their face. It was either squinty eyes or wide eyes. That being said, weren’t the eyes supposed to be the windows to the soul? In Devlin’s case, his window was closed. Or winterized. No. These windows were covered in blackout curtains. Okay, I needed to stop making analogies.

  Thankfully, the mask faux pas seemed to have been forgotten. His words weren’t so terse. Why was he wearing that damn mask? Why was I so drawn to it? Why was I so desperate to take it off? I had always been at the mercy of my curiosity. No. Focus. Maestro could fire me. Be a good cellist.

  “I was hoping to discuss what you had in mind,” I said but with a rise at the end, like it was more of a question. “Do I need to call for a ride home? Do you want to put on a shirt?”

  I like to think I saw the smallest hint of a smile in his eyes with that one.

  “No,” he stated blankly. “You’re staying here.”

  “What?” I asked. Maybe I was still dreaming.

  “Today will be a trial run. To help you decide. As you were supposed to do yesterday.”

  “Oh.” That was a fair offer. But I barely made it through the last five minutes unscathed. How would I handle almost a full day of his undivided attention? The thought of having to make a choice, having to decide right there and then, caused panic to cramp my insides. I couldn’t just decide. I just woke up. I was still half asleep. There was nothing I could do except stall.

  “I need to check my schedule.” Though I already knew it. It was Saturday, so swim, practice, and a free afternoon, which on this Saturday happened to include a SWS meeting.

  “Your schedule was cleared.” His gaze flicked to the side then back to me.

  I was beginning to feel the smallest hint of irritation. For many years, I’d let my parents and therapists make my choices for me. I’d grown to rely on it. But here was a new person in my life that was deciding things for me. The choice to accept his offer was mine. Even though it caused me panic, it was mine.

  “I don’t remember okaying that,” I said.

  “You were ther
e.” He cleared his throat and his hands started to ball. His own irritation was obviously growing. But what right did he have to be annoyed when I was the one whose life had to change?

  “Were my eyes open? Was I snoring? Was a tiny dribble of drool leaking from my mouth? Because those are all strong indications that I was, in fact, not capable of making a decision.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “It’s one day.”

  I muttered. “What about my SWS meeting? That was supposed to be at three. At my house.”

  “What organization is that?” Again, his gaze flicked to the side, avoiding me. Almost like he felt guilt. “I didn’t know about that.”

  I sucked my teeth as I thought. “Mm, it’s a book club of sorts. But more than that.”

  I propped my hands on my hips. I wasn’t exactly sure how to explain that we were all Jethro Winston’s exes and we got together to drink and talk shit about him as an excuse to try different activities. It was harmless fun, but admittedly, from the outside some saw us as a bunch of bitter rejects.

  Devlin wiped his palms down his jeans as he stood. “I’ll take you home. I thought that—”

  “Wait.” I stepped closer to him. I wasn’t sure what changed my mind. Maybe it was the flash of hurt that crossed his eyes. “I just need more time to decide. I’ll have a cup of coffee and think, okay? We will practice today, and I’ll decide?”

  His glare returned. His shoulders bunched. “What’s to decide? Other qualified people would love this opportunity.”

  “It’s a big decision. It’ll take time, commitment. I just need to think.” I was bristling too. “If other people are better suited, then why do you want me?” It was the question that had been burned into my mind since the beginning. Why me? Carla was far more qualified that I was. Or even Barry. I would have thought it was the solo that sold him, but that happened after he approached my parents. None of this made any sense.