BEASTLY LOVE BOX SET: Romance Collection

by Lindsey Hart

  “I was never your student.” She had no idea how she could say it with such conviction.

  His mouth slammed shut and he turned, clearly not wanting to say more. Leena didn’t know if she should press him or not. Something, as though a fog cleared, slammed into her mind. A memory. Of Dallas at the piano, instructing a girl. She was maybe sixteen. She was singing, singing so beautifully and there she was, in the background, listening to his every word. She saw herself, fleetingly, as though through someone else’s eyes, after, at home, singing the notes again over and over, stroking the cold piano keys until she poured life into them and they warmed under her touch.

  Who was the girl with me? Why was I even there?

  She couldn’t have been more than sixteen at the time. Was the vision even real? It was so fleeting, it could have come from anywhere. A movie even. She knew it was a memory, a true memory since Minnie had sketched out a sort of timeline for her. She knew that she’d known Dallas from the time she was fifteen, literally half her life.

  “No, you were never my student.”

  Before she could ask anything else, Dallas turned. There was a door on the other side of the room that she hadn’t noticed before. He left through that, walked over and disappeared. It shut with a quiet click. She had no idea where he’d gone or if he’d come back. Her instincts told her no.

  What kind of a man was her husband, this man cloaked in shadow and apparent misery? More importantly, what kind of a woman was she to have married such a man?

  CHAPTER 6

  Leena

  After a frustrating afternoon spent trying to belong in a world she no longer felt was her own, Leena was about to head back to the apartment that apparently was hers. She’d walked through the small kitchen, bedroom, living room and bathroom. Her things were there. They were feminine, the rooms clearly that of a female occupant, but other than that, they were impersonal to her.

  Her mind felt like a fog, a series of closed doors that refused to open. It was as frustrating as it was painful. Her head felt like it was going to explode.

  Though images of her bed, neatly made up, beckoned to her, she didn’t want to leave things the way they were with Dallas. It had bothered her all afternoon, their fight. She felt like she’d gone in swinging, though it had been the last thing she intended. He’d attacked first and even if she’d been on the defensive, what she’d done wasn’t right. She’d sworn at him. It was hardly a good first meeting.

  She’d asked him why he didn’t come, but she knew, from somewhere deep inside of herself, that Dallas didn’t leave the auditorium because music chained him there. The walls around him, his rooms, the building itself, was safe. The outside world, she could tell by the fear she’d seen in his eyes, was not. What fears or even illness did Dallas hide under that handsome surface? Did she once know all about it? Had he ever let her into his private world, the world he kept locked inside himself?

  Her stomach churned and her chest threatened to cave in on itself, a good indication that the answer was yes. The tenderness she’d felt when she first heard his name hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had only grown stronger.

  Though Leena sensed she should probably just leave well enough alone, she walked across the hallway, out of her small quarters. She pushed open the door of the studio. Just like before the room was dark, the lights off and the shades pulled down. As her eyes adjusted, she truly looked around, surprised at how much she’d missed earlier. She made out the shape of three different pianos, an organ, several guitars, cases with other instruments, violins or something, and at the back of the room, a drum set. Can Dallas play all of those?

  She’d been to the recording room, on the main floor. Did he ever set down his music on anything other than paper?

  There were pages everywhere, stacks and stacks of pages. Along the open piano lips, on benches, tables, scattered around the floor. Of course, there were balled up pages as well. She resisted the urge to pick them up and smooth them out, as Dallas said she once had.

  Why can’t I remember? That day was likely the start of our partnership, the start of whatever Dallas and I are, and I can’t bring back a thing.

  She swallowed back her frustration and stared at the door on the other side of the room. If Dallas wasn’t in the studio, he was probably in there. Leena steered herself towards that door. She sidestepped piles of paper, some smooth, some wadded up, instruments, cases, other debris she couldn’t make out in the dark even if her eyes were well adjusted.

  She expected the door to be locked when she placed her fingers on the cool handle, but it wasn’t. She turned it and it opened smoothly, without protest or resistance.

  She realized immediately that she’d walked into Dallas’ private domain. The shades on the windows weren’t drawn like they were in the other room, as though the glow of the city in the dark was less threatening than the warming sun of the day. The lights were off, but she made out pieces of the huge room. It wasn’t like hers, divided into compartments. It was all open.

  A small kitchen stood off to the right. She expected a pile of dirty dishes mounded up in the sink, but it was clean. The entire place was fairly tidy. It smelled closed in, but it had an unlived-in feel, like its occupant ghosted in and out instead of actually residing there.

  There was an upright antique couch in the corner and a massive chandelier overhead. Leena found herself wondering if it had ever been turned on before.

  What caught her attention was the large bed in the corner. It was made up, but the covers were rumpled, as though Dallas slept on top, not below, when exhaustion became too much to overcome.

  Her eyes landed on the grand piano in the corner of the room. She saved it for last. It was black and the glow from the windows lining the far brick wall cast a sweet sheen over the impressive, polished surface.

