The Romance Dance: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance

by Burton, Allie

  “Why?”

  “His love for music died. Died in the accident with his fiancée.” A small, knowing smile floated on Izzy’s face before she bit her lower lip. “Although it appears something or someone has brought him to life again.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Reed’s limp sounded louder walking home with Quinn later that evening. The quiet streets exaggerated the noise. Stars twinkled in the dark sky. He only noticed the cold whipping through him. From the wind and from her silence.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me more about my past?” The question popped out in a rush of nerves and misgiving.

  Her narrowed gaze slid over him, assessing the best way to answer. “I don’t understand why you want to keep your past a secret.” The hurt in her tone made him hurt.

  A slow, pounding ache worked through his veins. He heard the rhythm. Now he’d re-found music, he couldn’t turn it off, and he couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad.

  Good because he felt alive. Bad because if he lost the music again, he might not survive.

  Continuing to walk, they both stayed silent. He struggled to find a way to explain. He kept secrets to not expose himself and others to past pain. He didn’t want sympathy or reasons for his non-productive musical mind. He knew the music had disappeared because of his guilt.

  He opened his mouth once and closed it again. It wasn’t Brianna’s fault she’d told about the symphony. She hadn’t understood the ramifications. He’d been so shocked he would’ve done anything to stop the conversation, even throw Luke Logan’s name into the mix. Reed hung his head with shame.

  When he’d left to do the dishes, he’d seen the three women whispering. Quinn in the middle had seemed so comfortable, as if she’d been friends with his sister for years. Like she belonged in Castle Ridge. Would she appreciate the house he’d bought and was remodeling? He could casually mention it to her and ask if she wanted to see the house. He could picture her in his home and in his arms.

  The fantasy image yanked him back to reality. He needed to say something. The silence was killing him. He guided her to the side of the Victorian house to use the back entrance to their apartments.

  “Music was part of my past and I didn’t think it would ever be part of my future.” He knew hearing the music was good. He was afraid of the devastation if the music disappeared.

  “And now?” Her gloved hand took hold of his and he warmed, knowing the tiny confession had taken the sting out. “Do you want to go back?”

  He wanted to grasp her hand tighter and pull away at the same time for fear she’d decipher the emotions running through him. “I don’t know.” He wasn’t willing to admit how much he loved hearing the music out loud. He’d barely admitted it to himself.

  A car zoomed past and he added the sound to the song creating in his brain. An owl hooted adding an emphatic beat. His limp scratched against the narrow sidewalk leading around the side of the old house.

  She stayed silent, as if understanding he was not only composing music, but an explanation.

  “After the accident, the music stopped playing in my head, stopped speaking to me.” His doctors had told him it was temporary. His shrink had told him it was guilt. And Reed knew the guilt would never go away, so the music would never come.

  Until Quinn had come into his life. The urge to play had come with her piano sitting smack-dab in the middle of the studio. The music had begun in his head as he got to know her. And the composing was his way of letting off steam about his feelings.

  About Quinn.

  His knees trembled confessing to himself. A confession he’d never share.

  “At first I had an urge to play your piano.” Instead, he’d kicked the instrument out of fear and anger of all he’d lost. “Once I sat down on the bench, chords formed in my head. Old things, new things.” He ripped the knit hat off his head. “I can’t turn it off.”

  “That’s a good thing.” She squeezed his hand and the action brought comfort. “Your music is beautiful.”

  Taking his hand out of hers, he twisted the knit cap between his fingers. He didn’t want to rediscover his love of music only to lose it when he lost Quinn to some other man. Even if the man wasn’t his brother, she’d find someone to love. Possibly someone from out of town. Or worse, someone from Castle Ridge, where he’d get to witness her romance.

  His heart was being contorted and strangled. He wanted her to stay here forever, except seeing her with another man would torture.

  The scent of fireplaces filled the air. Another owl hooted.

  She raised her head and stared around. The stars lent a glow to her skin. “This is so different from New York, isn’t it?”

