The Maestro

  Hurt tore through me. “I thought we were going to spend time together.”

  His mouth compressed in a hard, unyielding line. “We are. When I get back.”

  Anger roared inside me, and vulnerability left me feeling naked. He played with my emotions, doing these things to my body that made me like him, love him that much more, and then told me he had plans with another woman for drinks.

  Would he go back to her hotel room and do the same to her? Push her thighs apart and lick her in the most intimate way?

  The idea brought tears of frustration to my eyes. This was why I’d left. This was why I hadn’t wanted to get involved with him. That he could do this and be unaware of how much it hurt scorched me. I gripped his arm. “Are you going to sleep with this patron?”

  Confusion darted across his face. “No. I’m going to have a drink with her.”

  I hated this. “Why did you invite me over? Just to keep me away from Lawrence?”

  His jaw grew tight. “This has nothing to do with him.”

  I couldn’t interpret the flatness in his tone. “I don’t want you to go.”

  He rolled to his feet and I felt the loss like a stone dropping into my stomach. “I know. You said. But I don’t have a choice.”

  I drew his blankets over me. “Tell her you’re sick. Tell her your lover needs you.”

  He kissed my cheek. “I need to get ready. Don’t be jealous. Everything will be fine.”

  That he’d called me out on my jealousy infuriated me that much more. He hadn’t said he wouldn’t do anything with the patron. Saying that it’d be fine didn’t help.

  Nothing about his choice rated as fine.

  He left at ten, and, undecided if I should leave, I dressed and then explored.

  Since his mouth had been between my thighs less than an hour ago, I had some right to snoop around his bathroom. That led to me taking a shower using his soaps. I shaved my legs with his razor. I put on a pair of his boxer shorts and his T-shirt, marking my territory. He wouldn’t bring the patron back to his place; he wasn’t that dense. But didn’t I have the right to know what he did with her?

  If it was just drinks, why hadn’t I been invited?

  I lay down to wait. Angry, jealous thoughts tormented me. I thought about going home. I thought about going into his music room and rearranging the sheets of music or twisting his violin strings out of tune. Stuff that would drive him crazy, and that he’d know I’d done.

  In the end, I fell asleep in his bed.

  When I woke, I was alone. I checked my phone. I’d missed three calls from an unknown number and four text messages. Apparently, the Maestro had run into an old friend while he was out with Chloe (can you believe her again!), and they’d decided to go to a jazz club where another friend was playing. He’d messaged from the friend’s phone and had asked if I wanted to come, and if I did, he’d send Nathan for me.

  I squinted at the clock on the bedside table. Three in the morning. What time did the jazz club close?

  The front door squeaked open and the alarm beeped twice before quieting.

  He’d arrived home. I had the urge to dive and hide under the bed, but suppressed the immature response. He’d invited me to be here.

  The Maestro strode into the room. His silhouette filled the doorway, paused, and then he entered. Even in the near darkness, he had presence. The air in the room heated and sparked to life.

  He went into the bathroom and shut the door. He turned on the light, and then I heard the shower. Why was he showering? Did he have Chloe smell all over him? My insecurities twisted inside me, making me wish I’d gone home. Gone home and refused to open my door if he showed up. Did I have time to leave now? I could call for a cab and wait on the porch for it to arrive.

  I could go into the bathroom and watch him through the clear glass of his shower, see if I could question him while naked. Wasn’t it harder to lie while stripped bare?

  I was still debating when he came to the bed and slid beneath the sheet next to me.

  “I’m not sleeping,” I said.

  “Thank God,” he said, reaching across the mattress. His hand brushed my hip. “What are you wearing?”

  “Your clothes.”

  He growled and pulled me to his body, tucking me against him. “I like that.” He buried his face in the back of my hair and nuzzled my neck.

  I rolled onto my back. “I couldn’t sleep in a dress. Uncomfortable. I don’t have other clothes here.”

  “I think Chloe wants to donate to the orchestra.”

  The mention of her name irked me, and I tried to stifle the irritation. “Wasn’t that the point of meeting her?”