  He was there, as she already knew he’d be. Dallas was slumped over the keys, the bench pulled back, his long legs stretched out below. His shoulders and neck were at an odd, painful angle. It looked like he’d simply run out of steam. That, like a wind-up toy, he’d paused where he’d fallen, frozen in place. His hands were out in front of his face, in an attempt to block the bruising force of the piano’s hard edges. His eyes were closed, blonde lashes resting on his cheek and gentle inhales and exhales echoed through the quiet area.

  Leena knew she should leave. She’d intruded enough, but her legs refused to move. When she finally unglued her feet from the ancient hardwood floor, she found herself walking towards Dallas, not away. She held her breath, like that alone could keep her from disturbing him.

  As she neared, her heart beat harder. Her pulse jumped at her neck and her insides clenched and locked. She didn’t understand the response. She didn’t even know if she was afraid or just anxious, or if it was something else entirely that kicked her body into overdrive, brought every single nerve ending and synapse into a state of utter awareness.

  She stopped less than a few inches away. Don’t touch him. Her hand snaked out anyway, her fingers finding soft cotton. His plaid shirt was warm, warm from his body below. Her stomach cramped, and a jolt of adrenaline ripped through her. Her hand trembled as she smoothed out a crease near the shoulder. A wave of something, some feeling washed over her. She finally knew what it was. Longing.

  I need to get out of here. Now. Instead, she leaned in, helplessly drawn to him like a moth about to end up in fiery disaster. She inhaled deeply, her face inches from the place where his shirt collar pulled away from the muscular column of his neck. She dragged in a ragged breath and her head swam helplessly at the delicious scent that was Dallas.

  He wasn’t some man in a fairy tale. No, he was real. He wore no cologne to mask his scent or impede the beauty of his own deep, raw, maleness. The slightly stale scent of dried sweat mingled with the unguarded innocence of deep sleep. She loved, most of all, that overriding everything was his own scent, the unique, glorious smell of chemistry and daily life. She closed her eyes and imagined the smell of music, all
that endless paper, like guarded hope and endless, endless creativity.

  Leena was as unprepared for the explosion of movement as Dallas woke to find her there, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. He moved so quickly he nearly knocked her to the floor as he sat up. She literally heard the sharp crack of bone on bone as he righted himself from his awkward, hunched over position. His tired eyes blazed fire as she stumbled back, hands out defensively in front of herself.

  “What are you doing in here?” The piano bench scraped back with a sharp groan over the hardwood as Leena backed up a step.

  “I…”

  “You what? Couldn’t leave well enough alone? This is my room, or did you forget that too?”

  “No,” she mumbled, trying not to rise to his purposeful anger. “It’s pretty obvious. I… I just felt bad all day about what happened this afternoon. I’m sorry. I didn’t come in here trying to attack you or start a fight. I really just wanted to know why you hadn’t come. Truly.” She swallowed hard, emotion lodging her throat closed. “Do I really mean nothing to you at all?”

  He sighed, and those broad shoulders slumped with the weight of unseen burdens. He ran a hand through his tangled blonde hair and winced when it snagged on one of the many knots. “I… I don’t go out. You know that. That’s why our arrangement works well. I’m sorry if you felt I was harsh in explaining it to you. I don’t have a lot of patience.”

  She realized then how pale he was, that it wasn’t just a trick of the moonlight. The dark smudges under his eyes spoke to more than a few sleepless nights. “You don’t look well,” she whispered.

  He shrugged. “Well… define that word. I’m never well. Not like other people, but you knew that when you took this on.”

  “And now? Now that I don’t know anything?”

  He shrugged again. “God, I’d like some tea.”

  A tiny light lit up inside of Leena. It swam through her blood, the ounce of hope, the small, almost non-existent olive branch he extended. “I can make some.”

  He hedged, eyes roving around the room. Finally, he sighed, as though he knew it was a battle he had to lose, having her there since they so clearly needed to talk.

  It took a minute, but he moved. He stalked across the room and sat down heavily on the antique couch, a settee upholstered in green fabric, probably silk, that didn’t look at all like it would hold his weight. It did, though it almost groaned when he sat down so carelessly on the old springs.

  Leena figured she was once likely a little familiar with the kitchen. She finally found a light switch under one of the cabinets and flicked it on. Dallas didn’t offer any help or instruction as to where to find anything. She felt entirely self-conscious as she fumbled her way around, getting out a kettle and mugs.

  Sugar. He likes sugar. She didn’t know where the thought came from, or the memory, if that’s what it was, but she found a bag of sugar that was mostly hard lumps and placed a spoonful in the chipped, plain white mug.

  She brought over two mugs of steaming dark tea when it was done. There was no place to put them, so she set hers on the floor by the settee and gave Dallas his carefully. She sat down with hers, far too close. She felt him want to draw away, but there was no other piece of furniture in the room unless the bed counted. She closed her mind off of that thought right away. She didn’t need to add the strange desire that swirled through her veins to the mix at the moment.

  “Have you eaten today?” She finally asked, when Dallas remained silent. He sat upright, holding his mug, unmoving, unblinking.

  He considered that, frowning deeply. “No,” he finally responded. “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you want me to make you something?”

