As she came, she thought not of the boy on his knees in front of her, but of a man in a quiet room, standing next to a piano. His hands on her shoulders and his breath on the back of her neck, both of them watching the keys, her hands moving steadily faster, both listening as the music grew louder and flowed over them, drowning them in furious sound.
2
AS THE AFTERSHOCKS faded, Kara looked down at Tam. He was on his knees in front of her, hanging on to her hips as if they were a life raft, yet somehow it was him that seemed in control. His mouth was wet and his eyes searched her face. She wanted suddenly to shake him off, scatter him and run outside into the cold fresh air.
‘We’d better move,’ she said, wriggling under his grasp, looking round at the whitewashed corridor as though someone were about to crash through the double doors and find them there, leaning against the wall with their clothes undone and faces flushed.
‘Always in such a hurry, aren’t you?’
‘Let’s not get into this now,’ she said, shrugging Tam’s hands from her hips and pulling away. He stayed on his knees, still watching her. Kara refused to look at him. She pulled her skirt down and felt the tremor in her legs, shaky from flexing against the wall.
‘So we’ll move,’ Tam said finally, ‘but remember you owe me one, sugar.’
‘I’ll buy you a drink,’ she muttered, ‘later. Right now I’m gonna go get the stage cleared.’
Silently, she added: Please don’t follow me. Kara was hoping there’d be somebody out there that she didn’t want anyone else to meet right now. Was he at the bar, waiting for her? She briefly thought of washing her face, cleaning the scent of sex and sweat from her skin. And then changed her mind.
‘I didn’t know you were such a natural-born performer,’ Mike said.
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ Kara said, taking a long sip of the deep-red drink in her glass, ‘Professor.’
Keeping her eyes on Mike, she stretched, pulling her muscles taut and lifting her arms upwards so that her breasts swung. His eyes flickered over the points of her nipples, sticking through the thin cotton of her T-shirt.
Kara smiled. Mike may have liked to play it cool and aloof – the world-weary artist nobody could provoke – but his reactions were as predictable as a teenage boy’s. And she liked having him ogle her, that pale-blue gaze stroking over her body.
They were sitting at the bar, waiting while the crew cleared up the gear from the concert. Her hair was still damp with sweat, sticking to her face in dark strands, and her T-shirt clung to her skin. Kara felt gloriously dishevelled, like a boxer fresh out of the ring, the fighter emerging victorious to meet her admirers.
‘You liked the show,’ she said, bold as brass. ‘How did I do?’
‘Mm,’ Mike said, nodding. ‘Less tortuous than listening to you butchering your arpeggios, I have to admit.’
‘And the music?’
‘Not bad. It helps that you’re so delectable to watch.’
Kara hid her face in her glass, sucked up an ice cube and crunched it. Was he damning her with faint praise? she wondered.
‘So, what are you doing here?’ she said eventually.
‘Oh, I had an hour to kill. I’ve got the Blue Star launch party in Queen Street and thought I’d slip in for a drink.’
‘Right,’ Kara said. ‘Happy coincidence.’
Mike was leaning on the bar, his white shirtsleeves rolled up so Kara could see the tanned skin of his forearms and the brush of gold hair that ran to his wrists. Her eyes rested on his hands. So familiar. They were large, long fingered and thick knuckled. His fingers tapped restlessly on the black marble counter.
‘I have to go,’ he said, checking his watch, ‘but I can put your name on the door if you want to come along.’
‘For the party? Would that be cool?’
‘Oh yes. Very cool.’
‘What about the others?’
‘What others?’
‘The band: Tam, Jon, Ruby.’
Mike shrugged. ‘Why not.’ As he stood up to leave, he leaned closer and brushed his lips against her cheek, so that she felt the slight scrape of his stubble against her skin.
‘And don’t worry about changing. I like this –’ he tugged on her damp T-shirt ‘– very much.’
He lingered at her neck for a split second too long, Kara thought, as though he were inhaling her patchouli, the fresh spice of her sweat. Could he smell the scent of sex on her too? Could he tell she’d just had her pussy licked and sucked? In the shadows of the half-empty bar, she felt her face flush deep scarlet for the second time that night.
