Sheet Music

by Tibby Armstrong

  Leaning down to his ear, she took a nibble of the fleshy lobe and moaned as she lowered herself onto him with infinite slowness. She gave him time to savor her body—hot, wet, tight—as she took in every inch of his wide, hard length. When she was fully seated onto his shaft, she rocked back and gripped his shoulders to look him in the eyes.

  His hands came up to knead her ass and his gaze fastened to her breasts when she moved. Her gleaming flesh shimmied in her gown, transfixing him, and she took the hint, reaching down to pop first one breast, then the other, over the small strip of satin fabric.

  Moist heat met one nipple while his fingers rolled and pinched the other. She rose up and poised on the head of his cock, coming back down on a wild cry when he nipped her hard. Heat rushed from her pussy, coating him and her thighs, as he soothed her with wide, flicking licks of his tongue.

  Fingers laced on either side of his head, she rode him in a staccato, pumping rhythm that had him raising his hips to meet her in sharp, deep thrusts. The musk of flesh and heated leather wafted around them, infiltrating Kyra’s mind along with the sound of their slickly joined flesh until she forgot where they were and why.

  The tinted windows were so dark they made the waning day seem more like night. Mere feet away people craned their necks in desperation to catch a glimpse of the limo’s occupants, but it didn’t matter. Everything centered on the way her lover’s body danced her through the gates of heaven.

  He shouted out his orgasm with a surge of his hips, lifting her knees from the seat and lodging himself so deeply that her body had to follow his lead. White lightning streaked across her sight and she shuddered forward into his arms.

  They clutched at one another, gasping, for she didn’t know how long, drifting through the post-coital high until a double-tap on the window had them both jumping like guilty kids.

  Kyra bounded off David and would have fallen backward had he not steadied her with a grip on her upper arm.

  “Thanks,” she breathed, and set about adjusting her dress as David cleaned himself up.

  He glanced at her and laughed.

  “This will never do,” he said, gesturing vaguely at her with his hand. “They’re going to know.”

  “What? Why?” Her hand went up to her hair, but it seemed to be in place. She looked down at the gown. It didn’t appear wrinkled. Was it messed up in back? She started to crane her neck around to look, but David took her chin in his hand and swept in with a sweet, lingering kiss.

  “Your skin is glowing and pink. Your eyes are dancing with more light than the emerald at your throat. In short? You look like a woman who has just given her boyfriend an amazing fuck in the back of his car.”

  Kyra groaned, but he smiled and shushed her.

  “You look stunning. And I’m going to keep the shots they get of you forever. Only I will know what you did for me in here, and each time I look at them I’m going to remember what a wonderful, sexy, amazing woman you are.”

  “Thank you. You’re amazing too,” she said, tears springing to her eyes.

  “None of that! Your mascara will run,” he teased.

  Smiling, she sniffed back the threatening deluge and moved to sit at his left as she’d been coached. He’d get out first and then give her his hand. His publicist had prepped the press. They knew she was his date, so no surprises there.

  The car rocked lightly as Günter exited and came around to David’s door.

  He took a deep breath. “Ready?”

  She nodded and gave him an encouraging smile.

  The door opened and it was as if all hell broke loose.

  The interior of the limo had been hushed, sights of the outside world muted. Nothing but the multitude of people along the ropes had given any indication of the cacophony and chaos that would greet them.

  David braved the din first. Kyra watched him stop a moment to get his bearings before turning smoothly to hand her out of the vehicle. She didn’t trip or catch her heel on her dress, and her confidence increased with each step.

  When a star as reclusive as David Tallis made an appearance, a frenzy was bound to happen. Fans shouted and held out souvenirs for him to touch or sign. Some tried to grab for him, but thankfully Günter’s presence kept the most zealous from leaping over the ropes. Within ten seconds Kyra was so blind from the flashing lights that she couldn’t have detected a rush until it was too late.

  David’s wave was halting—Kyra would have said it was rusty—as he took her arm and walked with her through the “fan alley” toward the press gallery. Mini grandstands had been erected to one side to afford more photographers a good shot of the entering celebrities.

  “Look who’s here!” A platinum blonde gushed at the camera and swiveled toward them as they approached. “David Tallis. What a pleasure! How are you enjoying the evening?”

  Kyra looked up at David. His voice was smooth as velvet when he replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good to see you, Bunny.”

  “Oh my. He remembered my name.” Bunny waggled her eyebrows at the camera. “So, you’re here to present the award for Best Female Vocalist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any idea who might win?”

  David appeared to give it a moment of thought, and then shrugged. “You know, Bunny, they’re all so good. I’m glad I didn’t have to judge. I don’t think I could have chosen.”

  The blonde pouted, the pink ice on her collagen-enhanced lips shimmering in the camera lights.

  “Always so coy, David. And who’s this you have with you tonight?”

  Kyra wanted to stomp on the woman’s instep at her ham-handed technique. She’d been prepped and knew very well who she was.

  “This is my friend, Kyra Martin.”

  “So good to meet you, Kyra. How are you enjoying the evening so far?”

  She managed not to stammer out her stock reply. “David is a wonderful host.”

