“Hey, Babyface Nelson, keep walking,” I call sarcastically, and the guy startles, his attention shifting quickly to me.
The other guy narrows his eyes as he chews on a wad of gum. “We’re happy where we are, thanks,” he replies in a hard tone.
Babyface Nelson walks to his friend and folds his arms. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Shane puts his hand to the small of my back in a protective gesture as he guides me to the car. “We don’t want any trouble here,” he says, pulling his keys from his pocket. Both their attentions light up when they see the keys, the plan for a quick clean steal formulating in their heads. I wish I’d thought to warn Shane not to take his keys from his pocket. Now they know he’s the owner.
Quick as a flash, one of the thugs pulls out a short flick knife, making sure Shane gets a good look at it and understands the threat.
“Throw those keys over here,” says the thug, and Shane eyeballs him.
“Fuck off,” he answers, his hand on my back pressing in harder.
The thug’s expression turns angry as he moves towards us.
“I said give me the keys, or I’ll fuck up your pretty little girlfriend.”
“And I said fuck off.” Shane stands firm.
I don’t like where this is going, not one tiny bit. I’m about to tell Shane to just give him the keys, because he obviously has insurance for a car this expensive, and it’s not worth getting stabbed over. But I don’t get the chance to do that, because the thug with the knife moves fast, running directly toward me with the blade. Before I can move, Shane twists his body around mine, and the thug ends up sticking him in the side instead.
I see red just as Shane clutches himself from the shock of being stabbed and the thug dives for the keys that have dropped to the ground. Leaping into action, I kick him hard right between the legs. The thug grunts in pain and I grab his wrist, twisting it so the knife falls from his hand. I pick it up quickly and hold it out.
“Get out of here now, both of you, before I call the police.”
Once they’ve scarpered, I turn quickly to Shane, pulling his shirt up so that I can check the damage. He didn’t get cut too deep, just enough to make him bleed, but it might need stitches.
“You okay?” I ask, slightly out of breath.
His lips turn up in an almost smile. “Yeah, I’ve been worse,” he says, giving a pained wince as I lead him to the passenger door. “I have to say, I’m feeling slightly emasculated.”
I grin. “What?! You got stabbed for me. That’s about as heroic as it comes. Come on, I’m driving you to A&E in St. James’ to get you looked at.”
He doesn’t complain about me driving his car, and since I’m used to my old Mini that I had to sell last year, it takes a bit of getting used to driving a Range Rover. Shane grins at my mistakes but doesn’t comment on them. I think he’s in a little too much pain to speak but is trying his best to hide it. I park close to the hospital entrance and hold Shane’s hand as we walk inside. We explain to one of the nurses on duty what happened, and she gives us a form to fill in before instructing us to take a seat. It’s eleven o’clock at night, so suffice it to say there are more drunks and junkies hanging around than actual sick people.
It’s an environment I recognise well. I’ve been hospitalised a few times over the years, all self-inflicted of course. With my life being so clean now, it’s hard to be reminded of when it wasn’t.
A woman drinking a bottle of strawberry Ensure is sitting in the row in front of us, having an argument with herself. I imagine all the nutrients and vitamins sinking into her damaged system, trying to repair a body fucked up by drugs. Vitamin A, vitamin B, vitamins C, D, E, and K. All in liquid form, because she can’t handle solid foods, or maybe she just doesn’t care enough to go through the hassle of chewing.
I know I didn’t.
Often I’d shun a bowl of cereal for breakfast in favour of a cigarette and a bottle of something strong.
“We could be waiting a while,” I say to Shane with an apologetic expression. I feel to blame for all this; the reason he’s injured is because he was protecting me (which makes me feel all mushy inside) and also because my neighbourhood is so crappy that he couldn’t even park his car there for a couple of hours without someone trying to steal it.
“I have good health insurance,” he replies. “Does that make a difference?”
His eyes light up for a moment, like he’s actually enjoying this or something.
“Oh, I’m not sure. Maybe.”
Our question is answered no longer than twenty minutes later, when a nurse calls his name. Yep, the insurance definitely makes a difference. I’ve spent my whole life on free healthcare and sometimes have had to wait several hours to be seen. I try to go with Shane, but in a clipped voice the nurse informs me that’s not allowed. Huh. I wonder why she’s being so snotty. Maybe I gave her a hassle years ago and she remembers my face.
I sit back down in the seat and pull out my phone, dialling the number of the police station nearest my home. A male voice I recognise answers, a cop I’ve had to deal with a few times over the last couple months when Pete’s gotten himself into trouble. He’s a bit of an old prick, but aren’t they all? Sergeant Finnegan, I think I remember his name being.
I quickly tell him the details of what happened, and he says he’ll look into it. I get the feeling he doesn’t exactly play things by the book, because I’m sure he should have told me to come down to the station.
When Shane returns, he has that pleased look in his eye that shows he’s been given some good painkillers. He lifts the side of his shirt to show me his hip is all bandaged up.
“Are you going to be okay to play your instrument?” I ask with concern, trying not to ogle his momentarily bared abdomen.