‘Tell me again where we’re going,’ Tam said, scowling at the bitter wind that whipped across their faces as they walked west towards Queen Street. Kara zipped her jacket up to her chin and gritted her teeth. She almost wished she hadn’t asked Tam to come with her. Their little scene backstage hadn’t helped clear the air; in fact, she was already starting to curse herself for giving in to the temptation of a quick orgasm. Tam was going to be as difficult as possible for the rest of the night, that was clear.
But there was no way she was walking into the Kasbah on her own and something told her she shouldn’t miss the party. Jon and Ruby had gone home to finish the fuck-fest they’d started on the dressing-room couch and Kara had decided Tam was a better escort than nobody at all, even if he was in a foul mood.
‘It’s a launch party, Tam. A new label.’
‘And who’ll be there?’
‘Scouts, producers, movers and shakers. Everyone we need to be meeting.’
‘And your old tutor.’
Kara couldn’t miss the sneer in Tam’s voice. She pulled up short and wheeled round to face him. ‘Yes, Tam. My old tutor. Is that a problem?’
‘Not as long as you don’t mind him leching all over you, no. Guess it might be worth it for a shot at the big time, eh?’
‘Fucking grow up,’ Kara spat, walking on again as fast as she could. The streets were dark and cold and slick with rain and she had a nervous, scratchy feeling in her stomach that she couldn’t quite explain. Partly butterflies, partly the ache that she felt after a strong orgasm.
Ahead, the smooth white steps of the Kasbah led up to high double doors. The black-suited figures of two doormen stood rigid at the top, silhouetted in the gold light from the hallway behind them. Kara paused, fixing a brazen smile on her face as she approached. Just like performing on stage, she thought, you’ve got to be ready to dazzle them. And if you don’t feel it, fake it.
Inside, the place felt like a gin palace. Polished floors, great dripping chandeliers and waiters in perfectly ironed black shirts slipping in and out of the crowd with trays of glasses. Tea lights flickered on the tables and the air was scented with lilies. Kara thought she could even smell cigar smoke, faintly, as though it were soaked into the wallpaper. Against this opulent backdrop, the party was in full swing. Not Kara’s idea of swing, though.
‘Christ,’ Tam said flatly as they looked at the crowd – men in silk shirts and women in tailored suits, everyone tanned and practically dripping with money. A display took up one wall, with the Blue Star logo projected across the domed ceiling and flunkies handed out CDs. Kara recognised the gravelly laugh of a fading pop star, wearing Chanel and standing surrounded by guys with greying ponytails and waistcoats, who could only be execs.
Kara was suddenly very horribly aware of her cut-off denim skirt and rain-spattered parka, her bare legs and scuffed shoes and chipped purple nail polish.
But nobody else seemed to notice them. In the dim glowing candlelight and with a soundtrack of slinky blues piano running under the noise of loud conversation, everybody was clearly too occupied with impressing each other to care if a couple of scruffs crashed the party. Tam shouldered his way into the crowd and Kara followed, glimpsing faces she vaguely recognised, looking furtively around for Mike.
She caught sight of him standing at the back of the room, deep in conversation with a red-hai
red woman. As Kara stared at the two of them, Mike turned and caught her eye. He fixed her with a look that made the butterflies in her stomach swirl higher than ever.
Tam pressed a glass into her hand and she clutched it, thankful for something to hang on to. He was talking to her, cracking a joke about some journalist that he’d spotted in the corner, but Kara wasn’t listening.
There was the ragged roar of conversation and the flowing melody of a piano, and there was Mike, giving that lazy smile of his while he nodded at the woman he spoke to and looked straight at Kara. One hand in his pocket, his sandy hair brushed back to show his tanned, weather-beaten face. His foot tapping, slowly, deliberately. Always marking time, thought Kara. Counting the beat.
She moved towards him, swaying through the crowd, noticing him press his lips together and frown a little like he was appraising her.
‘You made it,’ he said as she reached him, his words cutting through something the other woman was saying. ‘I’m so glad.’
‘Lina, this is Kara,’ he said, motioning the two women together. ‘A starlet in the making.’
