by Lizzie Shane
“Mimi, I have to go. Thanks for letting me know.”
She hung up and immediately fished out the MMP phone, punching Daniel’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Sweetheart!”
“Hey. How’s Los Angeles?”
“Loud. And lonely. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” As she said the words, she realized she did miss him, in a way. She missed the way she used to feel connected to him. If she could only get that back. “I just got my first taste of what you’ve been going through.”
“Oh?”
“I’m on TMZ.”
He chuckled. “I know. I got a Google Alert about it.”
“You have a Google Alert for me?”
“For myself. They mentioned both of our names in the article.”
“Does it bother you?” she asked. “People following you around, taking your picture when you don’t know they’re there?”
“Goes with the territory. They’re following you to try to get spoilers for the show and all they got was a shot of you shopping. As TMZ photos go, it’s incredibly tame. They must not have had anything from the actual fire.”
Caitlyn winced as she thought of what they might have seen. Her thrown over Will’s shoulder or running through the snow wearing a freaking twenty foot wedding veil. Thank God no paparazzo had been on duty that night.
“It’s not a very juicy story,” Daniel mused. “Won’t even last a news cycle. They’re only running it because you’re popular after this week’s episode. Now, if they had a better image to go with it…”
Irritation flickered. “You almost sound like you wish it were a juicier picture.”
“It’s good publicity for the show, which is good for us.”
Caitlyn went very still. How many people had known about the fire? How many who would tip off TMZ? “Daniel,” she said very slowly, “did you tell them about the fire?”
“Sweetheart, relax. It’s just a little article. You need to get used to this. The scrutiny is only going to get more intense over the next few weeks.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Does it matter?”
Mozart’s Ghost. He’d really done it. Her fiancé had ratted her out to TMZ. Arranged for her to be mocked on national television.
She hung up the phone. No goodbye. No waiting for more explanations. No straining to hear through the lies.
She didn’t think she’d ever hung up on someone before. It was rude. Terribly rude. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. A few minutes later the MMP phone rang again. Miranda this time. But Caitlyn ignored it. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to think.
Stalking to the piano, she went straight for Wagner.
Some days just called for pounding, thunderous music. Shutting off her brain, she let the music roar.
Will’s first hint that something was wrong was the Wagner making his ceiling fan vibrate. His second hint came five minutes later when Claire called to tell him Caitlyn was on TMZ.
Thirty minutes later, he knocked on her door, pounding hard to be heard over the frenzy of Rachmaninov. The music didn’t even pause. He pounded again. This time the silence was instant and jarring.
She swung open the door, fast and sharp, cheeks flushed, poised for a fight.
Will lifted the box of brownie bites he’d sprinted to the store to pick up like a shield. “I come bearing chocolate.” He jiggled the other grocery bag. “And ice cream. And whipped cream and everything else I could think of that would drive any sane person into a sugar coma.” He jerked his chin toward the DVD case tucked under his arm. “And Bond, James Bond.”
She frowned. “What’s all that for?”
“My sisters are firm believers in chocolate therapy. And Sean Connery.” When she still stared at him blankly, he shrugged. “Claire saw you on TMZ. I figured you might need some moral support. We’re friends right?”
She tipped her head to the side, still blocking him in the doorway. “You don’t think I should be happy about the exposure?”
“Happy about a creepy dude following you around with a telephoto lens? I’d be worried about you if you were.”
She swung the door wider. “You can come in. Bring the brownies.”
“I know you can’t tell me whether or not you’re engaged to Mister Famous—”
“Mister Perfect, if you please.”
Will snorted. “Whatever. But I figure if I deduce the truth on my own, no one can blame you.”
“A brilliant plan.” Caitlyn lay sprawled on the couch, Will beside her on a mound of pillows on the floor. They’d given up on passing the brownie bites back and forth between them, Will simply chucking them up at her regularly as they sporadically watched Sean Connery battle Dr. No, since they’d already established that they’d both seen the movie enough times to quote it from memory. “And how do you plan to deduce this truth?”
“Elementary, my dear Caitlyn. Who is Mister Famous—”
“Daniel,” she supplied pertly.
“Very well. Who is Daniel’s favorite Bond? No woman would agree to marry a man without knowing whether he prefers Connery or Craig.”
“There might be a slight flaw in your logic.”
“Nonsense. My logic is unassailable.” A brownie bite sailed toward her face.
She caught it, snickering, and muffled her laughter with the chocolatey goodness. They had already discussed the relative merits of the various Brits, agreeing that Connery—Will’s favorite—was undeniably the most suave, but Craig’s muscle-bound shoulders won Caitlyn’s vote.
The TMZ photo was almost forgotten. Almost. One little picture, a tiny little story… it was amazing how much her frustration over it had lessened as soon as Will agreed that she had a right to feel violated rather than delighted by being stalked by paparazzi.
Of course, the chocolate hadn’t hurt.
Another brownie bite arched toward her and she lurched up to catch it in her mouth, laughing when it bounced off her nose and rolled onto her stomach. “Your aim is improving.”
“I’ve stopped aiming. I’m just randomly chucking them at you now.”
