Once More From the Top (The Women of Willow Bay)

by Nan Reinhardt

“Too easy. Your mother played Carnegie Hall, not hotel bars. Come on.” His gaze burned straight through her.

  “You’ll laugh.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  She dropped her gaze. “When I play there I’m… I’m someone else. Another woman.”

  “Who’s the other woman?”

  “A figment of my imagination.” Carrie stopped, at a loss as to how to explain it. “A–a parody of the woman I should’ve been. The woman my father wanted me to be.”

  “Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself?” Liam stroked one finger down her cheek. “You play beautifully and you bring pleasure to the patrons. What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s not Bach or Beethoven or Schubert.”

  “No.” He peered into her face. “But does it always have to be?”

  “When I auditioned at the bar, I picked the songs my mother listened to, the ones she and Dad loved to dance to. I don’t remember very much about her, but I have a vision–a memory of them dancing in our solarium to Jim Croce’s ‘Time In a Bottle.’ Over the years, it’s been something that’s mine, you know?” When she looked up, he was staring at her with eyes so tender, her heart melted. “And in a small way, the dressing up, the makeup—it’s a kick. A step outside of my life here.”

  “Ah, so the little homebody really is looking for adventure?” He grinned. “You’d love Europe, Carrie. Everything there reeks of history and beauty. The photographer in you would have a field day. Munich’s incredible and Vienna—” He stopped and tilted his head like a curious child. “What?”

  “Don’t you ever get overwhelmed?” His experiences made him seem larger than life, leaving her both fascinated and terrified as she wondered again how she’d ever fit into his world.

  “You overwhelm me,” he replied after a long moment of silence. He moved closer, pressing her back as he leaned over her, one hand on her belly. “You scare the holy hell out of me, Carrie. You’ve had this hold over me ever since the first time I saw you in that rehearsal hall in Montreal. Remember? It was raining that day. God, you were soaked and haughty and so incredibly beautiful.” His wistful smile shot fire through her. “Sitting there at that harpsichord, you looked... untouchable, and all I wanted was to touch you.”

  Almost unconsciously, she brushed back the lock of hair that always fell over his forehead. “I didn’t think you saw me as an actual human being that day, the way you hauled me up onstage and plopped me down.” She chuckled. “At first I couldn’t believe you expected me to just fill in when I’d never even seen the music or knew who you were. But you kept staring at me.” She touched his beard and then his lips. “I could barely concentrate on the notes because I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Honestly, I was ready to jump you right there on the podium.” When she blushed at the confession, Liam laughed—a deep throaty laugh that made her want to jump him all over again.

  He brought his mouth down on hers, pulling her to him, pressing his whole length to her. Her lips parted as her tongue met his. When she put her arms around him, he devoured her, demanding that she give him what they both wanted. All thought, all reason fled at his touch. His hands moved to her hips and then cupped her behind, tugging her to his hardness.

  Straining against him, she couldn’t get close enough.

  He’s the one who has power over me.

  Her hands moved lower to seek the warmth of his denim-covered hips. All the memories she’d clung to so desperately didn’t begin to prepare her for the actual sensual onslaught of his touch. She thought she’d remembered, but she wasn’t even close.

  “Liam,” she whispered against his mouth. His lips explored her cheek, her ear, the sensitive skin of her throat. He dropped nibbling kisses over her collarbone as she thrust her fingers through his hair, loving the thick, silky feel of it. “I woke up so many nights, frustrated beyond belief because I couldn’t reach out for you.” She pulled his head back up to press kisses on his beard and his face. “I never imagined in a million years I’d be touching you again.”

  “Oh God, Carrie…”

  Liam’s strong hands swept over her body. His fingers explored under her shirt, curving around her breast, stroking, pinching gently through the fabric of her bra. He reached behind her, released the hooks, and then covered the soft flesh with his hands.

