Until You

by Janis Reams Hudson

  Amazed that she hadn’t noticed, Anna blinked at the four-drawer lateral file cabinet gracing the wall opposite her desk. “So we did.” How could she have missed it?

  “What gives?” Donna demanded. “This is totally out of character for you.”

  “It is?” Anna frowned. What did that say about her, that her co-worker considered a smile from Anna as out of character? Besides, she wasn’t about to admit that she was smiling about Bugs Bunny boxer shorts and having fallen into the toilet.

  Donna’s eyes widened. “Oh, my stars. It’s a man.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. What makes you say a thing like that?”

  “The blush on your cheeks, for one thing.”

  “Sunburn.”

  “No dice. You have to tell. Who is he? Where did you meet him? What’s he like?”

  “Donna—”

  “Anna.” Donna tapped her toe against the carpet. “You are the most levelheaded person I know. Your moods never change, you’re always just straight business. Always. You don’t have highs and lows like the rest of us mortals. Hell’s bells, you never even suffer from PMS. Now you’re listening to rock, getting sunburned, smiling, scowling now and evading my questions. It has to be a man.”

  Anna couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed.

  “Aha! I knew it.”

  Grinning, Anna sat at her desk and turned on her computer. “You don’t know anything. There’s nothing to know.” The truth of that wiped the smile from her face. There really was nothing to know. Not the way Donna meant it.

  “Uh-oh,” Donna said, noting the change in Anna’s expression. “You wanna talk about it?”

  Anna’s smile came back, bittersweet this time. “There’s nothing to tell.” He was on his way out of my life the day he came into it.

  Roast beef. That was the smell that greeted Anna when she stepped into the house that evening. Roast beef in the kitchen, scented candles beside her grandmother’s china and silver on the table, and flowers in the living room. A glorious bouquet of carnations, daisies and baby’s breath. Any single one of the surprises would have been enough to take her breath. Together, they made her want to cry.

  Who was she kidding? The flowers alone had her eyes misting. She’d never received flowers before. Never. Not from anyone. A bittersweet ache bloomed in her chest.

  Oh, she could get used to this, to Gavin and his teasing fun, his tender care of her. His sweet, sweet apologies. That’s what this was, she knew, an apology for leaving the seat up. Or maybe for laughing at her, she thought, getting her balance back.

  “Gavin?”

  Her assumption was proved correct a moment later when a white flag—a dish towel—fluttered in the doorway to the hall. “Am I forgiven?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with narrowed eyes when he stepped into the room looking like that twelve-year-old boy they’d talked about. A very sheepish twelve-year-old boy. “Are you going to do it again?”

  “No, ma’am.” It wasn’t hard to tell that he was fighting a smile. “My mother would never forgive me if I got myself murdered for doing something she worked years to break me of.”

  Still trying to look stern, Anna crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sure she’d be pleased to hear it.” Then she gave up and smiled. “You’ve been busy. Roast beef?”

  “Another one of my mother’s lessons.”

  “And the flowers are beautiful. Thank you.”

  She was in for more surprises, she soon learned. In her bedroom was another floral surprise, this one a potted fuchsia azalea in full bloom.

  “The flowers in the living room are for leaving the seat up,” Gavin said from the door.

  “And these?”

  “For laughing.”

  The bachelor buttons in the bathroom were for him, he said, to remind him to put the seat down.

  Anna was delighted and charmed. He wouldn’t even allow her to help clean up after dinner, but escorted her to the living room, where he turned on the History Channel for her to watch. He knew how she liked documentaries.

  That the one on the air just then happened to be the history of the Harley-Davidson motorcycle was a mere coincidence. Or so he claimed with a perfectly innocent blink.

  When he finished in the kitchen he joined her on the couch. He didn’t even swear, although she was sure he wanted to, when he whacked his shin on the coffee table.

  She was amazed when he pointed out that the motorcycle featured on the current segment was the same model as Ben’s.

  “You’re kidding. Ben’s motorcycle made it into a documentary?”

  “His model. Look at it. You can tell it’s the same model.”

  “I hate to sound like a cliché, but they all look pretty much alike to me.”

  Gavin rolled his eyes. “The Electra Glide that Ben rides is one they upgraded in 1966. Boosted the horsepower. There were less expensive bikes on the market, even from Harley.”

  Anna gave a crooked smile. “Knowing Daddy, he probably went for the most expensive he could get his hands on, just for the bragging rights.”

  When the program was over Anna turned to Gavin. “Did you get any news today about Ben?”

  Gavin shook his head. “My guess is he’s about ready to leave San Francisco by now, if he hasn’t already.”

  “Where would he go from there?”

  “Tahoe. Reno. Carson City.”

  “To gamble.”

  Gavin let out a long breath. “That’s my guess. I’ll keep asking around. I remembered a guy I know in Reno and e-mailed him today. If Ben shows up at any of the casinos there, Jerry will let me know.”

  Discouraged and worried, Anna leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

  “Hey, come on,” Gavin urged. “He’s all right. He’ll either turn up here any day, or I’ll get word that he’s back in L.A. Don’t worry about him.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  Gavin stroked her cheek with the tip of one finger. “I guess you can’t. Neither can I, really. But let’s think about something else. Worrying won’t do either one of us any good.”

