“Now you are not the mouse any more. You are very pretty. Why do you hide? And those clothes—fleeces are for middle-aged people who like to ramble in the countryside.”
“Oh, I’m not very good at shopping.” Lydia hid her flush with a deep gulp of the wine. “Takes up too much rehearsal time.”
“You are unworldly. And you don’t wear makeup. You don’t need to.” He leant forward, so suddenly that Lydia spilled a little of the wine on her derided fleece. “Are you scared, Lydia?”
“Scared? Of what?”
“Of male attention. Men. Sex. Love.”
“No, no, of course not!”
“I hope not. Fear makes a poor musician. A good violinist is open, with herself and others.”
“Is this some kind of interview? I must say, I don’t think my appearance or personal relationships are really—”
“Relevant? Yes, they are. I’ll get you another drink, wait there.”
He gave Lydia a few moments of recovery time while he bought another round. She wanted to ask him to get her something non-alcoholic, but she knew he would refuse. She could not work out how she felt. Intimidated? A little. Infatuated? A lot. Imperilled? Most definitely. He had called her pretty. And the way he’d looked at her…
The same look set her to fluttering when he returned and put down the drinks.
“Show me your hands,” he said, taking them in his before she had a chance. “Good violinist’s hands. But small. Maybe you couldn’t play the piano, eh?”
Lydia was too transfixed on Milan’s own famous hands to reply. The fingers that plucked the strings were stroking her knuckles. She never wanted it to end.
“Why do you play, Lydia?” he asked softly.
“Because I must,” she said without thinking.
“Exactly. Exactly so.”
He nodded at her, approving of the sentiment.
“I think we’ll work well together.” He dropped her hands abruptly so that they fell to the table with a thunk. “Drink your wine. I will buy you dinner. Is a nice place around the corner.”
Chapter Three
The meal seemed to Lydia to pass in a golden haze. Buoyed by the wine and the intoxication of Milan’s attention, she floated through two hours that passed like minutes. Milan wanted to know every detail of her musical education and tastes; then he moved on to more personal matters.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asked, while they waited for the bill.
She drummed her fingertips on the rim of her empty glass, knowing she was heading for dangerous rocks, but powerless to steer her craft away from them.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“So that’s a no.” Milan tutted. “You would know if you had.”
“I suppose.”
“So who was the lucky man?”
“Wha—?”
“Your first. Your first lover. Was he worthy of you?”
“I don’t know!”
“You don’t know who your first lover was? Lydia, I did not think you were such a bad girl!”
“No, no, the worthy thing. For God’s sake, Milan! Of course I know who it was. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not with him any more. That all ended ages ago.”
“He wasn’t worthy of you, then.”
“He was all right!”
“Don’t tell me he was all right. I am jealous of him.”
“Oh, you’re not!”
“I am.”
A waiter appeared and Milan turned his attention to paying the bill, leaving Lydia to try to focus her eyes and pour a deep drink from the water jug.
“I like the way you say my name,” he said, whirling back to her before she was ready. “Say it again.”
“Milan. I didn’t even realise it was a name until I heard of you. Thought it was an Italian city.”
“I think it is Czech version of Miles. I don’t know. I like Lydia. Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
The waiter brought their coats, and Milan helped Lydia into hers again, though this time he lingered over the buttons, breathing into her ear as he fastened them from behind.
Lydia swayed on unsteady feet, leaning back into Milan’s welcoming body. He made a sound, between a growl and a sigh, that travelled straight down her ear and into her crotch.
One arm around her shoulder, he escorted her out into the shocking cold of the street.
“It’s freezing!” she exclaimed, as the wind bit into her wine-warmed cheeks.
“I can warm you up if you like.”
“Oh?” She turned her face up to him, knowing what was coming, wanting and dreading it, ready to be doomed.
