Making Music

by Ling, Maria

  Damn!

  Jen put her nose in the air. She was not going to be defeated so easily -- not with Stuart watching her intently from his position by the kitchen counter, with a sceptical smile on his face and the light of expectation in his eyes. She picked up the frying pan, hefted it to get the feel of its weight, and took a strengthening breath.

  "No!" Stuart nearly dropped his beer. "Don't do it, Jen!"

  The yellow disc spun slowly through the air and settled with lazy precision back into the frying pan.

  "Don't do what?" Jen asked innocently, turning wide eyes on him.

  "Phew!" Stuart looked back at her with relieved admiration. "I thought you were going to land it all over the floor."

  "You should have more faith in me," Jen said coolly, and turned back to her task.

  "Yeah, well." Stuart took a deep draught from his can. "I'm willing to believe you've improved, but…Jesus, Jen, that was a miracle."

  "It was nothing of the kind. It was sheer skill."

  "Right."

  Unperturbed, Jen switched off the cooker, and cut the omelette into two halves, and slid them carefully onto their respective plates. Then she carried the plates over to the counter and set them down.

  "Do you have something to say to me, Stuart?" she asked meaningfully, giving him a significant look.

  "I do," he said. "Where's my knife and fork?"

  Jen sighed theatrically, and walked back to the worktop, and fetched the cutlery, and put it down next to the plates with a clatter.

  "And now?"

  There was a slithering sound, and one of the knives began to drift towards the edge of the counter. Jen reached out for it hastily, and her arm caught the plates and sent them hurtling into the opposite wall, where they smashed.

  "And now," Stuart said, watching the unpalatable mess of salad leaves and soft-cooked egg and broken crockery slide down the tiled wall, "and now…" He put his hand to his face, and shook with silent laughter. "Jen -- you just beat everything, you really do."

  "That," Jen said coldly, "was not my fault."

  Stuart drew a deep breath, and steadied himself with a visible effort.

  "Of course not," he said.

  "It could have happened to anyone."

  "It could," Stuart agreed, and picked up his beer. Then he suddenly choked, and put it down abruptly, and broke into helpless laughter once more. "But -- God, Jen, why does it always happen to you?"

  Jen surveyed the disaster area with grim resignation.

  "I don't know," she said.

  "Is there anything I can safely let you loose on?" Stuart asked. "I mean, anything?"

  Jen sighed.

  "It doesn't look that way," she conceded reluctantly.

  "Jesus." Stuart calmed down marginally, and drank his beer. "Jen, you are one of a kind. One of a kind -- thank God." He started shaking again. "And you want me to fill this house with little copies of you? Little walking earthquakes all over my house? Bloody eggs all over my kitchen every day? I won't dare to get out of bed in the mornings."

  Despite herself, Jen began to smile.

  "You won't have to," she said. "You can have breakfast in bed. Scorching coffee and burnt toast -- "

  " -- and raw bacon," Stuart completed, putting his hand over his eyes and nodding. "I can just imagine it now. And I'll have to pretend to be thrilled about it. Jen, what are you trying to do to me?"

  "Fill your life with adventure," Jen said, giggling. "What else?"

  "Well," Stuart said with a sigh, giving her a dazzling blue look, "I'll admit you're succeeding. Every day with you brings new excitement."

  "Good," Jen said stoutly. "And you'd better appreciate it."

  "I do," he said. "I do, Jen, believe me." He looked at her in silence for a while. "So," he went on ruefully, "that takes care of the first option for this evening. What were the other two?"

  "Sofa and bed," Jen said promptly.

  "Right," he said, getting up from his chair and stepping carefully over the oozing mass, which had now crept down to the floor. "Let's sort those out before anything else happens."

  "I'll clear that up first," Jen said, with a guilty look at the mess.

  "No chance," Stuart said, sliding one arm around her back and the other behind her knees, and lifting her up as easily as he handled his guitar. "You're not touching anything unless I tell you to, okay? I'm not having you bring the whole house down around us just yet." He kicked open the kitchen door, and carried her across the hallway and up the stairs.

  "Sofa first," Jen said, running her hands over his broad strong shoulders, and then putting her arms around his neck and kissing him.

  "Forget it," Stuart said, grinning at her. "I'm not taking any more risks with you, Jen. You're going straight to bed, where you belong."

  He turned left at the top of the stairs, and then on into a room which, Jen could see at once, was the one he spent most of his time in. There was an unmade bed, and clothes scattered on the floor, and a CD player in the corner surrounded by CD's and cases and slides and spare guitar strings in disorderly array.

  He laid her down on the bed, pushing the duvet out of the way with his elbow, and then sat down next to her and smiled.

  "I've been lying awake in this bed dreaming about you," he confessed, stroking her hair and her face and her arm, and cupping his hand gently around her breast.

  "Have you?" Jen asked softly, smiling back at him.

