by Annie Seaton
She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped, closing her eyes as the luscious fruity flavor fizzed on her tongue before sliding smoothly down her throat. Instant warmth hit her stomach and she opened her eyes to meet his gaze.
“Beautiful.” His voice was soft and he held her eyes with his as he sipped from the crystal. Confusion filled her at the ambiguous word and she decided to assume he was talking about the wine. Her guard went up and she put the goblet down on the table. Her feelings were erratic enough without enhancing them with wine.
“It is.” Reaching for the steaming bowl in the center of the table, she held it out to David and he served the pasta onto both of their plates.
“It’s a fairly basic meal to eat with such a good wine.” She grinned at him and returned the conversation to the mundane. “I am sure the French winemaker would be horrified to know it was accompanying a dried pasta sauce.”
They ate silently for a few moments and Megan racked her brain to think of something, anything, to fill the awkward silence.
“Tell me about your music. You said you just do covers?” She cradled her face in one hand while she sipped at the wine. She’d just finish this glass. “Tell me how you came into music. Is it a hobby for you or a profession?”
She stared at him, waiting for his answer, blaming the breathless feeling in her chest on the potent wine.
“Music is my life,” he said. “It is as necessary to me as the air I breathe and the food I eat. I couldn’t survive without it.” He held her gaze and his eyes darkened. “I have written many of…my own songs too.”
Megan sat up straight, her interest piqued. It seemed important to him that she knew he played more than covers of Davy Morgan’s songs. Her fingers itched to write down the words he’d said about music being his life. It would make a great quote in her work. “So you’ve been to a few Glastonbury festivals?”
“A few,” he said.
“Have you noticed a change in the crowds there through the years?” Putting her wine down on the table, she leaned forward. “What I am looking at in my doctorate is the sociological impact of rock festivals on society. I believe the type of people who attend seems to have changed as the festivals have become more organized. I suppose, what I mean is, the festivals have turned into more of a moneymaking concern over the years.”
David’s mouth tightened and he stared past her, “Being a musician, I’m focused on the music, and I really don’t know the demographic the festival attracts. But I do believe there always has been…shall we say… a tendency to ‘glorify’ the musicians to sell more records.” He lifted his glass to the light and swirled the wine around. “For me, it’s like this wine. We enjoy drinking good wine…the taste, the physical effect it has on us. That’s how I see my music.”
“‘Records’? That’s an old-fashioned term to use.” Megan tipped her head to the side. “Do you agree that the people who attended the early festivals were more true lovers of music than those who go now? My research seems to indicate that it has become trendy to attend festivals now, and there seems to be a huge commercial push behind it. Geared to selling ‘records’ as you say, rather than just making music like the old days? Musicians seem to be more of a commodity these days—from as far back as the seventies.”
“I’m just a simple musician, sweetheart.” David shook his head. “I play music. I do it for me. The rush I get when the synergy comes together is as good as the best sex I’ve ever had.”
He leaned back in his chair and pinned her with his gaze.
“Speaking of which…”
Chapter Seven
Megan’s questions were straying into territory David didn’t want to enter. He could kick himself for the slipups he’d made. “Records” and telling her he wrote his own music. Bloody trying to impress her. Jesus, she was damned beautiful and unaware of it. She was sucking him in without even trying. Getting close to her, or any other woman, was the last thing he intended to do.
So he pulled out the macho rock-star act again. It had the immediate effect he expected from her. She sat up straight in her chair and her face closed.
“I think the deal was—you fix the pump and I give you dinner?” Her voice was like ice.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He stood and carried his plate across to the sink. “It was very pleasant chatting with you, but I’ve got some work to do, if I can’t interest you in a bit of fun?”
“Thanks for fixing the pump for me.” Megan walked to the door and opened it. “And for showing me the cellar.”
His words had had the desired effect. Her face was closed and she folded her arms across her chest. David tucked his thumbs into his jeans pockets as a craving to pull her close overtook him. She looked up at him silently, wide-eyed, and if he knew women, the look on her face was hunger.
And not for food.
But she surprised him with her next words. “If you think your resemblance to your uncle is going to have me jumping joyfully into your bed, it will take more than that.”
“What will it take?” he asked softly.
He wasn’t certain who moved first but her lips brushed lightly against his. David groaned, took his hands from his pockets and pulled her hard against him. Soft skin, hot mouth, and the subtle scent he was beginning to associate with her flooded him with wanting. Sounds of pleasure vibrated against his mouth and his body quivered as he felt her heart racing against his. He moved his mouth lower and kissed the spot that was pulsing frantically. Her skin was warm and she relaxed against him, and he closed his eyes, taking pleasure in her soft skin as he slid his lips up the long line of her throat until he pressed his mouth against hers.
Megan drew back from him but still stood within his arms. Her cheeks were flushed. She trailed her fingers across her lips and the blood surged to his groin. The taste of her mouth stayed on his lips.