  “Touch me,” he begged huskily in her ear. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

  She tugged his shirt up, caressing the warmth of his back, massaging the muscles. When he wrenched her shirt up, his crisp chest hairs tickled her nipples. His fingers traced her spine. She never knew her back was an erogenous zone until Liam’s hands brought the fact to light. Slipping his hands around, he stroked and caressed her breasts. His lips tasted her throat. Rolling over on top of her, he nestled his rigid arousal against her belly, his lips moving lower. Fire licked at her nerves, sizzling her skin wherever his hands touched. Her fingers reached for the snap of his jeans.

  Laughter and voices sounded in the distance.

  “Liam,” she gasped, sliding her hands up his chest. “Someone’s coming.”

  He lifted his head and blinked, appearing dazed. Exhaling a shaky breath, he yanked both their shirts down, then rolled to his side, taking her with him. Breathing heavily, she sat up, clumsily attempting to fix her bra. His eyes were stormy with passion as he groaned and pulled her back against him, settling her between his legs. Her backside pressed firmly against his rock-hard erection, as he wrapped his arms around her. With his face buried in her hair, Carrie felt his heart pounding as several tourists tramped past them down to the water, chattering and laughing. She wondered if he could feel hers.

  After the group passed, Liam let out a huge breath. Turning in his arms, she gave him her best version of wide-eyed innocence, while he grinned at her, raising one brow suggestively.

  “God, I don’t think I’ve unhooked a bra under a girl’s shirt since high school,” he said, chuckling. “We really are making out, aren’t we?” As she started to move away from him, he grabbed her. “Ah. Don’t move. Not yet.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked, concerned about the pained expression on his face.

  “No, I’m pretty uncomfortable actually.” He squirmed. “We just need to sit still for a few minutes, okay?”

  “Okay.” With a contented sigh, she leaned back against him. His finger traced a line from her elbow to her wrist as she stroked the soft hair on his forearm.

  How many times were they going to do this before stopping would no longer be an option?

  He’d opened a Pandora’s Box of sexuality with that first kiss on the beach. If they could manage to spend more than two hours together without erupting into a fight, she was certain she’d be in his bed before the week was out.

  And she was pretty sure they both knew it.

  FOURTEEN

  Snug in her yoga pants and Michigan State hoodie, Carrie lounged in the Adirondack chair on her deck, a glass of wine in hand, basking in the red-orange glow of a spectacular Willow Bay sunset. She couldn’t help sneaking a peek at the gleaming boat in Berth Thirty-Eight, where Liam was working on the music for the benefit. Her mental image had him at the keyboard, glasses down on his nose as he made notes on a score. It didn’t really matter how she pictured him, the effect was the same. Heat. Lots and lots of scary, wonderful heat. Hadn’t today proven that?

  When they left the beach at the lighthouse, she drove the twenty-odd miles to Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, where they hiked up the giant sand dune. He was breathing hard, his face damp with sweat when they reached the top, although they’d taken it at a pretty even pace. She couldn’t help laughing as he’d flopped down on the sand, groaning.

  “Good Lord, woman, are you trying to kill me?” Yanking a bottle of water from her pack, he drank it down in one long gulp. “If this is some weird, sadistic method of keeping my libido under control, guess what? It’s working!”

  “How can you have a body that’s probably illegal in several
states, but you can’t hike up a sand dune?” She opened her own water bottle and sipped it slowly as she walked around him “You’re going to get a cramp if you don’t keep moving. Trust me, I learned that the hard way.”

  “There’s a huge difference between my treadmill and weights or jogging on Lakeshore Drive and this giant mountain of sand.” His chest heaved and his shirt was sweaty. He pushed up to a sitting position, swiping uselessly at the sand sticking to his damp clothes. “Cripes, Carrie, sit down. You’re giving me a cramp.”

  Grinning mischievously, she dumped her water bottle on his head. “You need to cool off, old man.”

  He’d grabbed her calf and yanked her down on the sand, shaking his head like a wet dog, splattering her with water. Holding her down, he rubbed his wet hair on her face and then on her shirt, while she screeched in half-hearted protest.

  “Old man?” The question was muffled in the front of her shirt. He lifted his head. “Make up your mind, sweetheart. Old man or fantastic body? Which is it?”