  “The donation and goodwill for the orchestra. I’ve known Chloe a long time.”

  “Have you ever slept with her?”

  He groaned and flopped onto his back. “Stop. I didn’t sleep with her tonight. I’m in my bed with you. You, Rae. You’re in my clothes, and you smell like my shampoo.”

  I set my hand on his chest. He hadn’t admitted to love or commitment, but at least I rated as something more than a quick romp in the sack.

  But then, I’d known that. I moved my hand to the waistband of his pants. I wanted to do something to him that’d scatter his senses. He’d already seen most of my limited repertoire. “Can I do something you might not like?”

  He set his hand on my thigh and gave it a squeeze. “Are you planning to maim me for going out without you? Because I tried to call you. You didn’t answer.”

  “I fell asleep. It’s been a busy, stressful week. I’m not going to maim you.” I put my hand over the front of his pants. He was excited, hard, and big. I drew my hand away, unsure. This counted as completely unexplored territory. I’d heard friends talk about this.

  They’d said tongue placement and teeth and lockjaw were troublesome, but that with the right man, it was good.

  “You’re thinking too much.” His hand went around the back of my neck, and he pulled my lips to his.

  His mouth ravaged mine. Without touching me anywhere else, he turned me on. I strained to get close to him, forgetting about him leaving in the middle of the night to have drinks with another woman and then returning in the wee hours of the morning. At least he’d invited me to the jazz club. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d been fooling around with dyed-blonde Chloe.

  “Why did you shower?” I asked.

  “Billy was smoking in the car. I hate the smell of smoke.”

  The streetlight filtered in through the curtains, casting diffused light over us. I reached for the hem of his T-shirt, and my nails scraped the tight muscles of his abs as I drew the shirt over his head.

  Those eyes. They were so expressive, I lost myself in them. I kissed his shoulder, his chest.

  He closed his eyes, and his mouth curved into a smile.

  I slid lower down his flat stomach to the waistband of his pants. I drew them over his legs to his knees until his erection stood before me. I’d seen pictures of naked men in general, but this was my first time seeing one in real life. I knelt over him and he kicked his pants off and onto the floor.

  He ran his fingers through my hair. “It’s okay if you’re not ready.” No confidence issue for him.

  No matter how we moved, I was aware of him, of his arousal bumping my thigh. As he kissed me, I touched him, wrapping my fingers around his length. I gave him a tentative squeeze.

  He moaned. “I like when you touch me.”

  “Show me what you like. Show me what you do when you’re alone,” I whispered.

  He took my wrist and moved it up and down. As I watched his face, heat pooled between my legs. My body knew that was where he should be. Up and down again, then he released my hand, and I did it alone. I kissed him, and our mouths moved at the tempo my hand set, as if our bodies were performing a dance, every movement in sync.

  Wanting more, I moved lower, resting my cheek on his thigh. I extended my tongue and licked his tip. Salty.

  He grew bigg
er and harder in my hand. He was hot, absolutely excited by what I was doing, which made me want to do it more. I opened my mouth and took the head inside.

  He hissed in a breath. “That’s good. That’s really great.”

  I sucked and hollowed my cheeks. Then I peered up at him to check his reaction.

  Our gazes connected as I moved up and down, taking him as deep as I could. The muscles in his neck tensed, and he closed his eyes briefly before taking me by my upper arms.

  He abruptly moved me off him. I thought I’d hurt him.

  Not hurt.

  He’d finished on his stomach. I took a tissue from his bedside table and cleaned him up.

  “That was incredible,” he said, slumped against the pillows. “Your mouth and your hand.”

  I basked in his praise. I’d enjoyed it once I’d let go of my nervousness. I’d liked doing it, liked his response.

  He reached to his bedside table and took out a remote. He pressed a button, and music filled the room. Not too loud, but it was him, amazingly him.

  “Give me a minute.” He kissed me and got out of bed. He tossed on his shirt and pulled on his pants and left the room. I wondered if he had another drink date, but before I could express the snarky thought, he came back with a small package wrapped in gold paper with a silver bow.

