by Grimm, Sarah
Chapter Sixteen
Noah came to an abrupt stop the moment he caught sight of the piano centered in the recording booth. He scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing he’d gotten more than an hour of sleep and his eyes didn’t feel like they were filled with sand. Then he focused on Pete, taking up his customary position at the mixing board.
“You’ve heard from Isabeau?”
“She called first thing this morning,” the man replied as he leaned back in his chair and glanced at the clock on the wall above Noah’s head. “I expect her any time now. She told me she’d be here by noon.”
“How did she sound?”
Pete arched his brow, rubbed his hand over his chin. “Is there a way she was supposed to sound?”
“She’s pretty upset with me right now, for pushing her into this. No one has seen her for the last two days.” Just Thomas, who brought her home after her breakdown and then told him enough about her past to have Noah tossing and turning all night. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
“We?”
“I shouldn’t have done this,” Noah corrected. “I shouldn’t have pushed her. But damn it, I thought I was helping her.”
“I’ve known that girl her whole life,” Pete admitted, smiling broadly. “She was such a sweet little thing. Friendly and outgoing.”
His smile dimmed, his brow furrowed, telling Noah he knew something that didn’t make him happy. “You are helping her,” he stated bluntly. “But that doesn’t mean she’ll thank you for it.”
“Now where have I heard that before?” Dominic asked as he stepped into the room. Then, like Noah, he stopped abruptly and stared through the glass into the booth. “She’s coming in?”
“I guess so,” Noah replied.
Dom gave him a questioning look. “You haven’t talked to her?”
“No. She called Pete.”
“Who called Pete?” Alex asked, stepping into the room, Nick right behind him.
“Isabeau,” Dominic answered.
“Here she is,” Noah stated, as he stepped closer to the glass and drank in the sight of her.
She was wearing those incredible jogging pants of hers, the ones that rode low on her hips and hugged her amazing ass. Above those pants, and the two-inch gap of flesh that got his blood up, she wore a tank top. The kind with skinny little straps the only thing holding it up. Her hair was down, tumbling past her shoulders, reflecting the lights from the ceiling above her.
His stomach clutched at the dark circles beneath her eyes—eyes as colorless as her skin as she walked directly to the piano and sat, without ever looking toward the booth.
With the way the piano was positioned, Isabeau’s back was to them all. As Noah stared at the uncompromising set to her spine, he found himself silently urging her to turn around.
Pete pushed the button so that his voice projected into the booth. “Hey, sweetheart, how are you?”
“I’m ready.”
She didn’t bother to place the headphones over her ears. In fact, now that he thought about it, Noah noticed there wasn’t a pair out for her. He glanced at Pete to see that the man didn’t have the song cued and ready for her to listen to as she played.
“Give me a scale, would you, sweetheart?”
Back straight, hands steady, she positioned her fingers above the keys and began to play. He could only watch, transfixed as her fingers began to move up and down the keys, at times so quickly his eyes couldn’t make out their individual movement. Then she slowed down, and he recognized the first few measures of “One Last Breath.”
The song she was here to record.
“Thank you,” Pete stated as he made a few adjustments on the sound board. “Damn, it’s good to hear you play again.”
Though he hadn’t thought it possible her back straightened a bit more.
Pete didn’t seem to notice. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”
This time when she lifted her hands out of her lap, they shook.
Noah clenched his jaw.
The nerves that made her hands tremble didn’t have an effect on the skill with which she played. Isabeau played her addition to the song through once, from beginning to end without stopping. Perfectly, from start to finish. Without any errors. When she was done, she placed her hands in her lap and waited.
“Turn around, Isa,” he whispered, his voice pitched so no one could actually hear him. “Turn around and come in here.”
“Damn!” Alex exclaimed. “I didn’t think she could do it.”
“I still don’t believe it,” Nick said. “She heard the song once, only once.”
“That sounded perfect,” Dom agreed.
“It was,” Noah assured them. It would blend perfectly with what they had already recorded. He didn’t foresee any changes that would need to be made.
He kept his eyes on Isabeau’s back, waiting.
“Someone tell me how she did that,” Nick exclaimed.
“How did she perform nocturnes at five years old?” Pete asked, checking the playback. “Izzy plays by ear. That’s her talent. Once is all she’s ever needed to hear something.” He pushed the button so that she heard his next comment. “That was perfect, like always.”
In the booth, Isabeau stood. She turned for the door, took two steps and stopped. Reaching out, she settled her hand atop the piano’s cabinet. Then she walked away without a backward glance, her hand pressed against her stomach as if she were in pain.
“What have we done to her?” Dominic asked quietly, from his spot behind Noah’s left shoulder.
They hadn’t done anything. All of this was on him. He’d gotten what he wanted—her; playing the piano—but at what price?
Suddenly struck by a very real fear of losing her, he pulled open the door and stepped out into the hall. “Isabeau.”
Already halfway to the outer door, she flinched. She stopped walking, but kept her back to him as he closed the distance between them.