He waves me off. “Oh, yeah, it was only a little cut.”
I grin and make a funny swooning noise. “Such a man.”
“The manliest.” He smiles and dangles his keys in my face. “Now take me home, woman. I strangely enjoy watching you drive my car.”
I swipe the keys and stand up. “What, like a comedy of errors?”
“Nah, more like foreplay.”
Snorting, I reply, “Oh, God. Did you really mean to say that?”
He continues, smiling happily, “Yes, Jade. Yes, I did.”
“I think they might have given you too much meds. You know sometimes that stuff works like truth serum.”
Pretending like he needs to lean on me for strength, despite just claiming his injury was only a little cut, he puts his arm around my shoulder. “This was a great night,” he declares. “I love being around you. You really know how to live.”
We’ve just reached his car when I slip out from under his arm and open the passenger door for him.
“Yeah, I know how to get my new friend stabbed and his car almost stolen. Such a great life I live,” I reply mockingly as I start the engine.
We’re driving out of the hospital when Shane says, “It’s better than being sheltered. You live in the real world, Jade, and you don’t know how desperate I am to join you.”
Turning from the road for a moment, I give him a funny look. “You live in the real world, too, Shane.”
“I live in a world of privilege.”
“Just because it’s privileged doesn’t mean it’s not real. It means you’re fortunate.”
He shakes his head and reaches out to put his hand on my arm. “It’s stifling and fake. And so fucking lonely. I want you to teach me to be like you, to live like you.”
For a while I remain quiet. Then I reply, “My life is one long series of fuck-ups, bad luck, and mistakes. I have nothing good to teach you. By the way, we’re almost in Ranelagh. Where’s your house?”
“Turn left here,” he says. “And I’m not letting you change the subject. Teach me, Jade.”
“You’re very strange sometimes.”
“Teach me.”
“I’m not sure…”
“Jade, please, just say yes.” He squeezes my arm. “I need this. You don’t know how much.”
The sincerity in his eyes startles me; he seems almost desperate. And so, despite the fact that I have no clue what I’m signing myself up for, I reply, “Okay, Shane, I’ll teach you.”
He grins big. “Thank you. My house is just at the end of this street.”
I let out a breath and park outside the red brick Victorian house. It has a really nice garden and white plantation shutters on the windows. Getting out, I throw him his keys.
“I need to call for a cab to bring me back to mine, but my battery’s dead,” I say as he catches them easily.
“Come inside. You can use the house phone.”
I eye his place warily, wondering if it’s a good idea that I go inside. He opens the door and turns to look at me when I haven’t moved.
“You coming in or what?”
“Yeah,” I answer finally, and walk into the foyer. The place has obviously been lovingly restored; it even has those old coloured tiles on the floor. Shane leads me to the living room and shows me to the phone, where I quickly dial Barry’s number. It rings out with no answer, so he must not be working tonight. Putting the phone back down on the receiver, I try to remember the number for my local taxi rank.
Shane’s sitting on his vintage brown leather sofa, watching me. We lock eyes for a long minute, a dozen emotions passing between us.
“Barry, the guy who drove you home the other night, he’s not picking up. I need to Google the number of another rank.”
Shane reaches into the pocket of his trousers and pulls out his sleek black iPhone. “Here, use this.”
I walk to him and reach out for the phone, but when I grab it, he doesn’t let it go.
“Stay,” he breathes, gaze intense.
“What?”
“Stay the night.”
“Shane, I can’t.”
Gripping my wrist with his other hand, he pulls me down onto his lap before I can resist, and then his hands are in my hair, trailing down my spine.
“We can’t do this,” I tell him, breathing heavily. My thighs are straddling his waist, and I can feel him hardening against me.
“Jade, please, just let me….” He trails off and pulls my face to his. Then he does the sweetest thing by running his nose along my nose before nuzzling my neck. It’s so simple, yet feels incredibly intimate. I close my eyes, wanting so much to give in and let him slip inside me. All he needs to do is hitch my dress up and undo his pants. So very fucking easy, and yet I know I have to be strong. Temptation is around me all the time, and Shane is just another form of it.
Shakily I open my eyes and get off his lap. He watches me, a sad expression on his face. He knows I’m not going to stay. Without another word, I quickly search for a number on his phone and then call a cab. The lady on the other end tells me a car will be there in ten minutes, but that could be ten minutes too long if I have to stare at Shane and think of all the things I can’t allow myself to have.
I look around the room for a distraction and see his violin perched on a stand. Walking to it, I run my fingers over its surface.
“It’s an original Stradivarius,” Shane says in a quiet voice, almost like he’s telling me a secret.
I turn to him, open-mouthed. “You’re joking.”
There are only a couple hundred of these violins left in the world, and Shane just leaves this one sitting in his living room for anyone to steal. Is he crazy? It’s at least worth several hundred thousand euros, if not millions.
“Not joking,” he replies, smiling.
“Uh, shouldn’t this be locked up in a safe or something?”
“Now, where would be the point in that? The beauty of an instrument is to play it, not to leave it to get dusty in a safe. Besides, it’s insured up the wazoo.”
