A Dance for Him

by Richard, Lara

  She smiles at me, ever so sweetly, and disappears into her room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  What a lovely, kind, sweet man Maestro Moretti is. And that’s quite apart from his being absolutely delicious.

  I was in complete despair when I called him, and then when he arrived I suddenly felt terrible for bothering him for something that I probably could deal with on my own. It’s funny, I’m not usually that helpless, but the prospect of having to hire a piano mover and find a place to stay that would house the piano, both at such short notice, just made me panic.

  Well, that and I’m sure the creepy landlord didn’t help either, that was certainly a bit of a shock. I’ve never had to deal with anything that blatant and - well, just creepy.

  But now I feel safe. There’s something about the Maestro that just makes me feel safe, I don’t know what it is exactly, but it does.

  Safe - and, somehow, taken care of.

  I haven’t felt like that in a long time, not since dad took to the bottle and disappeared on me …

  It’s funny, here I am, freaking out over the insinuations of the creepy landlord not so long ago, and yet now I’m suddenly hoping that maybe staying at Maestro Moretti’s will make it easier for him to make a pass at me, at some point over the summer if not tonight. But there it is, and suddenly I’ve gone from feeling thoroughly grossed out to feeling that strange familiar tingling between my legs.

  Oh, the Maestro does something to me, there’s no question of it! The way he took charge of everything, didn’t even hesitate before inviting me to stay with him, the way he held my hand and looked at me …

  And he kissed my hand! I mean, oh my God, the great Lorenzo Moretti kissed my hand!

  I feel like some silly teenage fangirl, I practically had to restrain myself from dancing with joy when that happened, and the moment I got into my room and knew for sure that he wouldn’t see me I kissed the spot on my hand that he’d kissed.

  Oh God wouldn’t it be wonderful if he were to kiss me a bit more directly tonight, and maybe not just once …

  Ah, what shall I take with me for tonight. The dress I was going to change into for dinner, certainly. And then something a bit naughty for later in the evening, perhaps. A shame I haven’t got any serious lingerie, I should probably remedy that tomorrow. I’ll just take this little white cotton nightie, it’s short and relatively flimsy. And something skimpy for tomorrow.

  The weather’s rather hot at the moment, so even if he doesn’t make a move tonight I’ll still have an excuse to wear, oh, a little bit of nothing when I see him tomorrow. Which should be interesting.

  He did stare so very hard at me this morning, I’m sure he quite liked that ensemble …

  But I mustn’t keep him waiting too long. All I need apart from the clothes are a pair of lacy panties, some makeup, my stiletto heels, something to wash my face with, maybe a bit of scent … I’ll just throw everything into a shopping bag, grab my handbag and my keys, and off I go, whee!

  So now everything’s settled, my improvised overnight bag has been dropped off, and Aurelia has my apartment key.

  She was very sweet and reassuring, I assume - well, I hope! - that that means she’s not involved with him, because I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t have cottoned to my more indecent designs on the Maestro, not when I can barely take my eyes off him, not when I can barely keep myself from smiling goofily whenever I study his sculpted profile, trying to fix every angle in my memory, just because he’s so utterly magnificent …

  And certainly not when he tells her to fix up the guest room for me, kisses my hand (again!) and looks so tenderly and hungrily into my eyes.

  No, he’s definitely not even bothering to hide anything, and she doesn’t seem to mind at all, so they are probably not involved after all - hurrah!

  When Aurelia offers to show me up to my room, I ask Maestro Moretti if he would mind my changing into an outfit more suitable for tonight.

  He beams. “Of course, of course, my dear, take as much time as you like.”

  As I go up the stairs, I feel his eyes on me, an intuition confirmed when I look back at him - he’s staring at me so intensely that I can’t help but immediately blush and look down, temporarily unnerved (if also incredibly turned on) by the ardor of his gaze.

