by C J Burright
No matter the impatience threading her tone, her husky voice held a song all its own, low and heady, hitting him straight in the gut. “I was wondering whether you’re plotting to murder Ian or the blonde.” He shrugged. “From the fire and brimstone look you’re sending that way, one of them is going down.”
“Ian’s the only one deserving of a pitchfork stab in sensitive places.” She uncrossed her arms and dropped them to her sides, still not making eye contact. “I’m just watching Gia’s back. And in case you were also wondering, I don’t need a drink, I’m not lonely and I loathe dancing. Any mistletoe I find on your person will be promptly stuffed up your nose.”
He gave a startled laugh. “Duly noted. For the record, I rarely drink, I don’t mind solitude and I keep my dance moves private to prevent public panic. Mistletoe gives me hives, so I’m relatively safe from your anti-vegetation assault.”
Her mouth twitched, a mere tremble and nothing close to a smile, but it was a start.
Before he could turn that tic into a true smile or ask her name, the beach music choked and a snow-haired man in a designer suit climbed the stairs to a stage across the room, presumably the esteemed Mr. Hamilton.
The mystery woman beside him straightened and shifted toward the stage. Apparently, the only way to get her to look at him would be if he was there, on display. He tightened his grip on the violin. Becoming the center of attention was one of his super skills.
Mr. Hamilton launched into a speech about success and the justice system, and Garret tuned him out, riveted on the woman so close. Her hair gleamed like obsidian in the twinkling lights, stopping bluntly at the slender line of her neck. She wasn’t wearing glitter, eyeliner or powder like the other women, which made her crimson lips all the more sinful.
Polite clapping erupted, the only reason he knew the speech had ended. Old man Hamilton departed the stage and Ian stepped aside, the prince waiting to ascend once his king cleared the way.
Some opportunities couldn’t be resisted. Garret tucked his violin beneath his chin and readied the bow. As Ian’s polished shoe hit the first step, Darth Vader’s theme song marched up from his instrument and into the vaulted ceiling, shaking the crowd into a momentary silence. A few brave souls snickered, and he didn’t miss how the woman beside him stiffened. Faces turned his way, but Ian’s response was the one he watched for.
The flip of emotions on his friend’s face was everything he’d hoped for, annoyance to realization to amusement. It took Ian less than a millisecond to target Garret in the shadows. He grabbed the microphone and said in a heavy-breather voice, “If only you knew the power of the dark side.”
Laughter rippled over the crowd, and Garret grinned. Ian hadn’t lost his sense of humor over the last three years, a good sign. Lawyering could strangle happiness until only bitterness and jaded opinions remained.
“I came up here to spread cheer through overpriced and frivolous gifts, but that will have to wait a little while longer.” Ignoring the good-hearted groans, Ian straightened his slouchy elf hat. “Patience, people.”
Garret sawed out a measure of the Jeopardy game show theme. He’d perfected musical harassment decades ago, as his older sister London could attest. It was his best self-defense tactic besides quick reflexes.
Ian pointed threateningly at Garret and flashed one of his trademark smiles, white and brilliant with a bite. “If you’re going to play, get on stage and do it right.”
When he’d accepted Ian’s invitation to the party, he knew companionship and conversation weren’t all that Ian would expect. Ian liked to impress, and with stodgy lawyers who appreciated fine music in their midst, he probably hoped for an edge when it came to earning the coveted partner title. Being friends with an accomplished musician might be the one—Garret drummed his fingers once on his jeans, right at the frayed hole near his pocket—or not. Not everyone at this particular party would appreciate his rendition of Thunderstruck. He didn’t possess the concert musician vibe and his tastes weren’t always geared to Bach and Mozart, as Ian well knew. He’d never quite fit into the classical musician stereotype, not even in the long years he’d focused on the classics. He straightened from the wall. Classical preferences or not, he could make everyone happy.
His intriguing companion folded her arms and shifted at an even sharper angle toward the stage. She still hadn’t looked at him again, as if determined to burn Ian alive with her stare while keeping all intruders—including him, insultingly—outside her personal bubble.