Kara felt the hot glare of Lina’s attention sweep over her and regarded her rival with the same curiosity. She was a striking woman – long limbed and slender with a waterfall of dark-auburn hair which cascaded over her shoulders. Kara took in the sculpted cheekbones and fine, arched eyebrows. Lina must have been about thirty-five, a bit older, but she had that well-maintained look.
‘Lina’s our publicist,’ Mike said. ‘Mistress of the well-turned phrase, aren’t you, Lina?’
‘You flatter me, Michael,’ Lina said. She turned to Kara. ‘So you’re Mike’s latest kick, are you? Very pretty. A musician?’
‘A singer,’ Kara said. ‘Lead singer.’
‘Wonderful,’ Lina said, with a sphinx’s smile.
‘You should see her onstage,’ said Mike. ‘She’s mesmerising.’
‘Oh, I love the indie bands. It’s great that everyone feels they have the chance to make their own music these days. Now, I hate to be rude, but I’ve just seen someone I must talk to,’ Lina said. She squeezed Mike’s arm before slipping into the crowd. The bracelets on her arm jangled as she walked, leaving a trail of brittle music in her wake.
‘Ouch,’ Kara said. ‘She’s sharp.’
‘Yes, it always seems like the room gets a little dimmer when Lina leaves,’ Mike said. ‘But I have you to add a little sparkle to the evening, don’t I, Kara?’
‘Hmm.’ Kara gave a half-laugh and shifted awkwardly in her heels. ‘Actually I’m starting to feel a little tarnished.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Mike said, ‘given your performance earlier. Why don’t we find somewhere quiet.’
It wasn’t a question. He was already steering Kara towards a booth at the edge of the room, one hand in the small of her back, a heavy warm pressure through her T-shirt. The crowd parted respectfully as they moved, people nodding and smiling as Mike passed. Kara felt suddenly at the centre of everything, like she was moving through a smooth and beautiful sea. Now that she was with Mike, people took note of her. She could be his latest protégé, or his lover. Either way, she was a curiosity.
A camera flash went off, blinding Kara temporarily. Of course, the press was here. The launch of a new record label merited a half-inch in the music columns, at least.
‘This one of your artists, Mr Greene?’ asked a dark-haired man in glasses.
‘Could be,’ Mike muttered, frowning.
‘You promised an interview? Evening Star.’
‘Ah. Yes. Do you mind, Kara?’
Kara shook her head. ‘I’ll go find Tam,’ she said, moving away.
‘Oh no, sit in with us. It won’t take long,’ Mike said, motioning to a booth that sat, shadowy and tucked away behind red velvet curtains. He grabbed a waiter and ordered champagne before sitting, then pulled Kara down beside him. The bench was low, the deep seat piled high with fat velvet cushions and Kara sank into them. The journalist had already flipped out a notebook and started asking questions. Kara could feel Mike’s thigh against hers, the long taut muscles pressed close and tight. Was that accidental?
But Mike seemed oblivious, answering the journalist’s questions with practised ease and pouring wine for them all as he did so.
‘Blue Star Records are starting on the crest of a wave, of course,’ he was saying. ‘The music scene’s never been so vibrant. New talent practically spilling from every bar in the city.’
‘And you’re focusing on this new talent?’
‘Absolutely. It’s fresh, sexy and ripe for the plucking.’ Mike smiled.
Kara started as she felt something brush against her leg – a spider’s touch, crawling along her thigh. Under the table, Mike was stroking her, lightly, gently. As though he weren’t aware he was even doing it. She fixed her eyes on the journalist, scribbling in his notepad, oblivious to Mike’s little game. They were hidden in the dim candlelight of the curtained booth and she was trapped in the corner, unable to move or make a sound.
As Mike continued, waxing lyrical about the plans for Blue Star Records, his hand continued to dance over Kara’s lap, tracing an unpredictable pattern, then ran along the hem of her skirt and tugged gently. His fingers slid under the fabric, reaching to where her flesh was warm and tender and as smooth as satin. There they rested.
