Hell's Music

by Therese von Willegen

  “So you piss me off this weekend then expect to move in permanently.”

  “It would just be until I finish college.”

  Emily sighed. “I’ll have to think about it, okay? And you’ll have to abide by my rules, since I’m the one who holds the lease on the place.” Hell, she was already agreeing to her sister, who beamed at her with one of her irresistible angelic expressions. “I’m just really bummed right now, Rae, so you’ll have to excuse some of my wild mood swings. I didn’t expect any of this to happen.”

  In a rare moment of camaraderie, her sister reached out to place a hand on Emily’s. “It’s okay. We made it through Ma and Dad’s divorce. We’ll make it through this.”

  Their parents’ divorce... Emily didn’t need to be reminded of that. To say the unfortunate series of events had been messy would be an understatement. Nothing was worse than an unrepentant father with a wandering eye who went through an early midlife crisis. This paired with a bitter, resentful mother who looked for every opportunity to point out everyone else’s faults save her own just took the cake.

  Which probably explained Emily’s own lack of success in her love life.

  Her sister must have followed a similar train of thought, because they sighed simultaneously then caught each other’s eyes and burst out laughing.

  “So long as we don’t stay terminally fucked up,” Rae said.

  “Death to philandering fools and walking dicks,” Emily added, some of the heaviness leaving her heart.

  They chatted for a while until a bevy of tourist types entered and Rae excused herself. Emily almost felt as though she were her old self. No, make that a correction. She felt as though she’d exited from a very dull patch in her life and now breathed fresh air for the first time.

  That was until a particularly tall shadow darkened her doorstep a quarter of an hour before closing. Simon hung back from the entrance, as if he’d melt once he stepped over the threshold. With his hair tied back and a slightly scruffy ensemble of cut-off combat pants with a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and sneakers, he appeared completely unlike his stage persona. But if she took the time to look–to really examine him–she glimpsed the similarities in the cheekbones and the straight nose accompanied by a slightly sulky pout–lips she’d kissed with so much hunger only a few nights ago.

  “Hey.” Emily rose from her desk to stand with her arms crossed, hating the distance between them, but not willing to close the gap.

  Pale green eyes regarded her, lingering at her face. “You cut your hair.” It was a simple statement, but he managed to convey a sense of disappointment.

  “Ja, I cut my hair. So what?” And he was full of shit. She didn’t say that out loud.

  “Look, about what happened the other morning. I was a bit abrupt, all right? I think we were both a bit emotional. Can we talk?”

  The last thing she wanted was to invite him in but, by equal measure, she didn’t want to leave well enough alone. With a curt nod, she gestured toward the couch and he entered then seated himself awkwardly.

  Not needing any further disturbances from last-minute customers, Emily walked to the door and shut it, latched it and turned the sign around so it read Closed. She paused there, and leaned her head against the frame, all too aware that Simon watched her. Dread coiled in her belly at what must surely follow.

  Emily turned around, backed up against the door and returned his gaze. “What gives? I’ve done my homework about you now like a good little fan-girl. I don’t like what I’ve discovered. And the drugs. I’m not sure what to think about it ‘cause logic tells me you’re probably still using.”

  A ragged hiss escaped his lips. “Do you believe all you read in the popular media?”

  “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

  “Look, I’ll be the first to admit my...behavior...sometimes leaves much to be desired, but you’re only getting one half of the story there, and even then it’s skewed beyond all recognition because most of it is opinion. What’s with the Cinderella act on Friday?”

  “Hang on just a minute.” Emily stepped away from the door and lifted a warning finger at Simon’s face. “We’re not discussing Friday night until you tell me what the hell you’re doing here now. Why are you interested in me–a nobody–when you can have...those...other women? And the fact that you probably shove several grams of coke up your sinuses whenever you’re not around me.” It was difficult finishing the sentence, her throat thick.