Hooking his thumb in his pocket, Garret strolled into her direct line of vision, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder and capture her gaze. Breaking bubbles was another one of his super skills.
Chapter Two
Her heart beating fast, Adara focused on the stage as her chatty interloper found a more suitable victim in Ian. He stepped right in front of her, his broad back filling her sight. The consequences of ignoring people were the little details she missed, such as the random violins they might hold.
A violin. An icy shudder tripped through her. It had to be a violin, didn’t it?
She planted her clammy hands on the wall. When the strings had erupted right beside her ear, time had stopped and splintered into a thousand shrieking seconds. She’d flashbacked to when Joey still lived, when his music had floated through their house—a reminder that no matter the space separating them, she had never been alone. Just as fast, reality crashed back into her, demolishing the memory and whispering the truth.
Joey was gone.
She was alone.
“Having fun yet?” Gia slipped beside her, knowing enough not to ask if she was okay. She jerked her chin at the man heading toward the stage. “Making new friends?”
Adara sucked in a quick breath and followed Gia’s gaze. Longish blond hair pulled back in Thor-style, jeans and untucked shirt, combat boots, shiny black violin. Joey would’ve approved.
“Typical grownup band geek.” Gia leaned near, her breath tinged with citrus and tequila. “Still trying to claw out of the box to coolness.”
Grateful for the distraction, she snorted softly in agreement.
“He’d probably rather gouge out an eye than play Beethoven.” Gia twirled her margarita glass, her blue eyes sparkling. “Bet you lunch tomorrow at Antoine’s he goes with Kashmir or Wherever I May Roam—you know, some real man tune.”
“Not taking that bet, because you’re probably right.” The fist around her heart eased. Gia had nailed it. No way would someone who looked like a part-time pirate play anything that could penetrate her shields.
“Karen from accounting gave me the scoop on him,” Gia continued, her focus on the stage, where the violinist joined Ian in the spotlight. “Guess he’s well-known overseas. Grew up with Ian, and he’s taking a break to mentor grade-school kids.” She elbowed her in the ribs. “At Graywood.”
Mentor. Grade school. Crap. Adara briefly closed her eyes. Weeks ago, Principal Austin had warned staff about the possibility of a part-time music mentor, but he’d been sparse on the details. She’d thought the idea had fallen through the cracks since that was the last she’d heard about it. And since dinky Graywood—population everyone-knew-practically-everyone—had only one grade school, the odds of seeing him around rocketed up. To infinity and beyond.
“Perfect. William Kidd reincarnated as a musician.” She settled back into her leave-me-alone position. “The world is now complete.”
Gia flashed a wicked grin and returned her attention to the stage.
Gazing upon Mr. Gabby from afar wasn’t a punishment. He had a ready smile, a five o’clock shadow-beard going on—presumably to go with the pirate vibe—and carried himself with the confidence of a man who didn’t question his identity. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding one of Santa’s helpers to keep him company.
Silver rings glinted on his fingers as he settled the violin against his shoulder. Adara rolled her eyes and resisted humming He’s a Pirate. He must have forgotten his bandana. For
a moment, he looked in her direction, as if singling her out in the shadows and crowd. Then, he closed his eyes and set the bow to strings.
Slow, plaintive notes flowed from the violin, and Adara instantly relaxed at the familiar melody. Queen’s Somebody to Love—nothing classical, nothing that could reach into her soul. She was safe for the next few minutes.
After the short, slow introduction, the violinist stomped his foot for a stand-in drum rhythm, and it took the crowd less than two seconds to clap along, taking up the beat themselves. By the chorus, people were singing along—a happy, bouncing holiday mob.
Adara kept her arms crossed and let Gia clap loud enough for the both of them. She’d tolerated the party for nearly two hours, longer than she’d planned, but it had been forever since she’d seen Gia having fun without wearing the smiling mask to hide her loss.
She knew all about the necessity of masks.
Seamlessly, the musician blended notes into another song, and while the clapping and swaying continued, the singing died out.
