"I hope you've only heard glowing reports," he said with a wink.
"In fact, that's all they've been," Vera said. "Glowing." There was a hint of amusement in her voice. "But now that I've finally seen you, I don't know that I trust my sources."
Misha laughed. "And why's that?"
"You're surely a little too good-looking not to've been up to a little mischief making," she replied.
Sonia laughed lightly. "I think I'll leave you two alone, if that's okay," she said. "I have to see about Dmitri."
"That's fine, Mrs. Levin," Vera said.
"Yes, Mama," Misha said. "You'd better go see what Dad's up to."
"I'll see you again before leaving, Vera," Sonia said, and then she turned and was gone.
Vera looked at Misha. "I hope I didn't offend your mother," she said without conviction. "I mean about the mischief making."
"I don't think so," Misha said. "She's not a woman who is easily offended."
"I wouldn't think so," Vera said. "I mean, with all you've been through over the years."
"I guess it does tend to ... to harden one," Misha said.
"Ummm . .." Vera looked up at him with what Misha thought was surely a challenging expression.
"So are you in town from school?" he asked, trying to make conversation. For the first time in his life he felt uncomfortable in a woman's presence. He sensed that Vera Bunim was not only beautiful but also extremely intelligent, insightful, and worldly-wise. She was not, he was certain, a woman to toy with.
"Yes," she said. "I just finished studying at the Courthault."
"So you're in town for a while?" Misha asked.
"I'm going to be here all summer," Vera replied. "Well, here and out in the Hamptons." She looked at him again, riveting him with those icy blue eyes. "What about you?"
"Yes," Misha said. "I'll be here for the summer at least. Then I'll probably start going on tour in the fall. Winter at the latest."
"Oh," she said playfully. "So you're finally going to let the world hear you?"
"Yes," Misha said. "It's time."
"I enjoyed your concert, by the way," Vera said. "Immensely. It really was a brilliant performance."
"Thanks," Misha said. "I appreciate that coming from you."
"Oh?" she said. "Why? I mean, coming from me?"
"Because I'm sure that you have very discriminating taste, for one thing," Misha said. "And since your family has helped us so much—"
"Please," Vera interjected, "let's don't bring that up. They were able to do it, and you deserved it. Case closed. Okay?"
"Okay," Misha said. He was somewhat surprised that she would want to sweep her family's patronage under the rug, but he also was relieved. "Case closed."
"Oh, God," Vera said. "Here comes that old dragon, Annabelle Lawrence. Let's make a run for it, shall we?"
"Sure," Misha said, laughing.
"Follow me," Vera said, and she turned on her heel, rushing toward a door that led into a hallway. Misha followed in her wake, enchanted and a little mystified by this angelic-looking creature, who he was somehow certain was anything but an angel.
In the hallway Vera turned to him. "Why don't we go upstairs and talk? Is that okay?"
"Sure," he said, intrigued more than ever, and beginning to feel a slight stirring in his loins.
She led him to a small elevator, exquisitely paneled in mahogany, and they ascended in it to the apartment's third floor. He followed her down a hallway to a door, which Vera opened, and he went in after her.
The room was obviously her private domain, with pale gray French boiserie-paneled walls, a huge, draped canopy bed, an Aubusson rug with pale creams, pinks, greens, and raspberry in it, a massive carved marble fireplace mantel, and French doors leading out to a terrace.
"Let's go outside," she said, leading the way.
Misha stepped out onto a lushly planted terrace. Set under its enormous trees, surrounded by flowers and shrubbery, were a table with a large umbrella, chairs, and chaise longues, and under a canvas awning extending from the building were sofas, more chairs, and a drinks cart.
Misha walked to the parapet and looked out over the park. The city's lights twinkled magically in the distance, like diamonds in the dark. He could see Central Park South, his street, to the southwest, and straight ahead, the majestic towers of Central Park West.
She came up beside him. "It's beautiful from here, isn't it?" she said.