  Simon watched the tip of her finger, a small smile tugging at his lips. He turned those pale green eyes on her. She froze and pulled her hand back to her side.

  “Those other women you’re referring to are a bunch of stuck-up tarts. They’re not interested in me. I’m just a fucking accessory. As for the drugs... I’m working on it.” A small dash of anger colored his tone.

  “So you come to me under false pretenses.”

  He sat back and crossed his legs. “I must admit I was rather amused when you didn’t recognize me at first. I thought you were having me on. You must understand it was quite a relief not having to deal with the usual fawning crap when we started talking, so naturally you piqued my curiosity.”

  “And you just strung me along.” Emily shook her head then walked to her desk where she sat hard on her chair. Its legs squeaked on the screed floor.

  “For what it’s worth, I was going to tell you that morning.” He gave a helpless shrug. “But your sister–”

  “So you drove off in a cloud of smoke and left me hanging for days. You know where I stay. You could have dropped by to discuss this later that day, the next... Hell, even Sunday, but no, no, you decided to leave it until Monday.”

  The man looked at his hands, his fingers so hopelessly entwined she doubted he’d untangle them. “For your information, I had to fly up to Durban at noon the day of our, er...interruption. We only returned late Friday afternoon and your shop was closed by the time I got there. I didn’t want to intrude by dropping by your house when I wouldn’t know what sort of reception to expect.”

  “You could have called Saturday. Interzone was open until one.” Now that was a lie, but he didn’t have to know that, did he? The last thing she wanted him to know was she’d been getting pissed on an expensive bottle of red wine at home, alone.

  “I only woke at one.” He didn’t look up.

  “This is hopeless. Stupid, stupid excuses.” The hot tears spilled down her cheeks. “I never should have trusted you. Now look what a mess I’ve gotten myself into. I never meant to actually start liking–” With a gasp, Emily covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, that’s come out all wrong.” She stood. “I think you should leave. This isn’t going to work.”

  With a fluid motion, he rose and approached, capturing her hands in his. “It’s crazy, I know. And you’re not going to believe me in the least when I say that I haven’t found a woman as captivating as you in a very long time, Em.”

  His gaze pierced her to her very core and any protestations died on her lips. Emergency klaxons blared in her head and logic screamed for her to get as far away from this man as possible. His hands were so very warm and felt so very, very right holding hers, thumbs describing small circles on her wrists.

  Hot lips brushed her own and sent tingles marching down her spine. He’d eaten a mint before visiting her and, although she tasted the faintest hint of tobacco, it didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would.

  “It’s not going to work.” Emily turned her face to the side and rested her head on his chest, aware of his thundering pulse. Damn, it felt so good to be with him. If only he weren’t Simon van Helsdingen. If only he were real. A small giggle forced its way out and she looked up. “I’m having a serious Romeo and Juliet moment. Simon, oh Simon, wherefore art thou a Van Helsdingen?” If she didn’t find something to laugh about, she’d cry.

  Emily’s statement had them both laughing and the tension evaporated. His grip firm, he pulled her toward the couch and dragged her against him so it was imposs
ible to escape. Protesting wasn’t an option. Emily didn’t want him to let her go.

  Warm fingers trailed through her short hair and she relaxed into him, but a sigh passed her lips despite the small comfort being with Simon offered. “How’re we going to match up our lives, Si?”

  Lips pressed against the top of her head, his patchouli scent washing over her. “Who knows, mon cherie.” He growled the last two words almost the same way they sounded in one of his more popular songs.

  Emily straightened and twisted loose then placed both palms on his thighs, her face inches from his. “You’d give it a go?”

  “Why do you think I’m here?” His brow crinkled.

  Her heart beat double-time. “Can we pretend like you’re just Si?”

  “We can try. Just Em.” His smile was captivating and she had to taste his kiss to be sure he was real, but one kiss deepened, his hands roaming to encircle her waist and pull her onto his lap.