She bit her lip, almost tempted to smile for the second time that night. Teddy Bear, a decent Elvis Presley choice. Near the stage, Mr. Hamilton bobbed his head, clearly a fan of the King. Everyone else, not so much. The remaining tension in her shoulders drained away. She wouldn’t have to reinforce her shields, not for this guy’s melodic selection, but she had to admit he was good. Really good. He involved the crowd, clearly comfortable with attention. He hit every note with smooth, expert precision, the love affair with his instrument apparent in every plucked string and pull of the bow. The dreamy smile he wore spoke of secrets shared only between a master musician and the melody he spun. She’d seen the same expression on Joey’s face.
The void in her soul echoed with the memory. He was everything Joey could have been. Should have been.
Without a miss in beat, the violinist again blended one song into another, switching genres, subtle and unexpected. Sweet notes wrapped around her and slid a slow, sharp needle into her heart. The clapping died into an awed hush, and the violin moaned, filling all the hollow spaces, alone again, more alive and terrifying in its seclusion.
She choked on the giant sob building up from deep within. Think of Me. Instead of the thousand other songs that couldn’t touch her, he’d unsuspectingly chosen one that demolished her defenses. The Phantom of the Opera was the first musical Joey had dragged her to, the first time she’d cried in public, the first step in convincing her to join him in his love for music.
Stitch by stitch, the music ripped her open. Emptiness clawed up her throat like a demon toward the surface, an emptiness she couldn’t face—not here, not now. No matter how she pretended, how she tried to deal, she wasn’t fine.
Before she fell apart completely for everyone to see, Adara brushed past Gia and hurried from the banquet room, out of the mansion into the cool night. She didn’t slow until the pavestones beneath her heels changed to the clink of gravel and stopped only when the mansion lights made a dull reflection on the parked cars.
Tears scalded her eyes and her heart stabbed her chest with each beat, a relentless knife digging for the ashes of her soul. She’d abandoned Gia and broken her promise to Joey.
The night and silence surrounded her, a familiar crutch slowly soothing, calling her back to its embrace. She sucked in a shaky breath of crisp air and lifted her face to the dark, endless sky. She’d stuff everything back into place and patch herself up, lock tonight away with all the other memories. Tomorrow, she’d return to her version of normal.
* * * *
The morning after his hometown debut, Garret plopped his boots on Ian’s gleaming cherrywood desk and inhaled the scent of leather, paperwork and wealth stained by conflict. “I met someone at the party last night, but I didn’t get her name.” He hid a grin at the annoyed twitch of Ian’s manscaped eyebrow. “You know everyone who wears a skirt, so I figured you could help.”
“True.” Ian leaned across his desk and shoved Garret’s boots off. He straightened his blood-red tie. “My skills are up to the task, despite the countless groupies who succumbed to your musical seduction last night. Was it the leggy legal assistant with the red hair that makes you wonder if—?”
“No.”
Garret sat back into the pompous leather chair and sipped his peppermint mocha.
“The little blonde in the black mini with those curves to—?”
“Nope.”
Ian narrowed his eyes, the blue sparkling with what had to be his typical lewd and lascivious thoughts. Some people never emerged from high-school sexual mentality. When it came to relationships with women, his oldest friend happily hovered in that emotionally safe chasm. He snapped his fingers. “That mocha-skinned intern who kept bringing you chocolate-covered cherries. Don’t tell me you didn’t hit that.”
Garret pinched his nose and exhaled loudly. “The girl I’m looking for is the reason I jumped off the stage mid-song. She ditched while I was still playing. I tried to catch up with her, but she was already gone.”
Ian folded his arms over his buttoned-up blazer and cocked his head, his chair creaking. “I need details. What did she look like?”
“A bit taller than average.” He lifted a hand to his collarbone. “Her head came about here. Brunette. Hard to tell how dark with the lighting, but sleek, not curly—one of those chin-length cuts. And her mouth, chara.” His pulse kicked in memory. “It was made to be kissed.”