  “So how did you two meet?” Bunny asked and Kyra bristled.

  “An industry thing,” David said, neatly sidestepping the question. “We struck up a conversation and haven’t stopped talking since.”

  Bunny swiveled and Kyra wondered why she’d never before equated microphones with daggers.

  “So, you’re in the industry yourself? Do you have any ideas about whose name David is going to read off tonight?”

  Intending to demur, she changed her mind when David squeezed her hand lightly and smiled his encouragement.

  “Well, Mira Norton has wonderful range and depth of material to showcase her talent. I think if it were an industry award, she would win hands down. The public adores Libby West’s funky rhythms and vocal play though, so I would have to say it’s going to go to her.”

  Bunny swiveled to the camera and smiled conspiratorially. “You heard it here first, ladies and gents, Libby West is a shoo-in.”

  Kyra opened her mouth to say that wasn’t what she’d said, but David tugged her hand again and she clamped her jaw shut with a forced smile.

  “Enjoy the evening, David! Kyra.”

  “Thanks. You too, Bunny,” David replied and drew Kyra with him as he walked away.

  Knowing there were likely to be lip readers in the crowd, Kyra made a point to barely move her mouth as she said around her smile, “No wonder you hate these things.”

  David’s smile was just as brightly fixed when he replied, “You have no idea.”

  The rest of the evening alternated between award speeches and live music acts. David only left Kyra’s side to present.

  As he tore open the gilt-edged envelope, he paused, a rascal’s smile taking over his face.

  “I suppose it’s only right to tell you I have a bet riding on this. Lovely lady in the third row says if I lose I have to give her an interview for Voice and Vibe.” David looked straight at Kyra and winked.

  As his words sunk in, she realized he was lending legitimacy to her article, while telling her he wouldn’t back out. Or was he making sure he couldn’t? Either
way, it was a bold move.

  Out of her peripheral vision, she saw one of the cameras pan to focus on her, and smiled. The television audience would see a brief shot of her, and then cut back to David.

  “And award for Best Female Vocalist goes to…Libby West.”

  The dark-haired diva took the stage with flourish, giving David a huge kiss on the lips.

  A few minutes later he slid back into his seat and gave her a slight smile. She reached over and wiped the red lipstick off his mouth.

  “After party?” she whispered.

  His grin grew broader as he took her hand. “Private party.”

  She laughed out loud, remembering his promise back in the hotel room.

  Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “Next break. Let’s go.”

  Warmth flooded her and she shifted in her seat. Maybe going without underwear in a seven thousand dollar dress wasn’t such a good idea after all, panty lines be damned.

  David flipped her palm upward, tugging her hand down so her wrist was exposed. He drew a fingertip over the fleshy part of her hand to her wrist. The sensual flutter against her skin made every nerve in her body burst to life.

  “No fair,” she whimpered.

  “Oh, I never said I’d be fair,” he replied and leaned in toward her ear. “I owe you.” The dark honey of his voice poured over her, and she shuddered at the delicious tremor that ran from her nape down her spine.

  The lights had barely changed when David pulled her to her feet and toward the backstage exit. Before the stage crew had raced on to arrange the set for the next music number, they had passed the greenroom, and would have kept going if Brent hadn’t stepped in their way.

  Under other circumstances, Kyra would have said their skidding halt was comical. Given the person and the moment, however, it was nothing short of annoying.

  “Hey,” Brent said, glancing between them both.

  Reflexively, Kyra’s grip tightened and she felt David’s stare.

  “Not now, Brent.”

  “Are you going to the Chain Reaction party?”

  “No.”

  Brent glanced back to Kyra, his expression…worried? Contrite?

  “Oh. Can I talk to you later?”

  “Sure,” she answered, not certain what else she could say.

  “Thanks. I just wanted to—”

  “Not now, Brent,” David ground out.

  “S-sorry,” he said and stepped back to let them pass.

  Kyra glanced back to throw him an apologetic look and caught the narrow-eyed expression neither she nor David was meant to see.

  A sick feeling formed in her stomach when Brent pasted on a bright grin and waved. She might be mistaken, but her instincts said that if revenge was a dish best served cold, after David’s snub, she was in for a one-way trip to the Arctic.

  Günter was waiting out back with the limo when they exited via the loading dock.

  “We’re walking through Kensington Park back to the hotel,” David said when the bodyguard made to open the passenger door for them.

  “Yes sir,” Günter said and grabbed Kyra’s press bag from the limo, along with a modern fedora for his boss.

  Kyra held out her hand to take the bag as David doffed his bow tie and tux jacket. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a suede car coat, David ducked behind the open limo door to continue his wardrobe change.

  How much of a security nightmare was this nighttime adventure going to create exactly? It wasn’t as if that hat was inconspicuous, and she was still in her gown and heels. She was just thinking they were going to have to rob a clothing store on their way down the block when the chauffer popped the trunk and Günter handed her some jeans and a high-neck sweater along with a pair of black walking shoes.

  “You knew he was going to do this?” she asked.

  Günter shrugged. “He hates to wear the tux.”