"Yes," Misha said, looking at her, standing there so closely beside him. The wind, which seemed much more powerful up here than down on the street, was whipping loose strands of her hair about her face, only enhancing her breathtaking beauty.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked. "A glass of wine? Some more champagne?"
"You have some here?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," she said. "I sometimes have a glass while I dress for evenings out." She went to the drinks cart and expertly pulled a silver-topped cork—in the shape of a tricorn hat, he noticed—from a bottle of already opened champagne. Filling two flutes with the golden liquid, she brought them over to the parapet and handed him one.
"Cheers," she said, touching his glass with hers. "I'm glad I've finally met the great Misha Levin."
"Cheers," Misha echoed, returning her gaze. "And I'm glad to have finally met the beautiful Vera Bunim."
She smiled, and they took sips of their champagne.
"It's odd," she said, "that our families have such a history, but we've never even met before. Isn't it?"
"Yes," Misha said. "I didn't know what to expect. I had no idea you were so ...well, so beautiful."
"Thank you," she said, meaning it. "I knew you were enormously talented, and I'd heard you were very good-looking."
She paused, looking out over the city, and took another sip of her champagne. Then she gazed up into his eyes again. "But I didn't know that you would be quite as handsome and ...virile-looking as you are."
Misha felt that powerful and unmistakable stirring in his loins once again. Somehow or other, he thought, Vera Bunim knows exactly what buttons to push.
"What did you expect?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow questioningly. "A pale, skinny nerd who never sees the out-of-doors? Somebody gay?"
"No," Vera said, "although there are some nerdy pianists like you say and some gay ones, too. Quite virile- looking gay ones at that. It's just that you're so obviously, so definitely ...well . . ."
"Hetero?" he supplied.
"Yes," she said. "At least I think so."
"What if I weren't?" he asked.
"I would still be extremely attracted to you," Vera said with surprising bluntness. "But I wouldn't bother pursuing you, knowing that it would be a waste of time."
"You're a practical lady, I see," Misha said.
"Yes," Vera said softly, "actually I am. A very practical woman. When I see something I want, I usually don't hesitate to go after it."
"A woman as beautiful as you are, with all your money," Misha said, "could have anything in the world she wants."
"Not necessarily," Vera said, looking back out over the park. "I'm not going to play the poor little rich girl, because I'm lucky as hell and I know it. But sometimes girls who have my looks and my money don't get what they want."
"I have a feeling that you will," Misha said.
She turned her intense gaze back on him. "Do you mean that?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, shifting closer to her at the parapet, brushing against the softness of her chiffon gown. He was so close to her that her heavenly scent—flowery and sweet, but not cloying—was intoxicating. He set down his flute of champagne and slid an arm around her pale creamy shoulders, drawing her to him.
Vera shivered at his touch, a thrill rushing through her that she had never experienced before. It was a sensation that she had somehow felt certain—had known in her very being—that this man would arouse in her. She put down her champagne and looked up at his dark face.
Misha looked down at her longingly, her
response to him stirring the heat within him. He took her in his arms and began to kiss her tenderly, inhaling the sweetness of her femininity, savoring her delicate lips, then exploring her receptive mouth.
Vera gave herself up to him, lost in his embrace, anxious to know this man. She felt his swollen manhood pressing against her, and shivered again, almost gasping aloud.
Misha lingered at her lips for a moment longer; then his mouth trailed to her ears and down to her neck, devouring the taste of her, the beautiful creaminess of her. His hands began to explore her breasts, slowly, gently, stroking them through the almost sheer white chiffon of her bodice. They moved down to her buttocks, pressing her against him as they both became more feverish in their desire.
Vera drew back a moment. "Let's go over there," she said, indicating one of the large white sofas under the awning.
He took her hand in his and led her to the sofa, where he took her in his arms again, then began to unzip the back of her dress. When it slipped to the terrace, she stood before him almost naked.