“I thought athletes were supposed to have good hand eye coordination?”
“Are you questioning whether I’m good with my hands?” The words were dark, sinful, sending warmth shooting straight down to her erogenous zones.
Oh my. “Will. Behave.”
He muttered something that sounded like, “This is me behaving,” but she couldn’t quite hear him over the villain speech coming from the television.
The thought that he might want to misbehave with her made warmth spread liquid-smooth through her limbs. She’d never just hung out and watched movies with someone she had a crush on before. Was this a normal pre-dating step? Her only relationships before Daniel had been with other musicians—some of whom were just looking to score with the big name, some of whom seemed to genuinely like her but never seemed to know how to look beyond her music and see that there was more, and then there had been Tai—a brilliant cellist she’d had a crush on for years and then when they’d met he’d just sort of taken her adoration as his due for as long as she wanted to give it to him, barely seeming to notice when she left.
No, she was hardly a dating expert. Especially out in the real world.
She rolled onto her side, peering down over the lip of the couch at him. “Have you had a lot of girlfriends?”
His gaze slid off the screen and up to her. This was probably how he looked in bed—dark hair rumpled from the pillow beneath it, dark eyes gleaming with a sensual, slumberous light. “What’s a lot?”
“I don’t know. What’s a normal number?”
“What’s normal?” he countered. “Everyone’s love life is a special snowflake in its own right.”
She frowned at his evasions. Exactly how high was his number that he wouldn’t tell her? “Do you think you’ve had a lot of girlfriends?”
“I’ve had exactly one less th
an the perfect number.” His dark eyes met hers.
“Oh.” Okay. Good answer. Her heart thudded so hard she fancied she could feel it in her fingertips.
She scrambled for a safe topic of conversation. Like mushrooms. Or the Amish. Anything. But Will spoke before she could change the subject, his eyes heavy-lidded and intent. “You told me about your last first kiss… when was your first one?”
It wasn’t exactly safe, but it was safer than talking about who she wanted her next kiss to be.
“I was seventeen,” she admitted, blushing. “My mother thought dating was a distraction, but when I was playing in Paris there was this Czech violinist only a couple years older than me. Very dashing. We barely spoke ten words of the same language, but it was Paris and I was desperate for romance so I let him kiss me at the top of the Eiffel Tower. I wanted so badly for it to be magical, but it was just sort of… wetter than I expected.”
Will groaned sympathetically.
“And you?” she asked. “When did you get your first kiss?”
“I was twelve. Middle school dance. Doing the classic slow dance sway.” He pantomimed rocking back and forth. “My sisters had coached me since I was about eight on what girls wanted and when I hit middle school I started listening. I’m pretty sure Lady in Red was playing and I’m almost positive it was wetter than she expected. I had no freaking idea what to do with any of my body parts. But I felt like the man and she was my girlfriend for two whole weeks after that—complete with hand-holding in the hallways. Until my friends convinced me I was whipped and needed to dump her. And then one of those same friends swooped in and consoled her and they started dating. Massive betrayal. My seventh grade heart was shattered. Though, come to think of it, I think those two are married right now so on a karmic level I call that a win.”
Caitlyn pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. She felt so light when she was with him. Like she might float away. Had Daniel ever made her feel like that? Would she ever be able to stop comparing them?
“Hey. What happened?” Will asked, propping himself up on an elbow. “You got serious all of a sudden.”
She couldn’t tell him she was wishing she’d met him before the man she’d agreed to marry. God, marriage. What had she been thinking?
“It’s nothing. Just the TMZ stuff again.”
“Want me to distract you?”
“Yes, plea—” The word broke into a yelp as he moved, startlingly fast, catching her ankle where it dangled over the edge of the couch and giving it a measured tug. Firm enough to send her sliding off the lip of the couch.
Landing right on top of him.
“Will.” His name was meant to be a scold, but came out more of a breathy gasp. All that muscle. All that hard, contained strength spread out beneath her. God, he felt incredible. The sound of her own thoughts was being drowned out by her hormones screaming the Ode to Joy.
“Distracted?” he rumbled sexily, his chest vibrating where it pressed against hers.
“From what?”
His smile was dark and deliciously promising.
She was in so much trouble.
Chapter Twenty
She blinked down at him from a distance of inches, those big blue eyes consuming his focus. She was lighter than he remembered as she lay stretched out on top of him, her strong, slim arms trapped between them and her long, slender fingers flexing on his pectorals as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them—or maybe she was just enjoying the feel. She certainly wasn’t fighting to get away.
If anything, she was leaning into him. All big dazed eyes and lush inviting lips.
“We aren’t in public,” he murmured. He knew she couldn’t publicly date, but it was just the two of them tonight. No one had to know. Was it really anyone else’s business but their own?
She said his name again, but this time instead of a breathy invitation, it was a low reprimand.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and pushed away, nearly giving him an appendectomy with her elbow as she awkwardly disentangled herself.
He put a hand on her hip to help and she released another breathy little whisper of a gasp. He let her go and she scrambled back on the couch, all but vibrating with tension, and he realized he wasn’t going to get that lazy, easy companionship back. At least not tonight.