  There is a part of me that hopes he’s staring at me like that because he’s checking out my ass and enjoying the view …

  “Here’s your room,” says Aurelia, interrupting my naughty reverie, and with a start I realise that we’re on the other side of the floor from his study, and that across from my room is what is obviously his bedroom - the door’s open, and I can see not just a bed but also a couple of shirts and a tie flung over a nearby chair.

  His bedroom! The very thought of it causes an involuntary frisson in me.

  This does not go unnoticed by Aurelia - she discreetly follows the trajectory of my gaze and says: “Yes, that’s the Maestro’s room,” in a kindly tone that suggests she’s read my mind.

  For some reason I think I should feel mortified for being such a shameless hussy, for not bothering to conceal my extracurricular interest in Maestro Moretti …

  And yet I don’t, not one bit. I figure it’s about time someone made a woman of me, and if this someone happens to be Maestro Moretti I shall be a very lucky woman indeed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  This girl will either make me very happy this summer, or she’ll be the death of me. I’m pacing up and down as I wait for her, unable to think about anything but how she looked at me, how she leaned into my hand when I (all too briefly!) touched her back, as though she wanted more.

  I wanted more, too - her skin was so soft, so smooth, so inviting, and it wouldn’t have taken very much to tug at and undo that flimsy knot that holds her top together just enough to cover those pretty tits of hers.

  But of course Aurelia was around.

  I think she’s already figured it out - the other day when she mentioned “Signorina Courtenay” to me I turned completely red and I swear a hint of a smirk crossed her face for the briefest of moments. I mean, it’s not like she’d be shocked or anything, but I’d rather she not know for now, at least until such time as bedding the lovely Evie becomes a fait accompli rather than a mere aspiration - which will be soon, I hope, or I’ll run mad at this rate.

  What I can’t get over is how sweet this little Evie is, how grateful for this trifling favor - I’ve dealt with enough temperamental, demanding diva types to appreciate how different she is in this respect. Besides, it isn’t exactly the most altruistic of favors, after all …

  Because I’d be lying if I denied that the idea of having her so close by turns me on. It’s true I will probably not get very much done at this rate, especially if she keeps walking around the place in exquisitely slutty outfits like the one she’s been wearing today - although better that she do that here than in some other place, where she might attract attention of the sleazier sort, like with this rascally landlord!

  Such a strange, charming girl, so young and unworldly and innocent-looking on one hand, and yet with untold depths suggestive of a certain perverse precocity …

  Oh my God she’s just walked out of her room and is coming downstairs now, looking utterly enchanting and provocative. The saucy ingénue of earlier today appears to have morphed into an elegant woman of the world - or, perhaps more precisely, a sweet young thing playing at being an elegant woman of the world. She’s left her luxuriant hair loose around her bare shoulders, and is in a tiny black dress that’s so tight it caresses her every curve.

  I can already imagine unzipping it and easing it off her. As much skin as she’s already showing, I’d like nothing better than to see her naked loveliness in all its glory …

  My cock, so well-exercised in the last two days, engorges yet again at that thought, which is mildly embarrassing given that we’re about to go out, but the walking will probably provide some relief.

  She approaches, looking slightly tal
ler than usual in her stilettos.

  It’s probably a good thing I’ve more or less given up trying to not have an erection around her …

  I can’t restrain myself from grinning like a fatuous idiot at her as I say “Hello, Evie,” in what comes out as a hoarse whisper, and offer her my arm.

  She looks up at me, wide-eyed, as she slips her slender hand onto my arm, and for some reason, that simple gesture leaves me smitten. I mean, I’ve wanted to have her since I met her, but this is something more than just that, I don’t know what exactly, and I certainly don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve never met and bedded lots of beautiful women before, and if I wanted to be cynical about it, it’s probably Lorenzo Moretti the conductor who is causing her to stare back into my eyes in that mesmerizing way, not Lorenzo Moretti the man, even if I am a rather excellent specimen, if I do say so myself.