He drew in a quick breath. "You're so very beautiful," he said. "So very beautiful and desirable." He took her in his arms again, kissing her harder, ravenous for her body and its secrets. He unhooked her bra and let it slip to the terrace, then held her firm breasts in his hands, leaning down to kiss first one, then the other.
Vera shivered anew, enthralled in the passion that was driving them both relentlessly. She relished his tongue on her nipples, kissing and licking, before he went down on a knee and began to kiss her thighs, all the while sliding her panty hose down with a hand.
When they were all the way down, Misha could barely wait for Vera to step out of her shoes and slip the hose off her feet. He gazed at her pale golden mound, then his mouth inexorably found it, his tongue licking there, tasting her, adoring her, and finally entering her most private place, exploring it in a rapture of desire to have this woman, to know her as no other.
A quiver shot through Vera's entire body, and she didn't think she could wait another moment to have this man inside her. "Please," she rasped. "Oh, Misha, please . . ."
He quickly got to his feet and tore off his jacket, then practically ripped off his tie, suspenders, and shirt. He bent over, removing his shoes and socks, and then stood up and undid his trousers. His tumescence sprang out as his trousers slid to the floor. He was wearing no underwear.
Vera gasped aloud and reached out with a hand to touch his awesome manhood, encircling it, then stroking it. Misha jerked at her touch.
"Oh, my God," he groaned, "I've never been so excited in my life." He eased her down onto the couch, where she spread out ready to receive him, and he mounted her, both of them in a frenzy of desire such as they had never before known.
He rode her mercilessly, and she responded as she had never responded to anyone before, almost screaming as wave after wave of ecstatic spasms rent through her, carrying her, lifting her, to carnal heights she had only dreamed of before this night.
Misha suddenly stopped and groaned, then plunged in her to the hilt, unable to hold back any longer, almost bellowing as he released himself in her, in torrent after torrent, until his passion was spent. He collapsed atop her, hugging her to him almost violently, never wanting to let her go now that he had found her, already dreaming anxiously of the next time, and the next time after that.
Vera relished the weight of his body atop hers, the feel of him still inside her. She felt like a new and entirely different woman, fulfilled and complete, as if some vital missing part of the puzzle that was her being, her soul, had at last been found and made her whole. And she was certain that this was only the beginning, not the end.
Chapter Fourteen
"The Levin residence," Katya Petrovna said into the telephone receiver in her thickly accented Russian. She listened for a moment, then repeated the same litany she had been using day after day.
"I'm sorry, but no one is available at the moment. I will have to take your name and number and have someone get back to you as soon as possible." She then began scribbling furiously on a notepad in front of her on the desk.
"Yes, yes," she said. "Ciao."
She replaced the receiver and looked up from the desk at Misha. Her beautiful face was tired, and her large brown eyes were beginning to lose some of their sparkle.
"Call number twenty-nine this morning," she said, brushing a tress of chestnut hair out of her eyes with a long, red-lacquered fingernail. She puckered her full, sensuous lips slightly. "It's unbelievable, this telephone. I don't have time to take a break."
"Who was it?" Misha asked, staring at the hint of cleavage exposed by the blouse she had unbuttoned as the morning wore on.
"A conductor," she said. "From ...Munich." She slid her notepad across the desk to him. "There's the information," she said.
Misha glanced at it, then handed it back to her, looking into her heavily made-up eyes. "Listen, why don't you let the machine pick up for a while, Katya? Have a cup of coffee?"
"Do you want some, too?" she asked, smiling.
"Sure," Misha said.
Katya got up from behind the desk and headed for the kitchen.
Misha watched her go, taking pleasure in her movements. She moves like a cat, he thought. A jungle cat, at that. Lithe, sensuous, and a little ...predatory.
He picked up her notepad and began flipping through it, looking at the list of this morning's calls. The telephone had been ringing off the hook for days, and Sonia had finally hired Katya Petrovna, a recent Russian emigre she'd heard about through friends, to field calls. Agents, producers, recording company executives, entertainment lawyers, and promoters of every stripe had been relentless in their pursuit of Misha since the concert at Carnegie Recital Hall.