Kara held her breath, waiting for him to move. She could feel her pulse in her throat, feel the blood fizz in her veins as though they were running with champagne instead of blood. Dizziness washed over her so that she struggled to focus on the conversation. All she was sure of was the position of Mike’s hand, definitely not accidental, now he’d crawled his fingers to the top of her thigh. Between her legs another pulse was beating, dark and desperate.
‘… the idea that you’re manipulating young artists?’
Kara caught the tail end of the journalist’s question and felt Mike stiffen next to her.
‘That’s nonsense. Success doesn’t fall into your lap,’ he said, his voice showing a glimmer of anger. ‘And we know what sells.’
He was digging his fingers into Kara’s flesh now, kneading at her insistently. She couldn’t help tipping her pelvis forwards, trying to inch closer to his hand. The conversation had piqued her interest now too, and she teetered on a knife-edge, wanting desperately to listen as well as feel.
‘So there’s no truth in the rumours about why Lina Warren left ABC?’
‘John, I’m terribly sorry, but we’re out of time,’ Mike said. He poured another glass for himself and Kara, leaving the journalist’s pointedly empty. He barely nodded goodbye as the other man rose and left.
‘I don’t want you to say a word,’ Mike murmured, and his voice was smoky and sweet as Kara remembered it, flowing over her like notes from a cello. Under the table he was pushing her skirt up, exposing her knickers. Now he took her hand, still cold from holding the champagne flute, and rested it over the crotch of his cords.
‘Isn’t it a little public … ?’ Kara started to say, but Mike murmured, ‘Ssssh,’ as he let her feel the bulge in the front of his trousers. His cock was hard. Even through layers of fabric she could feel the long curve of it pressed along his thigh. When she stretched her fingers over the tip she heard Mike sigh with relief.
She started rubbing, slow and deliberate, moulding her hand round the shaft and pressing down hard. Though she’d imagined touching him when she was his student and though of course they’d brushed against each other, she’d never gone this far with him. To have her hand on his cock felt beautifully dangerous, as though she might waken a sleeping monster with her touch.
The thought thrilled her rather than worried her. Suddenly Kara hardly cared if their surreptitious hand movements were noticeable – she felt invincible somehow, as though she’d entered some different universe where all the rules had changed. The glittering night seemed full of danger, full of sex, full of wanting. The bar was a fabulous depraved film set, where nothing was forbidden. Kar
a could get on her knees and take Mike’s cock in her mouth and the party would continue around them, photographers snapping pictures and the poisonous Lina cackling with laughter as she watched.
‘Jesus, that feels good,’ Mike said through clenched teeth. He was bent over the table now, obscuring them from the rest of the room, and still working at Kara’s knickers with clever fingers. He was an inch from feeling how wet she was, Kara knew, an inch from where she wanted him to be. They could finger-fuck each other right here. But it was too soon. She had to force herself to wait.
‘Mike,’ she whispered, ‘what that guy was saying …’ She paused for a moment and let her hand fall limp in his lap. Waiting until he turned to her, face set hard and eyes glowing. ‘Manipulating artists. How does that work exactly?’
Mike pressed his lips together. He was breathing harder, she noticed, and his expression had grown intense. Something about the way he held himself almost scared her – the control; the distant, level gaze.
‘Are you just looking for a record deal?’ he said eventually. ‘Is that why you’re sitting here like a wanton little slut with her hand on my cock?’
Kara recoiled. Before she could pull her hand away though, he had grasped her wrist and held it tight against his lap. ‘Not that I’m insulted, Kara. Far from it. Some of the best creative partnerships benefit from a little sexual frisson.’
‘There was always …’ Kara noticed how small her voice sounded.
‘Tension?’ Mike asked, still not releasing her hand. ‘Of course there was. Almost enough to make me consider leaving the job. Not the done thing, to be fucking your students, is it?’
There. He’d said it. As soon as the words left his lips Kara realised the tension was there again, in spades. Kara felt it bloom against her, warp the air around them. Her heart beat and it seemed she could hear the metronome again, clicking steadily, swiftly, precisely, as it counted out the practice hour.
‘But you’re not my student any more,’ Mike said. ‘You’re a chanteuse with a very fuckable body and a pretty good voice.’
The New Rakes Page 2