  When she broke away, they both breathed hard.

  “What have I gotten myself into?” she asked, more for herself than for his benefit.

  “I wouldn’t want to say ‘a whole lot of trouble’, but I can guarantee it won’t be boring.”

  Her laugh was more a snort and, although she made an attempt to rise to her feet, Simon wouldn’t let her go.

  His grip on her thigh tightened. “I’ve been thinking about you the whole weekend. I almost didn’t recognize you on Friday, and it certainly took me a moment or two to figure out it was you I saw when you slipped past.”

  “Jamie had your ear.”

  “More like chewing my ear off with his inane chatter and practically dry-humping my leg.” Simon grimaced. “There are some gaping pot-holes that are not worth stepping in.”

  “He can be a touch...overbearing.”

  He raised a brow. “So you know him?”

  “We’re acquainted.” She’d leave it at that. “But I don’t really want to discuss him. So you’re serious about this?”

  He cupped her face with one hand. “Damn right.”

  The next kiss had her molding herself to him. Simon felt so good, so right, and it frustrated her no end they had clothes separating their skin. His hand slid up her thigh and she shivered in response. Emily trailed her fingers down his stomach to rest on the bulge of his crotch.

  “God, you get me so hard,” he whispered in her ear.

  “We shouldn’t...” Emily looked out the window, worried someone might be passing by, but that section of mall was devoid of anyone. For now.

  Simon placed his hand on her hip and drew fingers up her chest until he rubbed her nipple so it rose and hardened beneath his touch. “I still can’t get over the fact you don’t wear a bra.” His breath was hot on her ear and teeth nipped ever so slightly against her lobe. All cohesive thought evaporated.

  A soft moan escaped Emily’s throat. “We can’t do it here.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see why not. The back of the couch is facing the window. Most people will be going home now. I’d bet they wouldn’t even spare a glance in our direction. Besides...” Treacherous fingers slipped up beneath her skirt into her panties to massage her clit. “You’re wet and you know it’s going to feel really, really good if I just slide it in.”

  Emily scooted to the side of the couch and opened her legs, small gasps of pleasure loud in her ears as he worked at her secret place, sending warmth flooding through her. She didn’t complain when he unzipped his cut-offs and angled her so he could make good on his promise to fill her. Simon did not bother to remove her panties but merely pushed them aside. His cock was full and hard inside her, insistent, and she arched her back against his initial penetration.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, what are you doing to me?” she asked.

  Strong hands held her hips, rocking her against each thrust, bringing her closer to a sudden climax she had not expected. Her fingernails scored the worn leather and he pulsed within her as he followed her orgasm with his own.

  For a while Emily was conscious only of their ragged breathing and the way they were draped half skew off the couch. With a sigh, Simon sat up and pulled out of her, but his smile seemed easier.

  Emily straightened herself and her clothing. “A bit of a daft, sideways fuck that was.”

  “But you liked it.”

  “What do you think?” She grinned. “Just gotta go to the loo. Will only be a minute.”

  Her skin was flushed when she checked her reflection in the cracked mirror hanging over the basin. Granted, it had been a bit stupid to not use protection, but she could not, would not at that point, interrupt their lovemaking. She shoved that niggle aside. She was on the pill. It’s not as if she could get pregnant. A banked fire suffused her entire being and Emily couldn’t suppress her smile when she returned to her shop, taking care to bolt the backdoor since it was time to go home, in any case.

  Simon had made himself decent and stood browsing the shelves by the time she returned. His smile when he turned to face her made Emily dizzy. This was really happening, wasn’t it?

  “What now?” she asked.

  “We can do anything you want to.”

  On impulse she asked, “Where do you stay?”

  “Sea Point. Place isn’t much to look at.”

  “It’s still preferable than having to put up with my sister, who will no doubt be terribly impressed if I bring you home again.”

  Simon didn’t argue.