He bundled her against him, slid a hand to the back of her head and guided her into a world away from the bitter city pavement, a world of hot breath, firm lips and exploring tongues. Lydia’s body and soul flooded with blissful desire as he opened and closed his leather-gloved fingers on the soft flesh at the nape of her neck, probing through her hair. He felt like nothing she had experienced before; he felt like passion. This is passion, the thing I’ve only felt for music before. Innumerable buses and taxis had rumbled past before he released her from his savage caress, leaving her blinking, lips aflame, in the sleet she had not noticed until now.
“What now?” she stammered.
“Come with me.”
They took a taxi to the Barbican, a place where Lydia had enjoyed many an evening of top-class musical entertainment.
“We’re going to a concert?” she asked, puzzled.
“No,” said Milan, helping her out of the cab. “I live here.”
“In the Barbican? Wow! In one of those huge flats?” She pointed up at the floor-to-ceiling windows, many of them lit up like Christmas. She had often wandered around the fountains during concert intervals, imagining the sophisticated scenes taking place inside the exclusive condominiums. Now it seemed she was going to star in one of those sophisticated scenes herself. Except I’m the least sophisticated person in the world. Unlike him.
The thought made her uneasy, but it didn’t trouble her for long, vanishing as soon as Milan took her arm and led her towards the looming complex.
She wanted to ask a million questions but she didn’t dare, in case any of the answers broke this breathless spell. Going home with Milan Kaspar. It won’t be a one-night stand. It can’t be.
In the elevator, he held her face and kissed her again, all the way up to the top floor, unzipping her parka with his free hand and sliding it inside, looking for a way under her fleece.
His palm had found her bare stomach by the time the doors opened, and they half fell along the corridor, still kissing, until Milan pushed Lydia up against a wall, causing her to drop her violin case with a thump. Her fleece was up over her bra and Milan’s thumbs were on their way inside the cups when a door opened.
“At last,” said a laconic, Russian-accented voice.
Lydia shrieked into Milan’s mouth, wriggling to find an escape that didn’t come. Why was he still doing this, right in front of Evgeny the cellist? And what was Evgeny the cellist doing here, anyway? Were they neighbours?
“Put her down, Milan. At least, for now.”
Reluctantly, Milan pulled the fleece back down and withdrew from the embrace, pulling Lydia onward by the wrist to where Evgeny stood, one eyebrow raised, arms folded.
“What’s happening?” whimpered Lydia, suddenly very sober.
“You’ve passed the first test,” Milan informed her, his voice terse. “You’re going to be vetted. And, if you pass the vetting, you’re going to be initiated.”
“What?” Her yelp of protest preceded her into the huge, luxurious living room—then it died in her throat. For Evgeny’s presence was the least of her problems. Sitting in ranks on the sofas and chairs were five of her colleagues in the First Violins, plus a select few Second Violins, Violas and Cellos.
“Twelve good men and true,” said Milan, drumming his fingertips against the nape of her neck in an effort to calm her. “Or rather, nine men, two
women…and you.”
“What’s going on?”
“This, Lydia, is the secret heart of the Westminster Symphony Orchestra. You have a chance to influence and change the direction of the orchestra, if you agree to join us.”
“Join you? What is this? Like…like a musical version of the Freemasons?”
Milan chuckled, as did several of the other players.
“Yes, I suppose it’s a good analogy. We are all good musicians, strong musicians, who are tired of being told what we should do by conductors. We know our jobs. We know music. If we succeed, I will eventually be made conductor-leader, as some orchestras already have. What’s to stop me conducting the orchestra from the violin section? I won’t be the first. I certainly won’t be the last.”
“This is why you were being weird with Josh Clayton yesterday?”
“In a word, yes. What do you say? Are you in?”
“You said something about vetting.”
“Well, vetting is a formality. If you want to join us, you can join us. But we don’t accept people with closed minds or repressed attitudes.”
“What do you mean? And what about this…initiation?”