  “I didn’t say fantastic,” she denied, giggling. But his wet head on her breasts was incredibly erotic. “I said illegal.”

  “Yeah? Well, this is illegal!” Quirking one brow, he gazed down at her. She glanced down too. Soaked and clinging to her breasts, her shirt left little to the imagination. Her nipples were erect, showing even through her cotton bra. When she looked back up, the hunger in his eyes melted her as he dipped his head down again.

  With Herculean effort, she grabbed his hair to stop him. “Liam,” she gasped, breathless at the thought of his lips on her sensitive nipples. “People are coming up the dune.” Squirming away from him, she stood up and grabbed her pack, then held out her hand. “Come on, Maestro, you have to work tonight. And I need to go to the studio and get some proofs ready.”

  With a sigh, he got to his feet. “We’ve got to find a more private place to get reacquainted,” he grumbled as she swept sand off his backside with her open palm. He did the same for her, but not without more groping and touching.

  Their chemistry was explosive. Carrie was almost embarrassed at how they couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other. He nuzzled the back of her neck as he brushed her off, and she shivered at the touch of his lips. Heat continued to build as he put one arm around her, pulling her back against his muscled chest.

  “Old man?” he whispered. “Really?” His hot breath in her ear sent another quiver of longing through her.

  “Excuse me, are you Maestro Reilly?”

  Liam’s head shot up at the feminine voice coming toward them.

  A trim, grey-haired woman trudged up the dune, waving her hand. “Aren’t you Liam Reilly, the symphony conductor?”

  “I am.” Liam moved back, releasing Carrie, and reached for the woman’s outstretched hand. “Hello. And you are?”

  “Carl! Everybody! It is Maestro Reilly!” The woman turned to her companions, huffing and puffing up the dune behind her. “Maestro, I’m Barbara Hall, this is my husband, Carl. And our friends…” The woman went on to introduce several others in her party. Liam smiled, shaking hands with each of them.

  “This is Carrie Halligan,” he offered. Carrie smiled a greeting, but stood back, allowing him time with the little clutch of fans.

  Barbara chattered on. “We just got our tickets for the Lawson benefit. We’re all subscribers to TSO and so thrilled we’ll get to see you conduct. They’re a wonderful orchestra.” The other women in the group clustered around him. The men were less zealous, but still seemed to be very pleased to meet him.

  “They are,” Liam said with a nod. “I’m looking forward to working with them. How long have you been subscribers?”

  Carrie watched him slide easily into celebrity mode, chatting with the group as if he’d known them forever, giving them his undivided attention for the short time they stood together in the sand. After he’d autographed the backs of several park maps and thanked them warmly, they moved on. The women were grinning like star-struck teenagers.

  “Does this happen often?” she asked as they made their way slowly down the dune toward the parking area.

  Smiling, he said, “Well, probably not as often as it does to say... Bono or Mick Jagger. But sometimes people recognize me. I imagine this had to do with the press the orchestra’s put out. Or maybe whatever benefit promo Dave Lawson’s doing in the area.”

  “How does that make you feel?” Carrie was still processing the encounter. “I’ve never been with someone being asked for an autograph before.”

  “It’s nice,” he admitted. “I like it when people recognize me and appreciate what I do.” They walked in silence for a few minutes before he added quietly, “I don’t get mobbed by fans, Carrie.”

  “You sure about that? How many women constitute a mob in the world of classical music, Maestro?”

  “I don’t know the exact number, but for what it’s worth, female symphony patrons rarely toss their panties up on the podium.” He winked and gave her a grin.

  “I’m not worried about that. Well, okay, maybe I am a little worried about that.” When he raised one brow, she elbowed him. “I don’t mean the panties, you idiot, I mean the attention you get.”

  “Why does that worry you?” Having reached her car, Carrie unlocked the doors with her remote. Liam opened the driver’s side door, but stood in the way so she couldn’t get in, obviously waiting for her to answer.

  “How do you handle that?” she asked and then added in a whisper. “How do I handle that?”

