Pervade Duet: Pervade London & Pervade Montego Bay

by Vanessa Fewings

  Xander remained quiet.

  “Mum bought me a violin the following week and got me lessons. That concert changed my life.”

  The way he stared at me caught me off guard. “What?”

  “Which relative of yours is deaf?”

  “Why?” I sat back, surprised.

  “You lip read. It’s not that obvious. I see things most people don’t.”

  “My mum.”

  His eyes were filled with sympathy. He didn’t need to say anything—it was written on his face, his understanding that she’d never hear me play.“She encouraged you anyway.”

  “She’s pretty special.”

  “That doesn’t make you damaged.”

  “She was protective. Like, super-obsessive about me going out, or making friends, or doing anything that would place me in danger.”

  “Because she loves you.”

  “The result is I have a penchant for danger now,” I said suggestively.

  A rush of adrenaline hit me when he seemed to catch my drift.

  He raised his glass in a toast. “Well, it benefited me so thank you, Em’s mum.”

  Xander defused the sexual tension with a friendly smile.

  I changed the subject. “She teaches, too…sign language to children.”

  “Too?”

  “I teach violin to kids.”

  He looked impressed.

  I headed for the door. “Good night.”

  “Emily.”

  I paused and looked over my shoulder.

  “Thank you for this.”

  His sincerity was the kindness I needed. It felt good to help someone. And I had the sense that he understood me. There was something comforting in that.

  I left him to get settled and headed to my room and locked the door.

  Letting a stranger sleep under the same roof wasn’t one of my better decisions, but somehow I felt like I would be able to rest better knowing I wasn’t alone.

  The next morning, daybreak flooded into my bedroom and I blinked awake, realizing I’d taken the mother of all risks.And I wasn’t about to let my violin out of my sight again.

  Wearing my pajamas, I made my way downstairs and pressed my ear to the sitting room door. Sounds of movement revealed Xander was awake. I knocked and then opened the door slightly to peer in. He was doing push-ups on the carpet and only wearing his boxers. He rose off the floor with lightning speed, his back muscles rippling as his biceps tightened. He’d gone from being my dark angel to a ripped God-like figure.

  He leaped to his feet when he saw me. “Hey, Emily.”

  I nudged the door open farther. “How did you sleep?”

  “Great. You?”

  “Fine.”

  My gaze slid from his sculpted broad shoulders to his six-pack abs and down to that impressive bulge in his boxers. My tongue moistened my lower lip. “I’ll put the kettle on.” Blushing, I pivoted and hurried into the kitchen, hoping he’d not noticed me ogling his gorgeousness.

  Fifteen minutes later, I left a mug of tea and a fresh egg sandwich for him on a china plate in the center of the kitchen island and returned to my room with my own favorite mug in hand.

  I leaped into the shower and raised my face to the rush of hot water to try to forget the memory of seeing him half-naked downstairs.

  I’d taken such a risk having a stranger here, but I was kind of lonely. Harold was a generation older and we had little in common other than our love of this place. Hanging out with someone closer to my age had brought the company I’d desperately needed.

  Maybe, just maybe, we could be friends. Especially if his homelessness was only temporary. These thoughts filled me with hope as I pulled on my jeans and a blouse and then dragged a brush through my hair.

  There was a knock on my bedroom door.

  “Come in.” I faced Xander as he entered.

  “Hey, thank you for breakfast. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “I don’t want you leaving hungry.”

  He looked surprised at that. “I took a look at your TV. One of the cables was disconnected so I fixed it.”

  “Was that all, seriously?”

  “Seriously. I’ll put a new battery in the remote and I’ll be on my way.”

  “In there.” I pointed to my chest of drawers.

  Turning to face the mirror, I checked to make sure my hair was not too unruly. When I turned back, Xander was holding my vibrator.

  Oh, God.

  “I’m assuming this is yours?” He smiled as he said it.

  “The other drawer.”

  “Ah.”

  My face was on fire.

  He turned it in his hand. “If it’s made in China, there’s a chance they put a listening device in it.”

  “Fuck off.” I had to laugh.

  He bit his lip suggestively. “I’ll put it back.”

  “I don’t use it.” The words came out before I could stop myself.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “You didn’t.” I lifted a shoulder. “I mean, I prefer to use it on my clit.”

  I wasn’t scared of my sexuality, even if my flushed face contradicted this. Under different circumstances I would have led him over to my bed and explored his well-toned body. And then done more to him…so much more.

  I raised my chin, wanting to shock him. “Sometimes, I put it inside and turn it up to the max.”

  “Well, that’s fine, of course.”

  A spark of chemistry passed between us and I sensed a shift in his emotions. He looked intrigued.

  Then I remembered how I’d met him. “Harold’s going to be home.”

  He placed the vibrator back and closed the drawer.

  Here stood a dreamy man whose presence filled the room with a rare aura that was indefinable. If he walked out the door, I’d never see him again.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked.

  “I’m not seeing anyone. You?”