  “No.”

  “When did you last sleep?”

  Dallas’ frown faded, and he smiled sarcastically. “You know, it’s funny. You can’t remember anything, but here you are, asking me the same questions you always have.”

  Leena bit her lip. He wasn’t exactly mocking her, but she wasn’t sure what to feel. She finally decided the best way to deal with him was just to ignore the parts of him that were so hard to get along with. I must have married him for a reason. Not just for the money, like he said before. She could tell, as that tender feeling flooded her chest again, that he meant something to her. No, it wasn’t just for the money that she was there.

  “Are you going to be okay, Dallas?” She couldn’t believe her words when she spoke after a long, uncomfortable silence.

  “Okay?” He scoffed. “I doubt I’ve ever been that.” He took a sip of the tea and nearly spat it back into the cup. “What is this?”

  “Just black tea. It was the only thing I found in the cupboard,” she said defensively. It would be a lot easier to like him if he stopped trying to be an asshole all the time.

  “What did you put in it?”

  “Sugar. I thought… I had this idea that you liked it that way.”

  “I like it with honey. Not sugar. Never sugar.” He shuddered and set the cup aside.

  Even though her annoyance was rising, she tried her best to be patient and kind. She didn’t want another blow out fight like that afternoon. She had come to apologize, after all. “Well… uh- mine doesn’t have sugar. I can put honey in it and you can have that. Or I can make you something fresh, if you want.”

  Dallas looked at her strangely, his light eyes cloudy and mysterious in the near darkness. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because it will only take a few minutes. It’s not like it’s going to be any trouble to do it. I messed it up and I want to fix it.”

  He sighed hard, his eyes leaving her face and sweeping around the room. “You know, Leena, that’s the one thing you’ve always done. You’ve always been so damn nice to me. I don’t get it. I tried everything to chase you away. I tried for years to just… disappear. I wanted to not exist anymore, when the pain was too much.”

  She leaned forward when he paused. “What pain, Dallas?”

  The abject misery in his eyes, when they landed back on her face, was heartbreaking. She felt it in her own body. It hurt. Her stomach. Her lungs. Her ribs. Her heart. Everything. The weight of his despair was absolutely crushing.

  “Nothing.” He swiped a hand over his eyes and the emotion was gone. They were just a flat grey once again.

  She knew that he wasn’t going to say more. She literally watched him shut down and her heart ached at the pain he carried inside, a pain she no longer knew anything about. It frustrated her to the point of tears that she couldn’t remember when she wanted to so very badly.

  “Why do you not go outside?” she whispered. She waited, sure he wasn’t going to tell her. When he did, she was a little amazed.

  “I just- don’t. I can’t. I- have a lot of anxiety on top of everything else. Panic attacks. They make me physically sick. It’s more than that though. It’s music. It’s just always there. Always, always in my head, always inside. It drives me insane. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I can’t- do anything. Just the music. You used to know that, so I’ll tell you. You won’t survive this, if you don’t understand that.” He wasn’t being unkind, just spoke in a flat, bland voice.

  “Can I… what can I do? What did I do to make this work?”

  He sighed. He looked so very tired. “Just what you’re doing now. You try and feed me. You try and make me sleep. You make sure I don’t get sick and if I am, you bring a doctor here.”

  “That actually works?”

  “It always has.”

  “And what else? What else, Dallas?” Leena leaned forward, hoping, sensing he was going to tell her something important.

  “You- when it gets too much, everything inside, sometimes you just sit with me and you- you read over what I’ve written, and you sing it and I sing it and we finish, even if takes days and then, then when it’s finally over, then I rest. Sometimes I sleep for days.”

  Leena swallowed hard. “What kind of life is that? It doesn’t seem like I’m really able
to help you at all.”

  His throat bobbed hard as well as he gulped. “You do. You take care of me.” His voice was strained and husky with more than just lack of sleep. “And as for what kind of life it is? I don’t know. The only one I have I guess.”

  She nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for this afternoon. I’ll do better. I wasn’t trying to be mean, I’m just… upset I guess, over not being able to remember. It’s frustrating.”

  “No, don’t apologize to me. The one thing you always did was call me on my bullshit. It’s something that no one else could do. You were always painfully blunt. And you knew what I was like. You were just used to it. I realize you’re not now. I’ll try and be more- uh- gentle.”

  She wanted to laugh, he looked so uncomfortable trying to apologize. We have a lot to learn. It’s not just me. She thought before that he was trying so hard to push her away, to be an asshole and now, it was like he was trying so hard to be the exact opposite and neither of them knew truly who he was. She had a terrible feeling that even if she could remember everything, she wouldn’t have any of the answers she needed. The questions she was asking, the questions from the depths of her soul, didn’t have answers.

  CHAPTER 7

  Dallas

  Three days. It had been three days since his own wife bothered to come and check if he was even still alive. He had work. Work for her to look over, parts for her to sing. He was stuck. He’d been writing for hours, hoping to get the music just right, but he just couldn’t get it down on paper the way it was in his head. It frustrated him which in turn made it even more impossible for him to get the damn notes out.