  “I hope you think it’s different in a good way.” He wanted her to stay in Castle Ridge forever. A slight hope he could be the reason she stayed pattered in his pulse.

  “You mean you don’t enjoy the smell of garbage and the constant sirens?” Her laughter tinkled and everything inside him lightened.

  He wanted to reach out and grab this moment, so he could savor it for a while.

  “Did you love your fiancée very much?” Her question sucker-punched.

  He lost his breath and stumbled. He began to sweat. His mind churned with questions and explanations. He didn’t know what to say, how to respond. The sweat chilled making him shiver. He wanted to tell Quinn his fiancée had killed any love…before he’d killed her.

  One of the things he’d never shared. He sucked in, and the cold air hit the back of his throat. His family and friends believed it was lost love stopping the music in his head. It wasn’t. It was condemnation, plain and simple.

  “What? How?” He couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

  Her expression softened and she placed her hands on his shoulders, sensing his need to be held up. “Your sister told me she died in the same accident where you were injured.” Quinn’s tender tone oozed empathy, not accusation like his fiancée’s sister.

  Or the police interrogation. Or the questioning glances from acquaintances and colleagues.

  Anguish crashed through his head, remembering the fight, the yelling and screaming, the ring being tossed at his head. He felt the ping of the sapphire against his forehead, and then the clink, as it dropped to the floor. The silence surrounding the action. The expression of fury on Elizabeth’s face.

  “Elizabeth and I fought that night.” His voice cracked.

  Quinn pulled him into a hug. Her rose scent wound around him and calmed. Her soft body comforted. She rubbed his back and made soothing noises. “All couples fight.”

  “Elizabeth and I were at a party and she drank too much.” She always drank too much. It was one of the many things they’d fought about. “I insisted on taking her home.” He shuddered, the soundtrack of the evening playing in his mind. “It was sleeting, and the road was slippery. She kept yelling and yelling.”

  At him. How he couldn’t break up with her. That they were perfect for each other. How she’d made his career.

  Quinn held him a little tighter, gently coaxing the confession.

  “Elizabeth ordered me to pay attention to her. I needed to concentrate on the road.” His throat scratched with unshed tears. “She grabbed the wheel.”

  Gasping, Quinn’s warm breath hit his cold cheek, making him remember he was alive, still had feelings, feelings for her. He had music, even if it had been buried for years.

  “I remember the crash, the air bags deploying, and Elizabeth’s bloody hand resting on my thigh.” The images of the accident were so clear.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Quinn rubbed his back harder trying to force him to believe her words.

  “She died because of me.” His body iced and his voice grew cold. “That’s why the music died in my head.”

  Leaning away from him, Quinn caught his gaze and drilled into him. “It wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen. She tried to take the wheel.”

  The loss of Quinn’s body heat sent chills racing down his spin
e. “Don’t blame her.”

  She stroked his cheek and the racing chills morphed to desirous tingles. “I’m not blaming anyone, because no one is at fault.”

  She tilted toward him. Panic and desire shot through his body, two types of music playing at one time. Her eyes closed. His got wider. Her plush lips moved toward him.

  He shouldn’t kiss her.

  He couldn’t kiss her.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  His mouth descended. The magnetic pull of her lips couldn’t be denied. She tasted of sunshine and lightness and a home-cooked meal. This might only be a sympathy kiss, but he was lost. Gathering her closer, he couldn’t not respond. He wanted her kiss and her comfort. He wanted her to tantalize him. And boy, did she tantalize. He wanted to be aroused again, aroused like he hadn’t been in over five years, aroused with an intensity only Quinn could ignite.

  Even knowing this was a pity kiss, his body reacted. Fireworks exploded in his head. He threaded his fingers through Quinn’s hair, caressing the back of her head, and taking control. He pressed his tongue against the seam of her lips and she welcomed him. His pulse picked up pace, pumping blood through his vessels. His manhood throbbed.