  One corner of Anna’s mouth curved up. “Now you tell me. You mean I’ve had it wrong all these years?”

  “Yep. Ice cream, that’s the answer.”

  “I don’t have any ice cream.”

  “Ah, but I do. Or rather, Ben does. Since he’s not here, I say we eat it.”

  Anna opened her eyes. “That sounds like an excellent idea.” She pushed herself up from the couch and went to the kitchen.

  Gavin rose and followed. “I’m glad you liked that music so much.”

  She took two cereal bowls out of the cabinet. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were humming just now.”

  “I was? I guess so.” She smiled.

  “‘Angel of Music,’ huh?”

  “It makes me wish I had Ben’s talent for playing by ear.” She set the bowls on the counter and placed two spoons beside them. “He could listen to a song one time, then sit down and play it on the piano.”

  “He’s got a gift, I won’t deny that. You could learn, take lessons,” he suggested.

  “They don’t give playing-by-ear lessons, as far as I know.”

  “I meant just learn to play the piano.”

  Something flickered in Anna’s eyes, but she lowered her gaze before Gavin could interpret it.

  “Learn to play?” she asked. “Me?”

  “Sure. You take some lessons, learn to play, then you could get the sheet music to Phantom of the Opera and play it whenever you wanted.”

  She blinked up at him, took a step toward the den, toward the piano, as if just the thought of learning to play lured her there. “You think I could?”

  “I know you could.” He walked with her into the den, to the piano. “Look how smart you are with numbers. You’d pick this up in a snap.” Inwardly he winced at what that linear, analytical mind of hers would do with sheet music. He knew she could learn t
o read and play it, but would any of the composer’s emotions come through her add-’em-up-and-total-’em thought processes?

  She lifted the top of the piano bench and looked down at the two stacks, one of lesson books, the other of sheet music. “You really think I could learn?”

  “I really think you could learn.”

  The top piece of sheet music was Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto no. 2. She picked it up. “I could read music and play something like this?”

  “Sure,” he thought with amused apologies to Tchaikovsky. “You’d have to start with the lesson books, the basics, learn the notes and all. You could work your way up to something like that if you practiced a lot.” He didn’t want to give her the mistaken impression that it would be easy. But he didn’t want to discourage her by telling her that it would be years before she would be able to do justice to the piece in her hands.

  She opened the sheet music and stared at it. Over her shoulder he could see it was a difficult arrangement, no simple beginner’s version. Assuming Ben had played that piece, and knowing that with Anna hounding him, holding the Harley over his head, he had probably played it damn well, impressed Gavin to no end.

  As if in a daze, Anna pulled out the bench. She sat down, placed the music on the piano and opened the keyboard cover. “You really think I could learn to play this?”

  Gavin bit back a smile. “Someday.” She looked as if she were about to place her hands on the keys and make beautiful music.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Anna, you’re not a stupid person. I think you could learn to do anything you set your mind to.”

  “Even something as complicated as this?”

  “How much more complicated can it be than, say, an income statement or a balance sheet? You learned how to do those, you can learn this.”

  “Well,” she said hesitantly, studying the complicated notes on the pages opened in front of her. “If you really think I could, I guess I could give it a try.” She placed her hands on the keys.

  The opening bars of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto no. 2 were powerful. Stirring. And perfectly played.

  Anna paused. Peering up over her shoulder at him, she batted her eyes. “Like that?”

  “Why, you fraud.”

  Her grin was evil. “Remember the garden hose? And the toilet seat?” She batted her eyes again and showed her teeth. “Gotcha.”

  “You low-down, sneaky, lying fraud.”

  Her eyes widened in outrage. “I never lied. You never asked me if I knew how to play.”

  “You deliberately let me make a fool out of myself.”

  Her teeth flashed again in a grin. “Yes. I did.”

  “Proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, I am. I’ve never been very good at practical jokes. Maybe you just bring out the best in me. Don’t take it too hard,” she added, patting his hand. “People often assume I’m a no-talent dud because I enjoy something as boring as bookkeeping.”

  Gavin shook his head and chuckled. “You sure reeled me in.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  He shook his head again. “I don’t get it. I thought you didn’t like music.”

  “I never said I didn’t like it, just that I never had time to listen to it.”

  “To hear Ben tell it, when your parents were alive the house was always filled with music.”

  “It was.” She looked away.

  “But?”

  “But nothing. Mama and Daddy listened to music all day and all night. To the exclusion of much else. They used to spend hours, when they were home, just sitting around listening to music.”

  “While you did what?”

  “It’s not important, Gavin.”

  “Tell me. What did you do while they listened to music?”

  She gave a little shrug of one shoulder. “Cleaned house, did laundry, cooked.”

  “How old were you?”

  She shrugged again. “About ten when I started taking care of things.”

  “I guess they more or less left you with a distaste for music. Yet you made Ben stick with it.”

  “It wasn’t that I disliked music. I just resented the time wasted listening to it when so many other things needed to be done. I never had that kind of time to waste. I guess I deliberately blocked music from my life to prove I wasn’t like them.”