  * * * *

  Rae had a persistent stabbing pain in her side by the time she made it to Davy’s cottage. She had to wait for her breathing to return to normal before she stepped through the gap in the hedge. The idea was to catch Davy by surprise and she hadn’t called first. She was gratified to see his door was open, his legs sticking out as he sat soaking in the last dregs of sunlight. The unamplified twang of guitar strings reached her as he went over the same riff again and again, something that reminded her of an old Slayer track, but had been given a completely different spin.

  Davy did not look up when she crouched before him. His dark hair obscured most of his face, but she could see how he bit his lip while he played. He hadn’t shaved since she’d last seen him. But Davy wasn’t wearing a shirt, only a pair of cut-off denims. Since he didn’t spare her any attention, she took her time to study him. Although he wasn’t well toned, Davy was still lean. What would it feel like to take things a little further with him? Sure, they’d snogged a few times, but she’d made it quite clear afterward it had been the booze or the weed that had resulted in the silliness.

  He wasn’t a bad kisser. Immersed in memories, Rae raised her fingers to her lips and traced the contours of her mouth.

  Davy chose that moment to stop playing and look up, frowning deeply. “What the fuck is up with you? Where were you yesterday?”

  Rae shrugged. “I hung out with Jamie and them. Em and I had an argument and it got a bit ugly.”

  “You could have come here.”

  A burst of anger made her rise to her feet, her previous musings shoved aside. “Now look here, mister. If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who’s been playing hard to get and over what? That you’re jealous of the guy who’s shagging my sister, just because I’m possibly going to see more of him? Do you think I’m about to go fuck a thirty-something guy just because he’s famous? What do you take me for? Some dumb whore?”

  Davy winced and rose then cast a look across her shoulder before he looked her in the eye. “Shut up! Do you want to let my uncle hear this kind of conversation? I could get kicked out and then what?”

  That was a revelation. He lived with his uncle and only ever talked about him as “the old geezer.” Rae allowed herself a small smile. “Davy. You’re a right twunt sometimes.” Before she could change her mind, she lunged for him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips.

  He stiffened and the guitar slid to the ground next to them with a noisy jangle that spoke of strings shocked out of tune. Rae didn’t
care, simply enjoyed the feel of his stubble against her cheek and the smell of him, which reminded her of spice.

  Chapter 8

  A Lot Can Happen in Six Weeks

  Simon had an apartment in one of the older blocks that overlooked Sea Point’s promenade, which must have cost him a small fortune. They had fallen into an easy routine in the week after she almost ran him over with her Vespa, with him collecting her straight after work then dropping her at home the following morning. This suited Emily. Granted, she hadn’t seen much of her sister, but perhaps that was a good thing. They may have found a small truce throughout the drama of Rae’s running away from home. Emily was under no illusions that as sisters, they could very easily rub each other the wrong way if they got into each other’s personal space too much.

  From the eighth floor, the cars that moved about on the road below looked like toys. Silver gulls turned in the sky at eye level and it was odd waking to the constant muted roar of the cold Atlantic on the jagged rocks that protruded into the water on the other side of the promenade. Here the kelp bobbed like strange sea creatures with each swell.

  Although she hadn’t been quite sure what to expect, Emily had been pleasantly surprised that Simon’s tastes in interior decorating did not extend from his public persona. The walls of the apartment had been painted in earthy tones, the place tiled in warm terracotta with Oriental carpets thrown down in key positions. Most of the furniture had been upholstered in Nguni cow hides, the mottled patterns matching the overall color scheme.

  The second bedroom was used as a study where he kept an assortment of musical instruments and his computer but, despite her curiosity, he refused to play any of his tracks for her and kept that door firmly closed after her first visit.

  “It’s like you coming home and rearranging books on your shelves after doing it all day at Interzone,” he tried to explain.

  Emily regarded him with her skeptic’s look. Now wasn’t the time to admit she spent hours poring over her books at home, anyway.