He tossed the notepad back on the desk again and walked to the kitchen, where Katya was making coffee. She looked up at him and smiled, holding up a hand and crooking a finger, summoning him to her. He walked over to her, and she put her arms around his waist, pulling him up against her.
"Ummm," she cooed, "you feel so nice, Misha."
He leaned down, kissing her neck, already aroused by her seductive wiles. He placed his hands on the kitchen counter, one to either side of her, virtually pinning her to the counter, pushing hard against her.
"Why don't we go upstairs?" he whispered, nibbling at her neck.
"We can't now," Katya said with a pout, pulling back from him. "Your mother will be home soon."
"Come on," Misha persisted, "we can hurry, like last time."
Suddenly Katya was all business. "No," she said, no longer teasing him. "I have to get back to work. You forget I need this job, and I don't want Sonia to be angry with me."
"Ah, shit," Misha swore, feeling the aching need in his groin.
"The coffee's ready," Katya said. "Let me go."
He pulled back, miffed with her for exciting him, and with himself for responding so quickly. He was even miffed with his mother for being due back home from her teaching duties at Julliard.
The buzzer sounded shrilly in the kitchen, startling them both, and Misha went to answer it while Katya poured their coffees.
"What is it, Sam?" he asked in an irritated voice while depressing the answer button.
"Visitor, Misha," the doorman answered. "It's Manny Cygelman."
"Send him on up," Misha said.
"You got it," Sam said.
Manny, along with Sasha, had become a fixture around the Levin household, but Sam never let even the most familiar face upstairs without first obtaining permission.
Misha turned and looked at Katya, but she seemed to be making a point of ignoring him. He sighed and went to the entry hall, where he unlocked the door and waited for Manny. He heard the elevator, and soon Manny stepped out of the car, dressed to the nines as usual.
"Well, old boy," he said in his most affected Etonian accent, "didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?"
"No, Manny," Misha said. "Come on in."
"I think you
'll be glad I stopped by," Manny said.
"Where's Sasha?" Misha asked.
"He's at home, doing some paperwork for me," Manny said.
In the living room they sat on a couch, and Manny opened his briefcase and began riffling through papers. "I have some figures here that I want you to take a look at," he said.
Katya came in from the kitchen, two mugs of coffee in hand. "Hi, Manny," she said, greeting him like an old friend. He had been to the apartment nearly every day since she had begun working there. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked, handing Misha his.
"Please, Katya," he said, looking up. "That would be splendid."
"Lots of cream, two sugars?" she said.
"Lovely," Manny said, taking some papers out of the briefcase. He turned to Misha. "Look," he said. "Remember that recording deal I discussed with you? About BBR? Brighton Beach Recordings?"
"Yes," Misha said. "What about it?"
"Take a look at these figures," Manny said. He handed Misha a sheet of paper with figures and notations carefully jotted down in black ink. "This," he said, putting his index finger on a heavily circled figure, "is the advance they're offering." He looked at Misha, a Cheshire cat's grin spreading across his lips.
Misha looked up at him, a surprised expression on his face. "You've got to be kidding," he said quietly.
Manny shook his head. "No," he said, "I'm not kidding."
"But this is fantastic!" Misha said excitedly, realization beginning to dawn. "More than I ever dreamed of!"
Katya came back in with Manny's coffee and handed it to him.
"Thanks, Katya," he said.
"You're welcome," she replied, and went back over to the desk, where she started playing messages back and taking notes.
"I think you'll like the royalty rate, too," Manny said smugly. He pointed at another circled figure.
"Manny!" Misha threw his arms around his friend's neck and hugged him, slapping him on the back. "You're hired!" he cried. "You're hired!"
"Ah, ah, God!" Manny gasped. "Let go, Misha! You're squeezing the life out of me! You'll make me spill my coffee!"
Misha slapped him on the back once more, then let him go. "This is fantastic! How did you do it?"
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