“You’d better go and do that work you said you had to do.” She stepped back and smiled at him. “I might see you tomorrow. I’m going to wander over and check out the festival.”
…
Megan walked upstairs and crossed to the window overlooking David’s cottage. She watched as his lights came on and she leaned her head against the window. She looked out into the soft moonlight as his music filtered up to her. He was playing his uncle’s songs again. Warmth settled low in her belly and she touched her lips as the music swelled and surrounded her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath as the floral aromas drifted in through the window. Her body hummed with the music and the fragrance, and she skimmed her fingers down across her breasts, surprised to feel her nipples hard and rigid beneath her fingers.
No man had ever had this effect on her before. It had to be the music. She crossed to the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom and turned the taps on to fill the bath. She quickly went back down to the kitchen and cleared the table. Picking up the glass David had drunk from, she put it against her lips, almost regretting she had sent him home.
But it was too soon. She barely knew him.
Look where it got me last time.
Megan slept deeply but her dreams were filled with music again, and she woke late the next morning. Determined to go to the festival today, she dressed quickly and hurried down to the kitchen. Making herself a cup of tea, she wandered out through the utility room to the garden, picking up an old-fashioned crocheted hat from the hook beside the door and tucking her hair up beneath it. Her phone had charged overnight, and Megan glanced at the time on the screen before she slipped it into her pocket. It would be late evening at home in Australia. A chat with Beth would settle her. Perhaps it would get rid of these dreamy feelings that she couldn’t seem to shake. And then she’d be in the right frame of mind to call Tony and discuss his e-mail.
She walked slowly through the flowers and sipped her tea, allowing her worries at home to take up only a tiny corner of her mind. The bees settled in the center of the fat yellow roses, and the hollyhocks nodded as the butterflies flitted past. She touched th
e different flowers lightly as she walked past. She knew the names of them because her maternal grandmother had instilled a love of gardening in her, but it was difficult to indulge that love in an apartment in the city. Lavender, magnolias, delphiniums, and marigolds—the garden was a riot of color and sweet fragrance. She’d love to be able to afford to live somewhere like this and forget about her career.
As she reached the back corner of the garden, the sound of the creaking gate from the cottage next door caught her attention. Her heart rate kicked up a beat as she watched David stride through the field toward the tents she could see in the far distance. Dressed in tight black jeans and a black T-shirt with his dark curls tumbling over his shoulders, he wore the same signature outfit his uncle used to wear. His guitar was slung over one shoulder and a small kit bag over the other. He looked like he had stepped straight from one of the old posters that used to hang on her wall. She kept her gaze fixed on him to see which way he went. If she took that route through the fields, it would be miles shorter than going around the road to Pilton.
As she watched, David stopped by a large stone post that stood in the center of the field. He reached out to it and it looked as though he was trying to get his balance. He leaned over and his guitar swung around from his right shoulder as he pitched forward and disappeared.
Megan gasped and dropped her teacup to the grass. She ran across to the back gate of Violet Cottage, keeping her gaze fixed on the place where David had collapsed.
She pulled out her phone from her jeans pocket, trying to remember whether you dialed 911 or triple zero for medical assistance in England. Briefly dropping her gaze to the phone, she swore. It didn’t matter anyway; she had no service.
Megan ran across the soft grass toward the spot where he’d disappeared. A couple of cows mooed from the field on the other side of the fence and she glanced across, hoping they couldn’t get into this field.
The stone post was only a hundred yards ahead now and she put her hand up to shade her eyes to see if David was sitting up. But she couldn’t see him. He must have fallen on the other side. Her chest was hurting as she caught her breath, but she kept running.
What the hell should I do? Her first aid knowledge was minimal and there was no one for miles to call for help. What if he’d had a heart attack or something? She didn’t know the first thing about CPR.
A small brook ran through the middle of the field and she reached down and removed her sandals, gasping as the icy water covered her feet. The grass was muddy on the other side and she dropped her shoes, intending to collect them on the way back.
The monument loomed in front of her. It was much higher than it had appeared from her cottage. Dark-grained and made of a blue stone, the height and shape reminded her of the totem poles she had seen when she’d visited the States a couple of years back. She touched it as she peered around it, looking for David, but she pulled her hand back quickly. It was warm from the sun and almost vibrated beneath her hand.
“Fuck.” Megan stopped and looked around. There was no sign of him. He must have fallen farther away but from her perspective it had seemed as though it was here, at this post.
She shook her head as she remembered how he had been touching the stone when she had seen him fall. He had to be lying on the ground around here somewhere.
“David?” She put her hands up to her mouth and called but was met by silence. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing. The air was still and even the cows had quieted.
Circling the stone without touching it, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground. Stepping away, she scanned the field around her. There was no sign of him on the ground, nor was he walking between her and the tents that were only a couple of fields away.
The air rippled as she stepped back toward the stone.
Where the hell was he? Was he all right?