  I gave him a thin smile. “You could always hack into my bank account and see if I buy dinner for two.”

  “You should never pay for dinner.” Xander looked around my bedroom.

  I had a feeling he was trying to find out more about me.

  He winked. “If your violin goes astray again. I’ll get it back for you.”

  “How can I contact you if it does?”

  “This is why my relationships don’t work out. I’m too elusive, apparently.”

  “What happened?”

  “We both wanted more…just totally different things.”

  “Are you still friends?”

  He mulled that over. “There’s a connection between us that just won’t break.”

  Someone still had a piece of his heart and it was kind of romantic.

  “I’ve never had that.”

  “You deserve to be loved entirely. Your lover should make you feel invincible.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Personally, I’m not an easy lover to have,” he admitted.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m into…things.” He glanced down at the drawer that held my vibrator.

  I wanted to ask for details as a rush of excitement swept through me, making me feel giddy. God, if he was into rough sex, I may have met my dream man.

  “I should go,” he said.

  “Best of luck with everything.”

  “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, Emily.”

  His words filled me with a flush of warmth—like basking in the sun on a summer day.

  He moved toward the door. “Thanks again for breakfast. For all of it, really.”

  “Would you like to…”

  Xander shut the door behind him.

  Great. We’d ended things on an awkward note.

  I stood there replaying our conversation, and let out a sigh of sadness when I heard the front door close. Tentatively, I went downstairs to the hallway and peered through the peephole. Xander was at the end of the garden closing the gate behind him. />
  I had pushed him away. My love of music had always been my priority, but now I felt a lingering loneliness. As I entered the sitting room, I cursed my coldness.

  As I grabbed up the sheets I’d given him, ready to throw them into the washing machine, his soft scent wafted up around me, mixing with the vanilla aroma of my body wash he’d used last night. He smelt like good company. Like a friend I could get to like a lot.

  My thoughts returned to that vision of him standing in front of the unlit fireplace, bare-chested and wearing nothing but his boxers. In a daze, my hands caressed my nipples to soothe my longing. It didn’t help.

  Back in the kitchen, I threw the sheets in the washing machine.

  “I’m into things.” His words teased me all the way back to my bedroom.

  I eased off my clothes and then my panties and bra, my naked body feeling kissed by the cold air as my breaths came short and sharp with anticipation. I removed my vibrator from the chest of drawers and then ran my fingertips over where Xander had touched it. A jolt of arousal overwhelmed me, bringing on a delicious swoon as I lay upon my bed.

  As my fingers trailed along myself, I felt the wetness, having been aroused from when Xander had stood only feet away. My clit throbbed as I thought about the way he’d held up my sex toy and caressed its length.

  I fired it up, rubbing it along myself. The buzz went deep, making my thighs tremble.

  I strummed my sensitized sex delicately at first, mesmerized by the sensations gripping me, my jaw tense, the theatre of my imagination taunting me with forbidden thoughts of Xander doing things to me that were downright dirty.

  Losing control, needing to belong to him more than I needed my next breath, I squeezed the toy between my thighs to hold it in place and reached up and pinched my nipples, pretending it was Xander whose tongue was lashing me down there. The slow torture of his pleasure proving he possessed me completely.

  The memory of him owned my orgasm as I gasped out loud, my body shuddering as I rode out the seemingly endless spasms.

  My head hit the pillow as the residual vibrations began to fade. I cupped my sex to prolong the exquisite throbbing.

  “I should have let you in,” I thought, sending a silent message to Xander.

  But it was too late—my beautiful stranger was gone.

  Six Months Ago

  Letting Xander into Harold’s home last night had been reckless.

  I knew nothing about him, not even his last name. The relief I’d felt from getting my violin back had made me high and affected my judgment. It could have gone so differently.

  I scanned the sitting room where Xander had slept last night. Even though I didn’t know him I missed him. Over there on the carpet, I’d caught him doing those impressive push-ups like he’d stepped out of one of those scorching hot billboard ads you see for high fashion all around the city.

  And the TV worked now because he’d fixed it.

  I pushed my focus onto playing “Concerto No. 3” by Mozart and this cleansed my musical palate after teaching violin all morning. Three one-hour sessions for teenagers had frayed my nerves. It made me recall my old violin tutor and the patience he’d had as I’d learned to master this instrument.

  Notes rose majestically as I pulled my bow across the strings to say what I couldn’t say with words. I closed my eyes as the music flowed through me, soothing my soul.

  The doorbell rang, snapping me back into time and place. I set down my instrument and bow and hurried to answer the door.

  When I opened it, there was no one there.

  My focus fell to the steps, where an antique wooden violin case lay at the bottom.

  I knelt beside it to take a closer look.

  Maybe there was a clue inside to reveal who the case belonged to. I taught all ages, though had one of my students turned up with this I’d have remembered it. The antique design was gorgeous and unforgettable.

  I clicked the case open and inhaled sharply, blinking to clear my vision.

  A Stradivarius lay within the velvet interior.

  Who the hell had left this here?