  And his heart tumbled.

  * * *

  Quinn opened to Reed. Opened her mouth. Opened her spirit. Opened her heart.

  She’d been wanting this kiss for days, and finally she initiated it. He’d been vulnerable and she needed to comfort. She’d hated seeing him upset. He must’ve been deeply in love with Elizabeth.

  And then the kiss had changed.

  He’d changed the message of contact. It had gone from comforting to passionate. And Quinn found herself wanting this kiss even more. Her tongue danced with his in the light of the moon. Poetic thoughts because of his kiss. She pressed herself against him, feeling his warmth and his hardness, and melting into him. His hands tangled in her hair, re-positioning her head so they could get closer. Thrills brushed across her body in a tease. His mouth nibbled hers as if he were a starving man. She wanted to be his meal. She wanted to fulfill his needs and let him fulfill hers.

  She slinked her hands under his jacket and shirt. Her fingers brushed his waist, and sparks whooshed through her. His smooth skin was hard with muscle, carved abs and firm waist. Solid and strong. Dependable. A man with roots who you could count on. Not a flighty dancer or a building-his-reputation artistic producer. Not a user or a swindler.

  He moaned. A signal of desire.

  Her knees went weak and she clung to him, needing his strength. Needing him.

  “I forgot how good this felt,” he mumbled against her lips.

  Pain radiated in her empty chest. He hadn’t kissed anyone since Elizabeth. He’d been loyal to his dead fiancée for years. He must’ve really loved her.

  Quinn should stop. Her brain said put an end to this madness. Her senses said go, go, go. He needed her. She’d initiated the kiss, and he’d responded like any man who hadn’t been with a woman in years.

  He leaned closer and positioned her against the side of the house. The flat surface of the wall contrasted with the hard contours of his body. Continuing the kiss, her hands moved over his shoulders and back. She didn’t want to be a nameless, faceless woman, but she wanted to make him better. Make him feel good, and in the process make herself feel good. She shoved her hands farther up his back.

  His fingers toyed with the edge of her jacket and she wished he’d fondle her skin. She wanted his hands on her body. When he pushed against her center and wetness pooled at the juncture between her thighs, she couldn’t remember any hesitations. His kiss and his caress was so amazing it was hard to think.

  She could only feel.

  His hands finally found their way beneath her light jacket. His palms spread across her lower back causing shivers on her skin. She wanted more than his hands on her. She wanted his entire naked body next to hers. Flesh to flesh. She’d never felt this urgency to get close to someone so fast. If she’d been thinking clearly she’d be shocked.

  She wasn’t. “Let’s go home.”

  Reed broke off the kiss. His emerald eyes widened and flashed with what appeared to be shock. His swollen lips rounded. He glared as if surprised to find he’d been kissing her and not his fiancée. “Dax.”

  Or thinking about his brother.

  Her body sagged in disappointment.

  Reed yanked his hands from under her jacket. “I shouldn’t have.” His voice scratched with horror. “Dax. You’re dating Dax. My brother.”

  “Dax and I went on one date.” Quinn rationalized. Reed was worried about his brother. As teens had they had a friendly competition with the girls?

  He backed away, and her body slid down the side of the house. So much for him being someone she could count on. “You’ve made plans to go out again.”

  She did have plans with his brother. A follow-up meeting with someone they’d met at the business association happy hour. Business, nothing serious. Besides, how did he know about their date? “Yes, but—”

  “We shouldn’t have kissed.” He didn’t let her explain. “Dax is my brother. Even if you aren’t dating, you did date and my brother and I have a deal we don’t poach—”

  “Poach?” She poked a finger into Reed’s pecs. “Your brother doesn’t own me.”

  “You don’t understand. You don’t have siblings.”

  Pointing out the obvious shouldn’t hurt so much. She was alone in the world. No brothers or sisters. No parents or grandparents. And apparently, no Reed.