Megan glanced across the field and took a deep breath. There was another smaller monument farther to the west. She must have come across to the wrong one. A soft humming filled her ears as she strode toward the second stone and suddenly, another smaller stone appeared out of nowhere and loomed in front of her. The grass was cold beneath her bare feet and goose bumps prickled her thighs.
“David, where are you?” Her words came out in a thin scream and she wiped her trembling hands down the front of her jeans as she walked in a straight line between the markers. She reached the final stone and peered around it.
There was no sign of him. Reaching out, she placed her palm flat against the huge rock and pulled back sharply as the cold bit into her skin. Panic swirled inside her as her vision faded and the humming she had heard at the other stone filled her ears.
I’m going to faint.
She dropped to her knees and lowered her head so the blood rushed downward but it made no difference. Cold shudders racked through her and sapped her strength and she held her hand out in front of her face. She was fading and she could see through the skin. Her hand was almost translucent, waving and shimmering as though it was beneath the water.
What the fuck was happening?
A strange feeling filled her, and her bones and sinews loosened. She gripped the hat on her head, touching and squeezing the stiff cotton, to ground herself.
I’m all right. I’m not going to pass out.
Slippery connections held her together, loose and fragile. It was as though her body was stretching, shrinking, and disintegrating. She fought the cold feeling that was overtaking her limbs and tried to look around. Suddenly her airways relaxed, and as her lungs flooded with cool air, she pitched forward into the soft, damp grass.
…
“Come on, Davy boy. Snap out of it.” Bear was sitting at the drums with his beefy arms poised, waiting for him to launch into the riff of their opening song. He’d missed the cue to start.
David couldn’t understand the unease that was prickling at his neck. Sure, he’d gone to bed frustrated last night and couldn’t get Megan out of his head, but that didn’t explain the feeling that something was wrong. It had nagged at him ever since he’d gotten to the stage an hour ago. Holly had been talking to Bear when David had arrived but she’d taken off as soon as she’d seen him. She’d been avoiding him and his suspicions kicked in. He was getting used to the way she operated and he knew she was up to something.
But if she stayed away from him, he wouldn’t have to watch his temper. He was quite happy to build their reputation by playing as much as they could and didn’t need the sensational media coverage she insisted on. He’d talk to the guys about getting rid of her.
“You don’t want to do that tonight or we’ll get booed off the stage. What the fuck’s wrong with you, man?” The usually placid drummer glared at him and Slim nodded at him from the other side of the stage as he fiddled with the volume control on his bass guitar.
“Sorry. I’m not focused.” David glanced across at Bear and lifted his guitar. “Take it from the top.”
He let the music wash over him as he tried to block the unease filling his mind. Technically he knew his playing was perfect, but the synergy just wasn’t coming. He swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to get into the music, but his muse had disappeared.
He loved it when the music dripped from his fingers like honey, and he could lose himself in the rise and swell of the notes. But today he was just playing. Note followed note. It would sound the same to anyone listening, but the magic had gone. Hopefully, it would be back for their first set when the festival kicked off at sunset. He wondered whether Megan had gotten over to the festival and whether she’d gone looking for him. He’d have to come up with some excuse about why he wasn’t there.
God, man. I’ve got it bad. Get over it.
Bear looked across at him and David launched into their second song, letting the words fill his head.
Forget about her.
He noticed Slim and Bear exchanging a glance and he pulled himself together, making a last-ditch effort for the band. He closed his eyes and finally,
the words vibrated in his chest, true and clear, and he was back into it. The small disquiet still niggled at him but he pushed it away.
Chapter Eight
A hot breath stirred against her cheek and Megan turned her head into David’s face, parting her lips softly to take his kiss. Her eyes opened slowly and confusion filled her as she looked into a white-tented wall.
Not David?
In her dream he had been lying next to her on the soft grass and his hands had been touching her face with featherlight strokes.
“Are you with us now, darlin’?”
A pair of concerned brown eyes came into her view as she slowly lifted her head.
“What did you take?”
“What did I take?”
“Yeah, we think you must have had a bad trip. A couple of guys found you out in the field. You weren’t eating those mushrooms, were you?”
“What mushrooms? I only had a cup of tea.” Slowly Megan became aware of two men in some sort of medical uniforms hovering over her. She was in a tent and loud music slammed in through the opening. She sat up and put her hands over her ears. They were buzzing from the loud sound.
The two men exchanged a glance and the younger one passed her a glass of cold water. She took it and drank deeply, grateful for the cool liquid sliding down her parched throat.
“Where am I?”
“At the festival. This is the St. John’s first aid tent. You’ve been out of it for a few hours. The doctor checked you out earlier but he didn’t want to send you to the hospital because they’re out of room over there. He said to keep an eye on you and let you sleep it off.”
A loud crash of drums and guitars came in through the open flap and the older man frowned. “Davy Morgan’s band is about to play. I swear they’re the loudest here. Hate that modern music.”
The young guy laughed. “But the young girls love him, Reg. We’ll have the next wave of them swooning and passing out within the hour. You mark my words.”