She turned to Milan, full of distress at having been tricked into his arms. It had all been a ploy to get her here, to join this half-baked plot. She wanted to slap him.
“You’re a sensual woman, Lydia,” crooned Milan, reaching out to stroke her arm. “Just like Gina…and Karin…” He waved towards the other two women in the room, who smiled invitingly. “Gina, tell Lydia here about your initiation.”
Gina laughed throatily. “I sucked a lot of cock that night.”
“Stop!” Lydia, shaking, wrenched herself free of Milan.
“No, no, be open-minded, listen,” he urged.
“And I had a lot of orgasms,” continued Gina. “It was the best night of my life. All the sex I ever wanted, the way I wanted it. We are all good friends, Lydia. It’s a mutually satisfying arrangement. No need for all that dating angst—great sex on tap, whenever you want it.”
“I don’t want that! I want love!”
Lydia, feeling like an idiot as various players rolled their eyes at each other, turned around, looking for an escape.
“I wanted you!” she raged at Milan. “But I was stupid to want you. You don’t care about anybody.”
He reached out to halt her, but she kicked his shin with some force and ran past Evgeny and out of the door, faster than she knew she could move.
Outside by the fountain, she sat down and wept, cursing her credulity. How could she have thought Milan’s interest in her genuine? How could she have been such a fool?
She sobbed in the sleet for a long time, until the rest of the players had all left the apartment and drifted in pairs and threes towards the Tube station, then she stared bleakly up at the starless sky and let the cold claw her face to ribbons.
“Oh, fuck!” she suddenly lamented through chattering teeth. “My fucking violin!”
She had left it in the apartment.
She would have to go back.
She rang and rang at the doorbell until Milan’s sleepy voice came across the intercom.
“Yes?”
“It’s Lydia. You have my violin.”
“Ah. Come on up.”
The front door to his apartment was ajar and she wandered into the hallway, spotting her violin case immediately. It was propped up next to a large pot plant.
There was no sign of Milan. Should she just leave? Was he in bed?
A strange moaning noise came from the living room. Lydia, wanting to postpone her return to the frozen wastelands of London after dark, tiptoed to the interconnecting door, which was half open.
Peering through the crack, she had to suppress her instinctive sharp breath.
Evgeny and Milan sat together on a sofa, both perfectly naked, while Evgeny’s pretty head rested against Milan’s chest. Milan stroked his hair and whispered words she couldn’t hear, while his fist moved slowly but firmly along the length of Evgeny’s cock.
Evgeny moved his head up and the pair began to kiss, deeply.
Lydia couldn’t move. What was going to happen? Milan sped up and Evgeny began to make little helpless noises until the kiss was broken. Milan sank his teeth into Evgeny’s shoulder and Evgeny cried out, his cock expelling snakes of pearlescent ejaculate over his abdomen and thighs.
“Come in and get warm, Lydia,” drawled Milan, without looking away from Evgeny.
Completely at sea, she stepped into the room. How should she feel about this? It was so far beyond her experience that she had no frame of reference to consult. But then the entire evening had been the same. Perhaps she should abandon her expectations of the world here and now.
“You should have told me,” she said haltingly. “That you were gay. Why did you ask me out if…if…”
Milan lifted his head from Evgeny’s neck and stared at Lydia, his lips quirked upwards.
“I’m not gay,” he said.
“What? Then what…?”
“Even you must have heard of bisexuality?”
What do you mean, ‘even me’?
“Of course, but…but…”
“But what?”
“It’s just something people say, isn’t it? I’ve never known anyone that actually…did.”
Milan sighed, sat up and patted the sofa next to him.
“Come and sit here,” he said, the tone so like an order that Lydia obeyed unthinkingly. She caught Evgeny’s flicker of detached amusement. It looked a lot like contempt, but she made an effort to ignore it.
Milan reached forward and poured her a glass of iced water from a jug on the nearby table. She drank gratefully, already afflicted with the fuzzy head and thick tongue of a hangover.