  Kyra put down the bag and looked around for a place to change. The limo seemed her only option. Sliding inside, she made quick work of the task.

  When she emerged, David held out a black leather jacket for her. It fit perfectly. She gave him an incredulous stare, and he just smiled mysteriously.

  “I’ll carry your bag for you, Ms. Martin,” Günter offered.

  The look David gave him was pointed. “We’re going alone.”

  “Sir?”

  Kyra looked from David to Günter and back again.

  “It’s okay, Gun.”

  “I’ll be in the limo until you call to say you’re back.”

  “Yes, Mom,” David said, his tone wry. “Kyra, let’s go.”

  Günter looked none too pleased, and Kyra’s instincts told her he’d find a way to tail them regardless.

  As they walked away, David muttered, “I’m tempted to tell him, ‘sit, stay’.”

  “He’s just worried about you.”

  David snorted. “I know.”

  “Does he have reason? Beyond the normal?” she questioned.

  It was a question she wouldn’t have dared to ask forty-eight hours ago. If someone had told her how quickly things could change, she wouldn’t have credited it. As it was, David’s response was just shy of terse, and Kyra wondered if it was deliberate or reflexive.

  “We’ll talk all you want in a bit. Let’s get somewhere more private.”

  “The park is private?” She laughed.

  “If you know where to go.”

  They walked in silence, passing unnoticed beyond the farthest police barricades where the crowds were virtually nonexistent. The white stone and brickwork of posh Georgian row houses seemed ghostly in the moonlight as they wound their way through the residential Kensington streets.

  They entered the gate closest to Kensington Palace, moonlight casting shadows before them. A fountain burbled in the distance.

  “Do you do this a lot?”

  “Walk alone at night? No. This is the first time.”

  Kyra blinked. That wasn’t exactly what she meant, but, really? He’d never taken a walk without his security? Why? As far as she knew he’d never picked up a deranged stalker. But then again, what did she know? There were a lot of things he had managed to keep hidden about himself.

  “Why?” she asked, voicing her thoughts aloud.

  His laugh was quiet as another couple passed them on the graveled walking path.

  “Patience,” he admonished.

  They approached the Orangery—the cloud-chased moon reflected in its tall, arched windows—and cut left toward a tunnel made of painstakingly trained Yew trees. Its interior snuffed out the moonlight until they exited into a box-shaped garden surrounded by tall hedges on the other side.

  David continued to a bench at the far side of a central reflecting pool, its glassy surface a sheet of silver in the midst of the secret garden. While Kyra took in the magical surroundings, he opened her bag and rummaged through it, withdrawing a bottle of champagne and two glasses someone had secreted in there for them.

  The sound of the cork popping was loud in the night, and she swore she could hear every little bubble as it fizzed against the glass.

  She stepped forward and took the flute he held out to her before pouring his own and placing it on the ground.

  Next, he took her digital voice recorder, pad and pen, from her bag and set them on the bench. “I think there should be enough light for you to write,” he mused, briefly examining the sky.

  “This is beautiful. You’ve been here before?” she asked.

  He reached down to snap on the recorder before answering.

  “I used to come here a lot with my sister. We played knights and ladies of the court.”

  His voice was steady, but she didn’t trust the brusque way he’d entered into the interview. The hat cast his eyes in shadow, making him look like some underworld character. She didn’t see in him the modern-day knight who regularly made women swoon with a smile and a swivel of his hips.

  Taking a sip of the champagne, she let its dry sweetness roll across her tongue, a
nd focused her thoughts.

  “Where is your sister now?”

  “Manhattan.”

  “Was she the reason you moved there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you see her often?”

  “Not since I was twelve.”

  Twelve. Public records showed nothing about him from that time, or before.

  “Why? What happened?” she asked, knowing he was passively directing the interview, but she didn’t care. They could do this whichever way he chose.

  “You asked me a question the other day, at the pub,” he said, as he lifted his head to stare her in the eyes.

  His features struck her as film noir, all shades of black and gray, the silver light highlighting his eyes with a strange stroke of electric color.

  “You mean when I asked you why you hide your past?”

  He nodded.

  “My sister was only seven when it happened. I think that’s why they left her alone. She didn’t really understand,” he mused and fell silent.

  “When what happened? Who left her alone?” Kyra prompted after a full minute.

  “My mother killed my father. It was after school. She’d been baking biscuits—you call them cookies. I remember there was blood in the flour when it was over.”

  She’d been expecting a teenage runaway or drug addiction story. This was…she didn’t know what to do with this, except to say, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. The bastard deserved it.”

  A breeze rippled the waters of the reflecting pond and Kyra huddled more deeply into her jacket, fighting against the urge to tell him he could stop talking any time he wanted.

  “What did he do to her?”

  “Oh, the usual. Except she couldn’t go to the police or run away. He was what you might call mafia. He collected debts for his employers.”

  “The government. They made you testify? Changed your name to protect you?” she guessed, filling in the blank spaces with an alacrity that startled her.

  He nodded and downed his entire glass of champagne before drinking the rest of hers.

  So that was why nobody could trace his past before boarding school. It had been hidden long before he became famous.