  But I don’t want to be cynical.

  As I walk out of the palazzo with her, we glance at each other again and smile and blush, and my mind starts wandering to thoughts of what life would be like with her on a long-term basis.

  It seems insane, given her youth, given my work schedule during the season proper, given that she’ll probably be embarking on a brilliant career of her own within the next few years or so.

  And yet it feels like somehow I could, with her, be happy for once …

  It’s crazy, it’s the first time in a long time I’ve ever thought about being with anyone on a long-term basis. And by “a long time”, I mean twenty, almost twenty-one years …

  CHAPTER TEN

  And so here we are at the restaurant. It’s now pretty much beyond doubt that this is a date of some sort, he kept glancing at me on the way here and beaming at me every time I turned to meet his gaze, and his eyes were soft and sparkling in a way that I’ve never seen in any of his photographs or videos.

  He looks even more handsome than he usually does when he smiles like that, if it’s even possible for him to be even more handsome than he is. I know that must sound a bit silly, and yet that’s how it seems to me …

  And he’s definitely being more touchy-feely.

  On our way here he put his hand on mine a few times, as though to press it against his forearm, and when we were waiting for the maître d’, he looked at me, smiled, and brushed a stray curl from my face.

  That gesture in itself made me tremble with anticipation - there’s something about the way he touches me that just makes me want more - but what really made my knees go all wobbly again was the way he looked intently at me afterwards, as though to gauge my reaction to his advance, and then grinned roguishly when I smiled shyly at him.

  And then when we were being shown in to our table he gently rested his hand on the small of my back - which was bare, I should add, because while the dress I’m wearing is cut pretty low in front, it’s cut really low in the back - and I swear he caressed it ever so subtly before he looked at me again and smiled, a lovely smile replete with meaning.

  My panties were soaked before I’d even sat down, and considering how short my dress is I can’t help but wonder if he caught more than a whiff of my arousal - he must have, he’s grinning like the Cheshire cat, he must know he’s turning me on.

  I guess tonight’s the night I’ll be turning in my V-card …

  But right now there’s the waiter, saying something or other, asking if we would like to order.

  We both start slightly and smile at the realization that we’ve been staring goofily at each other since we sat down.

  “Not yet,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on me as he runs a finger suggestively against the border of the menu, “we haven’t looked yet.”

  When the waiter asks if we’d like to order a drink he gestures towards me and smiles when I ask for an orange juice.

  “Ah, of course, a nice American girl,” he says, presumably alluding to the difference in legal drinking age between the US and Italy.

  I laugh, because I’ve been feeling so naughty this whole time, albeit in a different context, that “nice” seems so incongruous a term, especially when my breasts are in continual danger of liberating themselves from my dress, and I don’t even mind that one bit, because the idea of exposing myself to the ardent gaze of this gorgeous man is nothing if not intoxicating in itself.

  Besides, if we get up to any hanky-panky, I want to actually remember it, ha!

  He then orders a half-bottle of red for himself, and when the waiter comes back with our drinks we place our order. All that dealt with, he leans forward conspiratorially.

  “So, Evie,” he says, his voice velvety as always, “tell me more about yourself. The only thing Maurizio told me was that you were his best student and that he thought I should meet you.”

  I blush, confused and happy - that certainly wasn’t something that Maestro Alfieri had ever told me!

  “I-I don’t know what to say, really,” I stammer. “I haven’t had a very interesting life. I’ve spent most of it in boarding school.”

  “No boyfriends?” he asks.

  His tone is light but somehow deliberate, and his dark eyes flash fire at me as he speaks.

  He can’t possibly be jealous, can he?

  “I don’t have any - I’ve never had any.”

  He visibly relaxes, and his sexy smirk returns. “That’s hard to believe, Evie - a beautiful girl like you! Though I must say I’m happy to hear that you haven’t been snapped up yet.”