“Speak English.” Ian scratched his clean-shaven jaw, apparently going for the boy-next-door impression today. Anyone who knew him at all wouldn’t be fooled. “You’ve been hanging around your Israeli guitarist too long, and I’m a few espresso shots short this morning to endure you waxing poetic over a random woman whose name you forgot to ask for.”
“Not random. Magnetic, and I didn’t forget. My music doesn’t usually drive women away. It threw me off. The only makeup she wore was red lipstick on that delectable mouth, so forgive me for being captivated. I don’t think she wanted to be there, and she passionately didn’t like you anywhere near her friend.”
“Women are always jealous of each other.” Ian tapped his chin with a pen. “Which friend?”
“The cute blonde in a red dress that you watched all night but didn’t touch or even talk to.” Garret didn’t miss Ian’s flashfire grimace, out of place considering the topic involved—women, his favorite subject. “Which I find interesting, considering you’re you.”
Ian’s eyes widened and he jumped to his feet so fast his chair spun behind him in a crazy, squeaky circle. “Not the Stark princess.”
“Stark princess?”
“Appropriate title, trust me on this one. She’s cold as winter.” He swiped his fingers through his short, dark hair. “Listen to me, my friend. Forget her. She’s so far out of anyone’s reach that you couldn’t get through her armor with the Death Star on steroids. Let me set you up with Karen from accounting instead. She’s accessible, easy in the hands and totally pliable after two beers and a pizza.”
Every nerve caught on challenging fire at the picture Ian painted, and it had nothing to do with pizza and beer. Cold, inaccessible, in need of inspiration. He could work with that.
Ian stared at him in silence, some learned lawyer tactic that had no effect on him. Finally, he slouched and set his jaw. “You aren’t going to follow my sage advice, are you? You’re going for what you can’t have. Again.”
“I’m not fourteen anymore.” Garret grinned. “And I’m not into pliable. You know that. Inspiration is everything.”
“You’re an idjit. That’s an irrefutable fact.”
“Objection. That’s a cynical lawyer’s opinion with no bearing on the truth. Are you going to help me or not?” He already knew the answer. Ian may not approve of his choice, but he’d never pass a quest to win a woman. The main difference between them was that Ian was more of a one-night conqueror—a weekend at most. Garret shot for longer, and once he found the right girl, he’d hold on for life.
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br /> Ian sank into the empty leather chair beside him, offering a whiff of his cologne, sharp and rich. He propped an ankle on his knee and looked Garret straight in the eye. “You sure about this? Idjitdom aside, you’re still my friend—far too optimistic and your romantic ideologies are outdated, not to mention impractical. You search for the best in people, and I can tell you right now, dude, that people suck. They’ll pretend to care while carving away everything you are and leave you bleeding in the ditch without once dropping their sweet and innocent smile.”
“Says the lawyer.” He cocked an eyebrow.
“The thing about the justice system is you see the worst, the reality, the true darkness inside—the stuff that’s only in the spotlight because they got caught or can’t manipulate, coerce or buy their way into whatever they’re trying to get. That’s who most people really are behind their disguises.” He fidgeted with his shoelace, keeping his focus there. “You’re not like everybody else, Garret.” He sharpened his voice to a knife’s edge. “You’ve somehow held on to your ideals without letting the world stain you, and I don’t want to play any part in changing that.”
“Aww, he cares.” Garret clutched his heart and leered to lessen the sting of the surprising confession. “I love you too. Want a hug?”
“Shut up.” Ian curled his lip into a snarl. “Keep your pansy musician paws off my bod. Ladies only.”
“Now that our mutual affection is settled”—he plowed through Ian’s curse—“let’s focus on my dilemma. What’s her name?”
Ian laid his head back on the chair and closed his eyes, as if revealing any detail pained him. “Adara Dumont. Rabid introvert. Resistant to all charm. A teacher, I think. That’s all I know.”
Adara. “Hang on… Did you say teacher? Any chance a teacher at the grade school?”
A groan rose from Ian and lines furrowed his brow, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut. “It’s not too late to cancel your latest whim. Forget mentoring kids. Hot, lonely women in pubs and pool halls need mentoring too.”