  "Yeah." He nodded. "The night before last was the worst. I thought I'd lost you for good that time -- I thought I'd got in just too late." His smile faded. "That hurt," he said. "God, Jen, it hurt. I couldn't sleep at all for thinking about it."

  She reached out for him, sliding her hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him gently down towards her.

  "It wasn't too late," she said. "I'm here now."

  His lips met hers, in a slow lingering kiss that deepened gradually, and his tongue sought hers with gentle tenderness, and his arms were around her shoulders, and she ran her hands over the back of his head and tangled them in his hair. The feeling of having him so close lit a flame in her, a warm burning sensation as of liquid fire that started between her thighs and spread upwards and outwards throughout her body.

  Slowly he brought his hands down to her chest, and unbuttoned her blouse, and slid his hands inside it, warm against the smooth silky skin of her stomach and waist, and edged the fabric away from her. She raised herself up a fraction, just enough for his hands to slide underneath her and undo her bra, and then lay down again and let him ease it off her, slipping her arms out of the sleeves of her blouse.

  He released her mouth and raised his head, smiling down at her, and his eyes were dazzling her with sunshine.

  "I love you," he said softly.

  She put her hands over his, and guided them down to her jeans, and he undid the button and zip and deftly edged them off her, underwear and all, and she pulled her legs up a little and kicked the whole lot onto the floor, and then pulled her socks off with her toes and kicked them away as well.

  "Are you in a hurry?" he asked, smiling tenderly at her, and the desire in his eyes began to smoulder and spark.

  "No," she said, smiling back at him. "Are you?"

  "No." He ran his hands over her naked body, caressing every inch of her skin. "I'm in no hurry at all." A ripple of light in the ocean blue. "I've got you now, and I intend to keep you, and -- " he bent to kiss her lips again, and then her neck, and then her breasts -- "and there is all the time in the world."

  She closed her eyes, and lost herself in the enjoyment of his lips and hands caressing her, guiding her towards an ever increasing pinnacle of excitement, and the flame within her grew and seared and burned.

  After a while he stood up, and began to undress, and she opened her eyes again and watched him, and when he was ready she reached out for him again and drew him into her embrace. He entered her slowly, gazing lovingly into her eyes, and then kissed her again, softly, and then lowered his head
and buried his face against her neck.

  "You," he whispered in her ear, "are beautiful. Beautiful."

  Jen wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and her legs around his hips, and pushed herself up against him as he moved inside her, and slowly the fire rose and spread and melted every part of her body, and in a sudden towering flame consumed them both.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The noise from the audience was overwhelming. The warmup band were off, and the lights were down, and they were waiting for Stuart to walk on to the stage. The roaring had subsided, and now they were clapping, a simply steady rhythm like the heartbeat of the earth itself, with a huge crashing sound that was like a thousand elephants marching in time, and the walls of the building shook with it.

  Jen glanced at Stuart, who was standing beside her at the foot of the steps up to the stage. He was dressed in his trademark black, and the Dobro hung silver-gleaming over his shoulder, and he was wearing his faraway look of intense concentration.

  She felt suddenly alone, and very frightened.

  It was strange. The auditorium had not frightened her earlier, when she had gone on stage for the routine afternoon soundchecks. Then it had just been a vast empty space: vast, but unthreatening. Now it was packed wall to wall with people, all of them fired up and ready, and it thundered with the noise of them, and the air crackled with electric anticipation. Now she was scared.

  She had never played to a crowd like this before -- never dreamed of it, never thought it possible -- and she was scared.

  She clutched her Washburn with damp and shaking hands, and felt the tears stinging her eyes.

  "I can't do this," she said suddenly. She had not meant to say anything aloud, but the words forced themselves out through her mouth. Her voice was vanishingly small in the commotion around her. Even to herself she sounded weak, and lost, and alone. "I'm sorry, Stuart. I can't do it."

  He looked at her, his eyes refocusing into the present, and he put an arm around her shoulders and smiled.

  "Nervous?" he asked.

  "Terrified," Jen admitted frankly. "I've never been so frightened in my life. I'm absolutely terrified, Stuart."

  "Don't be. They'll love you." He bent to kiss her, his lips gentle on hers, and then he stood looking into her eyes. "I love you."

  She gazed into the brilliant azure of his eyes, and felt herself relaxing as though into the sun-warm waters of a tropical ocean, and gradually the fear ebbed away. Her heartbeat slowed, and the stillness and the silence beyond the music spread through her body and her soul.

  "Come on," he said. "Let's show them what the two of us can do together."

  They walked up the steps side by side, and walked out on the stage, and the lights flashed on, and the roar of the crowd exploded around them and carried them upwards as on the crest of a giant wave.

  Then they started to play.

  ***

  About the Author:

  Maria Ling is the romance pen name of fantasy author M P Ericson. She lives on the edge of a moor in Yorkshire, England, surrounded by ruined abbeys and haunted caves. Visit her Smashwords author page for more stories.