  “But you didn’t,” he protested. “You still play the piano.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re a musician. You know how it is.”

  “Tell me how it is with you.”

  “It’s just...different. Listening to music is passive. Playing it has nothing to do with that. When I play, I’m not wasting time, I’m in control. It’s my outlet. When I’m stressed or frustrated or sad or happy...I can express all that through the keyboard. I can’t express anything by listening.”

  “Play the rest of it,” Gavin said.

  “This?” She waved a hand at the sheet music. “You don’t really want to hear this.”

  “I say I do.”

  “Fine.” With a shrug, she turned back to the keyboard.

  She started over from the beginning. She didn’t merely strike the correct notes. He knew this piece, had heard it played by pianists, by symphony orchestras. He’d heard it performed by the best. All of that was wiped from his mind as Anna blew him away. His skin prickled, as though lightning were building up to strike.

  She played with such power. Such passion. She quite literally held him in awe with her talent and the emotion that came through the keyboard.

  She wasn’t even reading the music. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back, neck arched, as she poured herself, her soul, into the music.

  Gavin didn’t think old Pyotr Tchaikovsky particularly had sex in mind when he penned those particular notes, but sex was what went through Gavin’s mind, through his blood, as Anna played. Her passion for the music became his passion for her. His blood sang with it, his loins grew tight and heavy with it. Whether it was the look of intense concentration on her face—a look a woman might have as she rose above a man in the heat of lovemaking—or the sheer passion of the music itself, Gavin’s heart pounded with the nearly irresistible urge to take her right then and there. Against the piano, on the bench, on the floor. Anywhere. Everywhere. He didn’t care.

  Never mind that she wasn’t his type, that he had no intention of settling down. This wasn’t about settling down, it was about sex, raw and primitive.

  The room fairly shook with power, with passion. When the last notes died away, the only sound left was that of Gavin’s harsh breathing.

  Anna slowly opened her eyes and turned to face him, more than a little wary of his reaction. She knew that she tended to get carried away when she played, especially that particular piece, which was her favorite for the emotional outlet it provided. “What do you think?”

  “I think...” His hands cupped her face, sending a shudder down her spine and pulling her from the bench to stand in front of him. “You’re magnificent.”

  Something in his eyes, the heated look in them, and in his voice, the dark rough velvet of it, made her breath catch in her throat.

  “And I think that if you don’t like what I’m about to do, I’ll be ordering up more flowers, but this has been coming on for days, and now it just has to happen.” He dipped his head toward her.

  Mercy. He was going to kiss her. She’d thought of it, of what it might be like, for days. She’d wanted it, she could admit to herself. But only now, as his strong hands cradled her cheeks and his warm breath brushed her face, did she understand her own need. His touch made the muscles low in her abdomen clench.

  Softly, like the wings of a butterfly, his lips brushed hers. Once. Twice. Her heart stopped.

  With the tip of his tongue, he stroked her lips. “Open,” he whispered. “Open for me, Anna, let me taste you.”

  Taste. Oh, yes, she wanted to taste him. She parted her lips and welc
omed him.

  The unpracticed innocence of the way she opened, took him in, shook Gavin. Her taste enticed him. Her heat burned him all the way to his bones. Some part of himself deep inside that he hadn’t known was empty began to fill with her, with her warmth, her generosity, her honest, mind-numbing response to his kiss.

  Anna.

  He took the kiss deeper, devouring her, taking all she gave, giving back all he had to give. He’d had no idea he had so much to give a woman. He forced himself to keep his hands on her face for fear of taking too much of her, but he wanted to touch her, all of her, everywhere. In every way.

  Anna.

  Her arms slid around his waist, her hands splayed across his back. Yes! Hold me. Hold on to me.

  She did. She held on for dear life, because if she didn’t, Anna knew she would slither to the floor in a puddle of need. She’d been kissed before, but never like this. Never with such tenderness, yet so forcefully. No hands had ever touched her with so much gentleness, yet were so possessive. Her blood had never sang this way, her heart had never soared. He was claiming her, and she was on fire. It both terrified and thrilled her. Emboldened, and humbled. She could taste his need of her. Or was that her need of him?

  What matter, as long as it never ended. As long as this exquisite, tormenting pleasure went on forever.

  But it didn’t, of course. And when he took his lips from hers it felt as though he were taking some deep, vital part of her with him.

  Gavin felt her shudder. He slid his arms around her and pulled her close against his chest, reveling in the feel of her. Never had he felt so much from just a kiss. Not ever. And it shook him.

  She buried her face against his shoulder. He needed to see her, to look into her eyes, but his need to hold her tight was stronger. As was his fear. If he looked into her eyes and didn’t see the same wonder he was feeling, it just might kill him. So he played the coward and held her close.

  “Do I need to call the florist?” he managed, his breath held in fear of her answer.

  With her heart still pounding and her breath still rasping in her throat, Anna forced herself to lift her head and look at him. She wasn’t a particularly brave woman, but never had so much been at stake. Her voice came out in a whisper. “If you mean to apologize, I’ll be insulted.”