  “Graciously. Like we did today.” He tipped her face up with a finger under her chin. “I admit, at first, years ago, I didn’t handle it well—too taken in by my own press. But not anymore.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Look, I’m just a guy who wants to make beautiful music and is fortunate to be able to do what he loves. Okay?” He peered down at her face. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” Carrie agreed. But another seed of doubt had been planted. That encounter had been a very real reminder of how different life would be if they continued.

  Even now, the doubt lingered as she sipped her wine, watching the sunset. All in all, it had been a good day. They’d actually spent the better part of it together without a single harsh word between them. She’d expected him to lapse back into hostility whenever the topic turned to Jack, but he didn’t. The vast silences she’d worried about never occurred. Conversation progressed almost as easily as it had in Montreal—art, books, movies, his career, her photography. But always the subject came back to Jack. Liam’s questions were endless.

  What kind of grades does he make? What are his favorite subjects in school besides music? When did he learn to sail? What sports does he enjoy? What are his favorite foods?

  His questions regarding his son came fast and furious, but surprisingly, there were no questions about her—well, about her dating relationships. She was dying of curiosity about him and the women he’d known, but his apparent lack of curiosity made her own feel juvenile, perhaps even a bit petty. She’d seen photos of him with several different women. Most recently at the Grammy awards with Ella Grant, a tall willowy actress about twenty years his junior. Carrie was fairly certain that was who he’d been talking to the night before. But if he was involved with Ella Grant, why was he pursuing her?

  Rod Stewart singing “Maggie May” interrupted her musing. Pulling her cell phone out of the pouch in her hoodie, she squinted in the dim light at the screen. Jack! “Hey, honey!”

  “Mom, hi! How’s it going?”

  “It’s good, baby. How are you?” God, it was fantastic to hear his voice. “Tell me you miss your ol’ mom.”

  “I miss my ol’ mom,” Jack replied dutifully.

  “You’re such an obliging kid. I miss you too.” She stretched her legs out, settling in for a nice long chat. “How’s camp?”

  “Great! Tessa and I have five kids. The youngest is only six, but wow, she’s gonna rock. Already plays jazz almost like Eubie.”

  “No way! At six years ol
d?”

  “Yeah, she’s cute and super talented.” Jack’s enthusiasm came through loud and clear. He was obviously having a blast. “We’ve also got a little guy who’s eight and wants to be a conductor.”

  “No kidding?”

  A conductor?

  Carrie’s stomach lurched, and she took a sip of wine.

  He chuckled. “Serious. The kid brought a baton with him. Some conductor in Indianapolis gave it to him when he went backstage last winter. It’s all he talks about. Keeps asking me if he’ll get to meet Maestro Reilly when he comes for the benefit.”

  “Who else do you have?” Carrie wanted to get off the topic of conductors—Maestro Reilly, in particular.

  “A pair of twins who do, um, fairly well, but they always want to play together—you know, like duets? I’ve been all over the Web looking for stuff for them to play.”

  “Boys or girls?” she asked. “How old are they?”

  “Boys. They’re seven. Our other kid is a little girl who’s six. She’s from Japan, but man, she speaks, like, perfect English. She keeps calling me Sir. It’s kinda weird.”

  “Did you say Tessa? Tessa Nolan, the flute player you accompanied in spring recital?”

  Carrie’s curiosity was piqued. Jack hadn’t paid a lot of attention to girls yet, although they were certainly interested in him. Several girls from Willow Bay High School had been hanging around the marina that spring, talking to him while he manned the bait shop for Noah. Julie had teased Carrie unmercifully about them, warning her about the dangers of having a “hunky son.”

  “Yeah,” Jack replied. “Dr. Lawson put us together since Miko, the little Japanese girl, plays piano and flute.”

  She couldn’t resist. “So how’s that working out for you? As I recall, Tessa is really pretty.”

  “Yeah, well... she... um... she’s okay.”

  She knew her son well enough to know that his feeble attempt at nonchalance probably meant he liked the girl.

  Good Lord, am I ready for Jack and girls? Probably not.