  He slides his hand over mine, and the combined effect of his touch and gaze reduces me - as always - to a puddle of flustered happiness and helpless desire. I mean, he’s clearly flirting with me now, but how does one respond to something like that?

  It was almost easier when all he did was stare smoulderingly at me in silence …

  Inwardly I curse my lack of experience in these things; outwardly I squeeze his hand and smile at him.

  “Well, you don’t seem to have been snapped up yet, and yet you always end up on music bloggers’ Sexiest Musicians lists,” I venture, blushing terribly when I say the word “sexiest”. “At least, I think you haven’t been snapped up yet? …”

  He laughs, his eyes dancing with a delight that’s almost boyish - such a beautiful thing to see in a man of his age.

  “No, Evie, I haven’t been snapped up - at least not until two days ago I wasn’t, but I’m not so sure that’s still the case now - though I suppose that would ultimately depend on the lady in question,” he says, and raises my hand to his lips while looking at me meaningfully.

  Surely he can’t be serious. What, he’s not just looking for a quick fling, of the sort that he’s known for?

  Or maybe he thinks I need to hear that before I’ll agree to sleep with him, now that he knows that I’m a virgin. Maybe he thinks I’m some kind of prissy little miss.

  Because he can’t possibly want me as a girlfriend - or can he?

  He’s looking at me with a strange glowy tender expression on his face, and instinctively I blush and lower my gaze, then look back up, still smiling, at him - a reaction that seems to please him a great deal.

  “You’re a very unusual young woman, Evie,” he says, almost as if by way of explanation, and leans back in his chair, looking at me with a cocky grin of appraisal.

  Seconds later I feel his foot nudging mine flirtatiously. I guess he can’t possibly think I’m that prissy, in that case!

  I smile, still half-hypnotised by his piercing gaze. Fortunately I’ve watched enough movies to know what to do in this sort of situation, and so, blushing furiously, I slip my foot out of my shoe and brush it against his lower leg, fully aware of the message I’m sending, though part of me can’t quite believe that I’m doing what I’m doing, and with Lorenzo Moretti of all people!

  In response, he turns very red, raises an eyebrow, then winks at me, looking absolutely adorable as he does.

  I can’t believe I’m actually causing him to blush, and for the first time it occurs to me that maybe I have an effect on him that’s not
all that different from the one he has on me.

  Can that actually be possible?

  It’s a bewildering thought - and a heady one.

  We sit there in silence, playing footsie under the table while staring at each other and smiling, and this continues even after the waiter delivers the appetizers. I have no idea how I look to the Maestro but he looks fit to devour me, and it’s making me incredibly wet - I can feel my juices inundating my already-soaked lace panties.

  At the rate this is going, there’s probably going to be a huge wet spot on the chair under me by the time we’re done with dinner …

  Our strange, sexy game is interrupted only when the waiter arrives with the pasta. Maestro Moretti sits back up again, though his foot maintains contact with mine.

  “Buon appetito, Evie,” he says with a knowing grin that makes me suspect he’s alluding to appetites that go beyond those of the gastronomic variety.

  I can only smile at him as I mumble “Buon appetito, Maestro”, but that seems to be enough for him, he looks so happy it’s almost touching …

  After a while he says, casually: “So, Evie, tell me, how did you end up at the Milan conservatory? So many places in the US you could have studied at - Juilliard, Curtis, Peabody - what made you pick Italy?”

  I blush, not sure if I should tell him that I wanted to study with Maestro Alfieri primarily because he taught him, just in case that sounds a bit too stalker-ish - and so I tell him the other, more respectable reason.

  “I’ve actually spent much of my life in Europe,” I say. “My grandparents lived for quite a while in Italy - my parents as well, when they were still around. And then I was in boarding school for years - first in Switzerland, then in France.”

  “Ah, so this isn’t your first time in Italy,” he says, looking pleased.

  “Oh no, not at all, I always visited my grandparents for the holidays.”