  I ran my fingertips reverently over the maple neck. This beautiful seventeenth century violin was famed for its astounding sound.

  Confused, I looked toward the gate, hoping to find someone there who could explain this extraordinary find. I knew it was worth a fortune.

  Returning my attention to the violin, I lifted it out of the case with great care. A Sotheby’s auction tag was tucked beneath the fingerboard.

  Could this be from him? The mysterious man who’d entered my life last night and then disappeared? Xander had said that he’d repay me…

  It was stupid to think this had anything to do with him. There was another perfectly good explanation. No way could I continue with my day without at least trying to find the rightful owner of the Stradivarius. I knew what it felt like to lose one’s most precious possession, and I didn’t want anyone else to go through the same grief. Gently, I returned it to the case and shut the lid.

  I grabbed the violin, locked up the house, and headed out, following my only clue—the auction tag. It was time to visit Sotheby’s.

  I put my ear buds in and listened to Demi Lovato sing about not holding on and letting go. With that raw truth reminding me what it was going to be like giving up this priceless violin, I rode the Tube toward Mayfair.

  Don’t think about keeping it.

  This wasn’t meant for me.

  But I couldn’t help but get excited over the thought of owning one of the world’s finest violins. There were so few of these in existence that even playing one was a privilege.

  New Bond Street reigned with its impressive architecture and decadent shops. The one I was heading for was tucked between Delvaux, a fancy boutique, and Richard Green, a high-end art store.

  Above the frontage of Sotheby’s hung its blue flag stating the company had been established in 1744. Inside were the kinds of experts who would come running to snatch this off my hands when I told them what was inside. The girl with a nose ring would no doubt cause a riot when she appeared with a Strad.

  I stepped into the impressive foyer and was greeted by the receptionist, who glanced at the case. She led me to a door with “Charles Bisbee” stamped on the glass.

  Inside the small office sat a sixty-something man wearing a tweed jacket and chatting on the phone. When he saw me, he held up a finger to tell me to wait, while he curiously considered the violin case.

  He hung up. “How can I help?”

  “I found a Stradivarius…” I waited for his surprised reaction, and then continued. “And I want to return it to its rightful owner.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Where did you find it?”

  “Outside my house, on the doorstep.I found the Sotheby’s auction tag, so here I am.”

  I opened the case to show him the instrument. Shock settled on his face.

  “So you remember it?”

  “It’s a Strad,” he replied, his tone sarcastic.

  “Can you tell me the name of the person who bought it?”

  He gave me a thin smile that served as a no.

  “Right…confidentiality. Maybe you can get a message to him?”

  “If I see the gentleman again,” he said.

  “I’m not comfortable keeping it.”

  “I’m not surprised, considering it sold for a couple of million.”

  “Pounds?”

  “No, breadsticks.” He looked over my shoulder. “Are you with the other gentleman who visited after my client left?”

  “Who was your client?”

  He smiled. “Bravo.”

  I smirked at my cheekiness. “Who was the man who came after?”

  “Didn’t leave a name.”

  I turned and peered out the window with a sigh.

  “It was a private sale,” he said. “Details sealed.”

  “Was his name Xander?”

  “Sealed, as in private.”

  “Can
you at least give the buyer a message?”

  He folded his arms.

  I had to wonder if Xander had actually left no way of being contacted.

  “Consider this an official report,” I told him, snapping the case shut.

  He dragged his fingers over his mouth as though thinking this through. “If the owner returns—”

  “He knows where I live.”

  “Take care of that violin.” His bushy eyebrows rose with a hint of condescension. “You have something special, young lady.”

  I raised the case for dramatic effect. “Circa 1645 to 1750 there was a little ice age. During that time tree growth slowed resulting in unusually dense wood. Boom, you get a violin with superior sound.”

  “True. The wood was also meant to come from cathedrals.”

  “Debunked.”

  He nodded, impressed. “You know your violins.”

  “I do, and it’s a shame after talking to you I don’t know more.”

  I headed for the door, having failed miserably to get Xander’s contact info.

  “Miss? I never caught your name.”

  I stopped and looked back. “Emily Rampling.”

  “Sounds like that violin was destined to find you, Emily.” His eyes lit up with a smile.

  “Not sure about that.”

  “Someone obviously thinks so.”

  I glanced past him to the back wall. The old black and white photos hanging in fancy frames revealed Charles Bisbee’s passion for instruments. Knowing we had this interest in common, I shared a look of understanding with him before heading out.

  I couldn’t think of anyone other than Xander who would have given me something so priceless. I’d lost my only chance of contacting him and as my consolation prize I’d received the most incredible gift. Though I still wasn’t sure keeping it was an option. Falling in love with a violin this remarkable was a bad idea.

  As though part of me wasn’t willing to let Xander go, I returned to the place I’d met him.

  Beneath the low ceiling of Piccadilly Circus’s Tube station, in the same spot I’d played the night I’d met him, I removed the Strad from its case. I made a wish that music would draw him back to me.