  He handed it to me almost shyly. “This is your Christmas present. I bought it before you quit. Before you left. I wanted you to have it before you leave for the holiday with your family.”

  A surge of sheer joy rose up inside me, and a laugh escaped my lips. “For me?”

  Even in the darkened room, I could see his eyes glimmer with excitement. “Open it.”

  My heart thumped, and emotion rose in my throat. He never forgot things like this. My belly fluttered as I moved the package between my fingers. “I don’t have your gift with me.”

  “That’s okay,” he said.

  I’ve mentioned before that Kieran is a good gift giver. I knew this would be something that would touch my heart.

  I unwrapped it, trying to keep my hands from shaking, and sucked in a quivering breath, but I didn’t want to appear too eager. I opened the blue velvet box, revealing a ring.

  Not a diamond ring, but a piece of jewelry from him to me. My heart hammered furiously, emotion battered me, and I tried not to cry in excitement.

  “It’s a claddagh ring. It stands for love, friendship, and loyalty. The hands are friendship, the crown loyalty, and the heart for love. I had our initials engraved inside it and the date we met.” He took my right hand and slid it onto my finger.

  This was no junk jewelry bought off the street. The heart, hands, and crown were set inside a platinum band, the detail exquisite. My breath caught, and I stared at it, and then at him, wondering what this meant.

  Was I setting myself up for a massive disappointment when this ended?

  Unreservedly, yes.

  “You wear it with the heart facing out, and when you fall in love, with the heart facing in toward your heart.”

  I didn’t dispute him placing the ring with the heart out. I knew how I should wear it and what was written in my heart, but I didn’t want to freak him out. Maybe I’d change it when I wasn’t with him. I touched the side of his face and kissed him, a kiss that said, I love you, I adore you, I want you. “Thank you, Kieran. This is really beautiful.”

  We lay down again, and the music played softly as we talked.

  My love for him consumed me, his ring burned on my hand, and perhaps, though he couldn’t give himself to me, he understood what I wanted. The ring, given in friendship, could mean much more. It could mean forever love, the type of love I craved from him.

  10

  I didn’t like driving, and I sucked at it. On Christmas Eve, I took a train out of the city and into New Jersey, and my father picked me up from the station.

  He was waiting for me, standing by the gate. After wrapping me a huge bear hug, he leaned away and studied my face with his intelligent brown eyes. My dad could read people in a single glance. “You’re upset.”

  My dad called a spade a spade. I’d left New York without calling Kieran or asking about his Christmas plans, and while I had my phone tucked in my pocket, I wouldn’t call him. Outside New York, I remained out from under his spell.

  I wore his ring on my finger, I dreamt of him and missed him, but I could handle the physical relationship without mixing in emotions. They stayed two separate things.

  I’d convinced myself we could continue in this quasi-relationship, and I could handle the inevitable fallout.

  One Christmas Eve, I’d attended a church service with him. The Maestro had surprised me by knowing the hymns. He’d mentioned church being a strong presence in his childhood. He and his mother had attended weekly, and after his father had died, she’d gone to work for the local church as a receptionist.

  When we entered my parents’ house, the house I’d grown up in, my mother was rolling dough at the counter while my sister, Julia, sipped tea at the table in the country kitchen. Seeing my mother, I got a strong impression of what I’d look like in thirty years, softer, rounder, with freckles that grew more pronounced, and dark blonde hair that grew lighter in the summer sun. The freckles that I’d hated as a teenager, a frequent cause of my peers guessing my age to be younger than I was, gave my mother a youthful and fresh appearance.

  My sister ran to greet me, hugging me while her protruding belly poked me. She was due to have her baby in three months. Her height and build almost made her appear thicker around the middle instead of pregnant. She took after my father in that regard, tall and solidly built, with darker skin than my mother and I had, her thick hair prone to curling in the heat. She had a great husband and a cool house in the suburbs and worked as a ballet instructor, something she managed even while hugely pregnant.