I can’t stop staring at the violin, a piece of wood that was created perhaps two hundred years ago. What historical figures have held it in their hands? What great musicians have made it sing for them? Hundreds of multi-coloured fingerprints rise up on the shiny wood, dancing along its length, telling a thousand tales of music. I blink, and they’re gone.
“But how can you even afford this? I know your string quartet was popular but….”
“My grandfather left me a sum of money when he died. The rest I took from my own savings. I dreamed of having this instrument since I was a boy, and then a few years ago I finally had the means to pay for it.”
“Wow.”
“You sound impressed.”
“I am impressed, very much so. But you need to keep it locked up when you’re not at home.”
Shane shrugs. “I usually do. This time I forgot. Anyway, very few people would think it was anything other than a plain old violin if they saw it.”
“Hmm, that’s true.” I hesitate before continuing impulsively, “Play something for me.”
Shane tilts his head, studying me, then nods and goes to pick up the instrument. I watch him; he hasn’t even started playing yet, and I’m already enraptured simply by the way he moves. Bringing the bow to the strings, he plays a slow, sad tune. I recognise it from his album, the one I’ve been listening to far too much. He only gets a couple of notes in when there’s a harsh knock at the door, breaking my too short reverie.
“Damn, that’s the taxi.”
Shane nods, placing the violin back on its stand. “We’re forever being interrupted by those blasted things,” he says, referring to the other night in my kitchen.
“Yes, strange that,” I say with a smile.
“Are you working tomorrow?”
“I am.” God, why is my voice coming out so breathy?
“I have two concerts to play, so I might see you around.”
Walking to him, I give his wrist a light squeeze. “See you tomorrow, then.”
And I go, walking straight out the front door and leaving behind what could very well have been an incredible night I’d never forget.
Chapter Eight
The next day I walk into work tired as hell. I had a rough time of it trying to get Pete up and ready for school this morning. Then I had to talk down an anxious April, whose first day as Lara’s child-minder is today. She might act like the cock of the walk most of the time, but April is prone to panic attacks, especially when she has to try something new.
In the end I got them both out the door with just enough time to shower, have breakfast, and take Specky for a quick walk before my shift. I’m manning the first-floor bar again today, and when I walk in I spy two men seated off to the side, deep in chat. I immediately recognise one of them as Shane, and the other I’ve never met before.
I take over from my co-worker and start restocking the fridges with bottles. Shane and the man he’s talking to are close enough for me to hear most of their conversation; I quickly catch on that he’s a journalist and Shane’s being interviewed for some magazine or newspaper. I guess it makes sense, since he is sort of a celebrity in the classical music world.
“So, you’re enjoying being back on home soil?” asks the journalist.
“Oh, sure. It’s great to play around the world, but there’s something that little bit special about being home. My parents used to take me to see concerts in this hall when I was just a boy. I idolised the violinists in the symphony, and now I’m one of them. Plus, there’s a great sense of community in an orchestra that you don’t get in smaller groups.”
The journalist chuckles. “It must be very fulfilling, but let me ask you, your departure from The Bohemia Quartet was somewhat abrupt. You say you left for health reasons, but now you’re playing again, so what I want to know is if that was really the reason why you left?”
Whoa,
diving straight for the juicy tidbits there. Shane’s jaw flexes ever so slightly, but he quickly covers his anger at being asked such a personal question by laughing good-naturedly. “Yes, that was the real reason. I know everybody likes a good scandal, but in this case there wasn’t one.”
“So why haven’t you re-joined the group? You’re obviously back to health now.”
“As you probably already know,” says Shane patiently, “our manager, Jack Campbell, replaced me with a new violinist, Andrew Hollows. He’s a very talented musician, and I couldn’t have asked for a better replacement to bring the group into a new era. Besides, it was time for a change.”
“But didn’t you just say you left for health reasons?”
“Yes, but I also wanted to move on with my career, do something different.”
“You just mentioned your manager, Jack Campbell. Might I ask you about your relationship with his daughter, Mona Campbell, the concert pianist?”
Mona was his fiancée? Perhaps that’s who the album Songs for Her was named after. He must have really loved her to have done that. Shane drums his fingers on the table for a moment, and I wonder if it’s a sign that he’s getting ticked off with this line of questioning. He swallows visibly. “What would you like to know?”
“Word is that you two were engaged to be married, but she broke it off. Now she’s in a very public relationship with the Bohemia Quartet’s cellist, Justin Burke. Do you still keep in contact with either of them?”
“I wish them both every happiness, but no, we’re not still in touch.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” the journalist replies brazenly.
Shane doesn’t say anything, but simply eyes the man like he can’t believe what a prick he’s being. Neither of them have noticed my presence in the empty bar, so I decide to interrupt and give Shane a little break from the interview.
“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” I ask, approaching their table.
Shane’s eyes widen when he sees me, confirming my suspicions that he didn’t realise I’d come in. Damn, now I feel bad for eavesdropping. He might not have wanted me to know some of the stuff that was just said.
Rockers After Dark: 6 Book Bundle of Sexy Musicians Page 32