  His cruelty had her smashing her lips together. One date did not signal ownership.

  His cheeks pulled in and his expression resembled the Degas painting with the terrified ballet dancer about to go on stage. “We need to forget this ever happened.”

  Reed’s assumptions and denial of their mutual desire sliced. Anguish and embarrassment twisted inside rising to her head. Confused, she tried to figure out what was going on. Was it really because of Dax, or was Reed still in love with his dead fiancée?

  He might be able to forget their passionate kiss, but could she?

  * * *

  How could Quinn forget the kiss when Reed’s music whispered in her ear?

  She rolled over in her lonely bed and stared at the ceiling. It had been past midnight when he’d started playing the piano in the dance studio. The tinkling had entered her dreams like the caress of a lover. Each vibrato hugged and heated. Each note had tantalized and teased. Each chord had stroked and fondled. And the crescendo had awoken her from a very sexual dream.

  She woke up wanting Reed.

  When the music stopped abruptly, she’d thrown on her robe and stepped into the hallway, hoping to talk to him. To explain Dax was only a friend. To convince Reed their kiss proved they’d be good together. He shouldn’t mourn for the rest of his life. She could help him get past his loss.

  His fingers pounded on the keyboard with an angry clashing of chords. Jerking, she stopped her forward progress to listen.

  The song no longer sounded wanton. It sounded sharp and discordant and agonized. The beat was off. The harmony non-existent. Was he upset about the kiss they’d shared? Or was he tortured by his love for his dead fiancée?

  For him not to hear music in his head since Elizabeth’s death showed the depth of Reed’s love. For him not to be with anyone, even a casual encounter, proved his loyalty and strength. His sister hinted he’d started playing again when Quinn had arrived. He’d been aroused by their kiss. A sign, perhaps?

  She tiptoed down the stairs, unsure about her ultimate goal. Could she pry his love from a dead woman’s hands? Giving him her body could lead to deeper feelings, couldn’t it? Was it worth the risk? She trembled, and not from the cold. If she let him use her body without involving his emotions, the romantic encounter would only be sex. Their needs would be fulfilled, but their hearts would stay empty.

  Reed’s fingers slammed on the keys. The chords clashed together resembling battling dancers in the Don
Quixote ballet. The stroke of notes struck her hard. A knife to the chest. Covering her ears, she couldn’t listen to the harsh music any longer. She couldn’t let Reed endure his torment alone.

  On shaky legs, she continued down the stairs. She wasn’t one for a casual fling. Her goal in Castle Ridge was to set down roots. Her and Reed’s kiss had been fueled by lust on his part, and she needed to save herself and not get involved. Right?

  Not get involved in a romantic relationship, but she couldn’t let him wallow in despair.

  He was emotionally unavailable. She had to accept it. She needed a friend more than a one-night stand.

  Almost en pointe, she swished across the dance floor. The music crashed into her harder and faster the closer she got. So involved in his musical noise he didn’t notice her approach. She placed a hand on his arm of his wrinkled T-shirt.

  The music clashed and stopped. The harsh echoes rang through the dance studio. His head swiveled to stare as if she were an alien, when she’d believed she’d be an angel of salvation.

  His mouth pulled in tight. She’d surprised him, shocked him.

  Her lungs caught on a hitch. She’d done the right thing. Stopping the noise and the agony. “Are you okay?”

  His face muscles tightened, seeming to control his expression. A tick pulsed in his cheek. “I’m sorry.” He spoke slow and terse, again trying to hide his feelings. “Did I wake you?”

  So polite. So uncomfortable. So unlike the Reed she’d come to know, who’d shared his sorrows.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She wanted to comfort without insulting. “You sounded upset.”

  “No. I’m fine.” His lips tightened together, like he was forcing himself not to say more.

  She rubbed his arm with her knuckles. She was his buddy, his pal, nothing sexual about the contact. “You’re sure?” She was sure. Sure he was upset, and talking about his dead fiancée must’ve started this storm.