His need to touch her, to comfort was so overwhelming, he reached for her, only to have her jerk away. She turned to face him after shifting out of his reach. Her eyes were shadowed. Overflowing with pain.
His stomach clutched. “Why did you do it? Why play if you knew how this was going to affect you?”
“It’s what you wanted,” she replied simply. “You’ve made that pretty clear right from the beginning.”
He opened his mouth, but with nothing to say in his defense, closed it again. There was no denying the truth of her words. He hadn’t kept his desire for her to play again a secret. It had been his goal from the beginning. At least until he realized what he was asking of her. By then, it was too late.
“You never asked what I wanted. You stormed into my life and embarked on this heroic effort to save me from myself, but you never asked me if I wanted to be saved. You didn’t care.”
She stepped back as he reached for her, expertly staying an arm’s length away. “Isabeau—”
“I don’t want to perform again, Noah.” She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them. “I never wanted to. I hated going out there, being put on display like some sideshow freak.”
“You’re not a freak.”
“A child that hears music in the blowing of the wind, the rustle of the leaves on the trees? A little girl not yet of school age who can play Chopin after hearing it only once?” She hugged her arms around her middle. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.”
“It matters.” God, he wanted to touch her so badly he ached. “Let me in, Isabeau. There’s a wall around you that you won’t let me past, an entire part of you that you won’t let me be a part of.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Her lips trembled. “Nothing’s enough for you. I’m certainly not.”
“That’s not true. I want you to—”
“What about what I want?” she asked, her voice pitched so law he had to strain to hear her. “No matter what I give, you always want more. There’s nothing more for yo
u.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. Your life is somewhere else. What’s between us—whatever else it is—is temporary. You know that. I know that.”
His throat tightened painfully. A burning ache settled in his gut, crawled up his chest. “I’m asking you now. What do you want?”
“I want to be important to you.”
He took a step closer. “You are important to me.”
“Because of who I was, who you believe I could be again. The woman I am isn’t enough for you.”
“That’s not true.”
She was inching away from him again, moving closer to the door at her back. If she thought he was going to let her walk away from him, she’d better think again. After talking with Thomas last night, Noah had a better understanding of what motivated her to keep people at a distance. But he wasn’t having any of it. Not anymore. He wanted past that wall of hers. He wanted her to share her secrets with him. All of them.
She gazed up at him, her eyes gray and shiny with unshed tears. “I wish I could believe that.”
“Believe it.”
She cupped his face in her hands, brushed his cheeks with her thumbs. Then she turned and walked away.
“Isabeau, wait!” He pushed through the door, squinting as the afternoon sun struck him in the face. “What happened to you during those years with John Whitehorse?”
She froze with her hand on her driver’s door. Her spine straightened. A small sound of distress slipped up the back of her throat. “Why would you ask me that?”
“What did he do to you, Isabeau? Why the walls? Why won’t you let anyone in?” If possible, she went even paler. “I know he hurt you. What I want to know is if it was more than emotionally. The physical abuse—”
“Don’t do this.”
“—how far did he take it?” Throat raw, palms sweating, he took a step closer. “Is Thomas right? Did John Whitehorse sexually abuse you?”
She started to shake. “He thinks that?”
“It’s a logical assumption.”
“The hell it is!”
“Your time with John changed you.”
“Please stop.”
He couldn’t. He had to know. “You closed off, shut down, and began to draw away from even the most platonic touches.”
Covering her face, she stood there, body vibrating with emotion. “Thomas told you this?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last night. After he brought you home, Thomas came into the bar where I sat waiting for you. He told me about the last time you ran away from John.”
“I was fourteen,” she whispered, through her fingers.
He pulled them away from her face. “There was something you would have told him then, if John hadn’t shown up with the police. What was it, Isa?”
“All these years…How could he believe this and never say anything? He should have asked me.”
“I’m asking you. Isabeau, did John Whitehorse sexually abuse you?”
“No.”
Noah released his breath in a rush. As she continued talking, he realized his relief was misplaced.
“John would have had to see me as a human being to do so, and I was never that to him. I was a machine, his money-making machine. That’s why he fought for me—to cash in on the curiosity. John had dreams of becoming a very rich man. What he didn’t realize was that everything I ever made was tied up in a trust fund that I couldn’t touch until I turned twenty-one.”
She looked up at him, her eyes unreadable. “He didn’t molest me, Noah. He said vile, cruel things to me. He routinely left more than his fair share of bruises on me, and once, once he beat me so badly he damn near killed me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Sick to his stomach, he shook his head. “Not really. You never told this to anyone?”
“I told no one, especially not Thomas. There wasn’t anything he could do. The court had turned his love for me into something indecent. I couldn’t go back to him, and I refused to put him through any more. His life was torn up enough.”
“Damn it.” Anger coursed through his blood. “What about your life?”
“I survived.”
“Is that what you call this, survival?” As he took a step forward, she took one back. It only increased his anger. “How much of you survived and how much was sacrificed? Your gift? Your desire to create music? Your ability to trust?”