The credits were rolling on Sean Connery anyway.
“I should go. I’ve got five kindergartners at eight thirty tomorrow morning. They’ll run roughshod over me if I don’t get some sleep.”
“Right, of course,” Caitlyn said, still not meeting his eyes as he came to his feet.
“Play me a lullaby?”
That got her attention. “What?”
“I love listening to you play. I only brought you brownies to butter you up so you’d take requests.”
A flicker of a smile teased her lips. “I knew you had ulterior motives.”
“It’s all about the Pathetique.”
“The Pathetique?”
“The Beethoven sonata?” He hummed a few bars.
“No. I know which one it is. I play it all the time.”
“I know. It’s my favorite. Play it for me?” She hesitated and he shrugged off the request, not wanting to push her tonight. “Some other time. G’night, Caitlyn.”
“G’night, Will.”
“Do you have any idea how many times in the last week I’ve almost kissed Will?”
Mimi squealed with unabashed delight. Caitlyn had only waited until she heard Will’s door shut downstairs before diving for the phone, needing a dose of sanity. Though maybe she should have called someone else. Mimi didn’t sound terribly sane.
“Why haven’t you? Go for it, girl!”
“I can’t go for it. I can’t have relationships, remember? Reality television? Bajillion dollar lawsuits?”
And that didn’t even touch on the fact of Daniel. Her fiancé. She was engaged. Even if she didn’t feel engaged. Even if she was starting to wonder if she even liked Daniel, he didn’t know that and he deserved her fidelity for as long as they were together. Even if they couldn’t physically be together.
God, what a mess.
“So have a stealth relationship,” Mimi encouraged. “No one has to know.”
“Yes,” Caitlyn said dryly. “Because I’m so good at secrets and deception. That sounds like a brilliant idea.”
“I’m detecting a note of sarcasm.”
“Well spotted,” she said, mimicking a British conductor she and Mimi had played for.
“Fine, don’t be secret lovers—though come on, how often do you have a chance to enjoy the delicious hidden lover scenario without actually betraying anyone?”
But I would be betraying someone. Caitlyn sank down on the piano bench, thunking her forehead down on the key-cover.
“If you can’t enjoy him now, think of it as foreplay,” Mimi said. “All that sexual tension, building up, oooh, mama. By the time you can actually jump him, the two of you will be so primed you’ll go off like rockets.”
She was already primed.
Caitlyn groaned. “I need to stop this. Right now. I’m leading him on.”
And the hell of it was, she wasn’t even sure whether she was referring to Daniel or Will when she said that.
“He’s a big boy. He understands the situation. It’s not leading him on if it’s his call to stick around. And, Caitlyn, I know you have relationship issues the size of the Titanic, but, baby, you are worth the wait. So even if you can’t ride him like a naughty cowgirl just yet, don’t sabotage things by shoving him away. You wanted the guy, the family, and the picture perfect home life, right? And it’s my job as your friend to smack some sense into you when you try to screw up your chance at that. Hang onto Will. He’s a good egg. He’ll wait until the show is done.”
Yes, but will he understand when he watches me accept another man’s proposal?
“I’ve gotta go, Mimi.”
“Don’t be stupid!” Mimi said in lieu of goodb
ye.
Caitlyn turned off the phone and set it on top of the piano, sliding back the key cover. She let her fingers roam, too confused to even try to figure out what piece would suit her mood. She tried not to read anything into it when she realized her hands had just naturally begun to move through the opening chords of the Pathetique. Just one of the mysteries of the universe.
The flowers arrived on Monday morning. Two dozen gigantic ruby red roses. The sender was listed as Miranda, but the card was all gushing apology. Daniel.
Caitlyn put them in water and hid them up out of sight in the loft, where they would raise fewer questions from her students. She always shut the ringers off her phones while she taught, and by the end of the day’s lessons, she had over a dozen missed calls on the MMP phone. Only two from Daniel. The rest from a number she didn’t recognize. Four new voicemail messages. She was about to listen to them when the phone lit up—still on silent mode, but alerting her to a new call.
Miranda.
“Hey, boss lady.”
Miranda didn’t bother with a greeting. “I hear you’ve been dodging the wedding planner’s calls all day.”
“I’ve been teaching all day. And you told me not to take calls on this phone from anyone other than you and Daniel.”
“Oh. Right. My mistake. I gave the wedding planner your number. Please take her calls so she stops harassing me about cake flavors. I don’t even like cake.”
“I thought everyone liked cake.”
Miranda ignored the comment. “You’re okay? Everything’s good?”
I’m thinking of calling off the wedding, which would alleviate the questions about cake. “I got the roses.”
She could almost hear Miranda’s frown. “Someone sent you roses?”
“I thought you knew. The sender used your office address.”
Miranda groaned. “Please tell me Daniel didn’t send you roses from my address. That idiot. I’m going to have to kick the shit out of him.”
“I take it these were not sanctioned roses.”
“Of course not. Now I’m going to have to send diversion roses to several of the other girls just so it doesn’t look suspicious. That dumbass. Tell him to stop trying to be so disgustingly romantic. That’s my job.”