“Now listen, Lydia. I get the idea that you have some traditional views when it comes to relationships, am I right? Boy meets girl, they live monogamously ever after, et cetera.”
“I’m not homophobic, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“It isn’t. If I thought you were homophobic I’d never have invited you here, clear?”
“Yes. Clear. Good.”
“But am I right?”
“I suppose it’s what I’ve been brought up to believe. I’ll meet someone special, yada yada.”
“Okay. Well, I believe that there are lots of special people in this world. I don’t see the value of limiting yourself to just one.”
“You want to have your cake and eat it, you mean?” said Lydia snippily.
“Yes.” Milan smiled broadly. “I like cake. Lots of cake. I know you don’t like shopping, but what do you do, Lydia, when you see two fleeces that you like? Both so comfortable, so…fleecy. But slightly different colours.”
Evgeny giggled. Lydia pursed her lips.
“Don’t tease me.”
“I’m sorry. But is there a law that forbids you buying both? Come on! Have both! Live a little! Buy two fleeces instead of one!”
“Milan!”
Evgeny was laughing outright now, pouring himself a glass of water.
“That’s a crappy analogy,” said Lydia. “I don’t commit myself to my purchases like I would to a lover.”
“Good. Because I think you should certainly be unfaithful to that fleece.”
“Oh, shut up! So you’re saying you would never be faithful to a partner?”
Milan touched barely-there fingers to the back of Lydia’s head, raking them lightly through her hair.
“No, Lydia, I’m not saying that. I’m saying our concepts of fidelity might not be the same. I love lots of people. Lots of special people. Evgeny is one of them. I think you could be another.”
She shivered as his fingertips brushed the nape of her neck.
“If it was just you…” she whispered.
“You can’t tie me down,” he murmured into her ear. “And, in return, I won’t tie you down. Well, unless you ask me to. Bondage can be fun…”
“You aren’t tak
ing any of this seriously, are you?”
“Love and sex are too important to take seriously.”
She turned her face to him. His eyes were infinite, misty-blue, seeking out her core. She had thought her code of sexual ethics was strong… but where was it now?
“You really think I’m special?”
“Don’t you? You are, Lydia. You should know it. I could show you how special you are.”
His lips were gentle on her forehead, then the tip of her nose.
“And…Evgeny?”
“He wants you too. We talked about you all last night. We would treat you so well… We could show you how well. Now, if you like.”
He had captured her ear with his mouth, and was sending hot waves of desire down its curling shell and deep into her groin.
How would it hurt…just to let him do what he wanted…?
She offered no resistance when he drew her, slowly and sweetly, into a hungry kiss. Encompassing her with his arm, he drew her onto his lap so that her jeans-clad bottom nestled on his bare thighs. She felt him harden beneath her. His hands and his tongue felt so perfect that she forgot Evgeny, who was sitting beside them, watching, right up to the point where Milan bit her lower lip gently and moved his mouth to her ear.
“I’m going to take that bloody fleece off.”
“Oh!” she whimpered, suddenly aware of greedy black eyes drinking her in from the other end of the sofa. “But Evgeny…?”
“Shh. You’ve had sex with one man before, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Haven’t you ever wondered how much better it could be with two?”
“Well…maybe. But as a fantasy. It all seemed too difficult in real life.”
“No, it’s easy. It will be easy. And you will never want to go back, once you have had two men want you and lust after you and give you all their love and attention. I promise you, miláčku.” While he spoke, he eased the fleece up and over her head. Spellbound, she raised her arms and let him pull it off, revealing her plain white cotton bra.
“So pretty.” Evgeny’s first words were appreciative, and Lydia flicked her eyes over to him, blushing.
“Oh yes,” crooned Milan, bending to kiss each of the pale slopes of her breasts in turn. “Too pretty to keep to myself. I want to see you kissing Evgeny. I want to watch you together.”
Highly Strung Page 3