“You can’t possibly understand.”
“Help me to understand. Christ, Isa, you can’t give me bits and pieces and expect me to see the whole. You’re angry with me for not being happy with you, but how could I be when you kept that person from me? I don’t know you, not because I didn’t ask the right questions, but because you never trusted me enough to let me in.” Because he couldn’t help himself, he trailed the back of his fingers down her cheek. “You’re right about me, I want more. I want all of you.”
She shifted minutely so that he had no choice but to drop his hand. “I can’t give you that.”
“You mean you won’t.”
Turning her back on him, she opened the driver’s door of her SUV and reached inside. When she faced him again, there was a manila file folder in her hand and a tear streaking down her cheek.
“What’s this?”
“My entire life, people have always referred to my music as a gift. But it’s not a gift, Noah, it’s a curse. It took away my mother and gave me to a devil in human form. And it will take you, right back into a world where I no longer belong.” She wiped away her tears with an angry swipe of her hand. “You’re going to do it. You’re going to get your record deal.”
He took hold of her elbow as she tried to climb into the SUV. “Wait!”
Her eyes slid closed and she sighed. “Noah, let go of me.”
“I can’t,” he replied softly. “I can’t let you go.”
Her eyes slid open as she jerked free from his grasp. “You have to. You don’t have a choice.”
Hand fisted, Noah stood motionless while she drove away. He opened the file folder, certain its contents would change everything.
He was right.
The wind picked up. Papers rustled, lifted. He slapped his palm down and held them in place as his mind struggled to process what he held. Good-bye, that’s what it was.
He began to swear long and loud.
****
Everyone was still in the control room when Noah returned. His gaze swept over each of them as he crossed to Dominic and dropped the folder into his lap.
“What’s this?” Dominic asked, his brow wrinkled in confusion.
Noah pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. “A gift from Isabeau.”
Surprise raised Dom’s voice. “Is this what I think it is?” He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Dominic was now paging through the papers, his disbelief growing with every sheet he uncovered. He’d done the same. Not five minutes after Isabeau walked out of his life.
Yesterday she’d advised them to record the song with strings backing them. Today she provided them with the means to make it happen. Inside the folder he handed Dominic was the accompaniment’s music. The title of each page, written in her precise script, was the name of the song she’d recorded the piano portion of.
“Isabeau composes?” Nick asked.
Finally Noah opened his eyes to find Nick and Alex looking over Dom’s shoulder.
“Izzy has the kind of skill you don’t see often,” Pete informed them. “A skill that extends beyond the piano.”
“She composes?” Noah repeated, earning him a questioning look.
“Of course. Didn’t you listen to her albums?”
“I did.”
“Then you know she wrote every song. It’s right there in the album sleeve.” Pete frowned. “She’s a talented composer. She always has been.”
Noah’s gut tightened. He swore under his breath. “I didn’t know.”
H
e’d never thought of her as a composer, never even considered it. He’d been so hung up on her skills as a pianist that he’d been blinded to any of her other talents. And because of it, he’d pushed away the best thing to ever come into his life.
Chapter Seventeen
Noah stood in the studio in his basement. He’d known before he left New York to fly back and meet with the record company that the studio was completed. He’d kept it to himself. There was no sense in getting anyone’s hopes up before he saw it with his own eyes, made the final inspection.
Unclipping his mobile phone from his belt, he pushed number two and activated speed dial. Dominic picked up on the third ring.
“It’s ready,” Noah said without preamble. “Get things started.”
“Have you met with the record execs yet?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. I met with Tony this morning.” Tony was the band’s manager, as well as a loyal friend of Noah’s. They’d seen each other through many tough times. “He’s confident we’ll be offered a contract.”
“Yet you don’t sound pleased at all,” Dominic pointed out, then disconnected.
Noah sighed wearily. Dominic was right, he wasn’t pleased. He didn’t feel a sense of excitement over a new beginning or relief that something he worked so hard for was finally within his grasp. He couldn’t seem to feel much of anything besides the ache in his gut that grew a little larger every day.
Isabeau.
Standing in his bland, colorless home it became clear to him how much he’d lost. Damn it, everywhere he looked, even here in the studio, all he could see was her smile. All he heard was the laughter she’d brought with her during their time here on their way back from London.
Shit, if he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, he swore he could smell her. It wasn’t possible, he understood that, yet it was something he kept finding himself doing, as he stood in the very spot he’d stripped her clothes from her body and made love to her. What had he been thinking, to take her in the studio, the one place he needed his concentration most? From here on out, he would forever equate this room with her—her scent, her taste. The feel of her flesh sliding atop his.
Swearing viciously, he closed his eyes. He’d had his share of women, most of them during the height of his musical career. They lined up, all but lay at his feet. He’d been young back then, awed by all the attention, and he’d taken advantage. But only Isabeau made his blood pump hot and fast in his veins. She was the woman he couldn’t keep from touching, the woman who caused him to lose control of his sexual urges. All he had to do was breathe in the scent of her, and he was hard as a rock.