  Next Christmas, it’d be all about the little one. I’d try to enjoy this time with my sister. Next year, I’d be an outsider, still alone, still without anyone to share the holiday with, watching my sister’s perfect family. She deserved all the happiness in the world, but as we grew and changed, I missed the closeness we’d once shared when it’d been just us and our parents.

  Our dog Pork Chop was asleep on the rug by the back door, his pointy beige ears flat against his head.

  Julia squeezed my hands. “How’s the new job?”

  We didn’t talk as often as I’d like, but I kept her updated through texts and social media. Growing up, I’d admired her and had wanted to be like her. And now I wanted her to be happy. Since my new job counted as an easy topic, I told her about my students and the Christmas show, which the administration of the school had seemed pleased about.

  I slid into a seat at the table, and because I couldn’t resist, I mentioned the bump in my otherwise smooth career at the school. “My boss at school and the symphony made plans for me to travel with the orchestra for a few weeks in Europe.”

  My father grumbled under his breath and left the room. Pork Chop rose to his feet, paused at my legs for his expected pat and scratch under his chin, and then followed my father out of the kitchen. My mom stopped placing cut cookie dough on the aluminum baking tray and plopped down at the table across from me.

  “You mean with the school orchestra?” my mother asked. She sounded hopeful, like she wanted me to lie.

  We knew the truth. “The New York Symphony Orchestra.”

  “With Kieran?” Julia asked and then groaned before I answered.

  “Not just with him. With everyone.”

  I explained how Glory had cornered me at the Christmas concert, but my mother and sister stared at me in disbelief.

  “You’re going because you love him? Because you’re batshit crazy in love with him?” Julia asked.

  My mother’s wide blue eyes clouded with worry. “Julia! Enough! She doesn’t love him. It’s a crush. Or it was. Has it changed?” She wiped her fingers on the front of her Santa-themed apron.

  My mother wanted t
en grandchildren, a lot of pressure for my sister. If I tossed in a few, it’d make it more even.

  Julia set down the cookie she’d been nibbling on. “Come on, Mom. We both know she loves him. She’s walked around for five years totally obsessed with him. I get it. She loves music, and he’s the embodiment of music or a great wizard of music, but this is bad. He’s going to crush you, Rae. He’s out of your league. He’s going to smash your heart. You can’t see it, but everyone else does.”

  I was afraid to tell her we’d kissed. Not that I talked to my family about those types of things, but I wanted to say it, maybe for the shock value and to prove a point. I’d grown and changed, and I could handle an adult relationship in whatever form it took. “He’s eccentric. But I left my job to get some distance, and it’s helped.”

  My mother had gone back to rolling dough and stamping out star shapes with punches from the metal cookie cutters. “While you’re chasing this eccentric man, you aren’t dating anyone else.”

  “Actually, I went on a date to the opera,” I said, thinking of Greg. We weren’t currently dating, but I’d tried. “And I met someone at Kieran’s Christmas party. We’ve been…talking.” I’d texted with Lawrence a couple of times, but I didn’t know why I needed to justify my relationship with Kieran, except maybe to reassure my family I wouldn’t get hurt or make reckless choices.

  I kept careful boundaries around my heart.

  My mom swiveled around to address the beeping timer on the oven. “We’re worried about you. You moved to New York, and it seems like your life has been wrapped around this man. You quit working for him so you could explore your options, but now you’re involved with him again. Does he know how you feel about him?”

  My heart constricted painfully. “I don’t think so. I haven’t told him.” The hitch in my voice gave away my vulnerability and doubts.

  “How do you feel when you’re with him? I mean, do you feel crappy because he’s with all these other women?” Julia asked, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed.

  That reminder was a punch to the throat. He hadn’t been with another woman, at least not in the last month, not that I knew. For the last five years, excluding the most recent past, he’d slept around and broken my heart every time. “I don’t know how I feel.” When I’m with him, he’s my world. I’m possessive and obsessive and in love. Those words would scare my mom, so I stayed quiet.