There's No Place Like Home (The MacQuire Women Book 2)

by Peggy Jaeger

  “Why do you keep saying you’re sorry? Nothing we just did should make you feel sorry, or ashamed, Moira.” Heedless of her protestations, he tugged her back into his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong. What did I do? Please, tell me.”

  It was the sound of the pain lacing in his plea that got through to her. With difficulty, she dragged in a deep breath, then took his hands in her own shaking ones and said, “I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay.”

  She stared up into his concerned eyes and felt suddenly chilled. Before she could push him away again, Quentin yanked her into his arms, not allowing her any freedom to move out of them. “Tell me what’s wrong. Did I frighten you? Hurt you at all? What?”

  Moira burrowed into his chest, her arms wedged between their bodies. She shook her head and said, “None of those things, Q.”

  “Then what? I thought you were enjoying it as much as I was. If I’m wrong, I’m the one who’s sorry-”

  “God, don’t say that,” she implored, staring up at him. “You know I was. I still can’t believe you want me. Me,” she laughed, but the sound was harsh and raw and broke on a sob. “Almost as much as I want you.”

  He pulled her back so her head lay on his chest, ran his hands up and down her back and asked, “Then what is it? Why are you so scared?”

  “It’s not of you, that’s for sure,” she said. “Can we sit down? My legs are shaking.”

  Before she could leave his embrace, he scooped her up again and sat her back down on the couch, secured on his lap, with his arms snug around her.

  “Tell me,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

  Moira sat back and looked at his face. Brow furrowed with concern, eyes warm with need and worry, she felt her heart flip ever so slightly in her chest and realized what she’d always instinctively known: she could trust him. Absolutely. He would never hurt her, would never deceive her. Everything he felt for her was written so plainly in his eyes. Moira knew there was no one on earth she could ever trust more. The decision to tell him had been made, and knowing it, a simple sigh of relief pushed through her.

  She took a deep breath and said, “It’s about what happened on tour.”

  “Okay.”

  “This isn’t going to be easy, and I need you to promise not to interrupt and just let me get it all out before I answer any questions. Can you do that?”

  “I can promise to try,” he said, rubbing a finger across her cheek.

  “Okay. That’s good enough.” She took another deep breath and blinked a few times, organizing what she needed to tell him. “You know this past season the symphony hired a new conductor, Sergei Olmhoff?”

  “From your parents, yeah. Some hot shot big name I’d never heard of before.”

  She nodded. “He joined the company when Maestro Bandini had his heart attack in Paris. His reputation was stellar and the entire company was so excited to be conducted by him. At first, everything was good. We still had ten cities left on the current leg of the tour before the break, and then on to Asia. Like I said, everything was good in the beginning.”

  When she stopped and lowered her head, Quentin put a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze back to his. “What happened?”

  Her lips trembled. “We’d just finished in Madrid. Usually, at the end of the night, most of the company would go out for a late dinner, rehash the concert, wind down. I didn’t usually go because after a concert I like to ice my hands so they’re not so stiff the next day.”

  He nodded. “I remember you doing it when we were in high school. It always struck me as a painful price to pay for playing so well.” He lifted one of her hands and gently kissed each individual finger.

  Moira watched him make subtle love to her hand, and almost abandoned the idea to tell him the rest. “Go on,” he prompted, still holding her hand.

  “One night, for some unknown reason, I decided to join them. Maybe I was lonely, I don’t know. I was tired, that’s for sure, and I guess missing home a little more than usual. It was around Denny’s birthday and I was sad I was missing another one. We all wound up at a restaurant and somehow I got seated next to Sergei. Everything seemed fine, until I noticed he kept looking at me in a funny way—”

  “What kind of funny? Concerned or creepy?”

  Pouting, she said, “You promised.”

  “Sorry.” He placed a tender kiss to her temple. “Go on.”

  She waited a second and then said, “Creepy. Like he was picturing me naked. I got really uncomfortable and excused myself to leave. He made a big production of going with me saying someone as lovely as I was needed an escort back to our hotel. I tried to shoot him down, told him I was fine, don’t bother, all of that, but he was insistent, and I wound up walking back with him in tow.”

  “What happened once you were back at the hotel?”

  Moira noticed his tone had hardened a little.

  “You can’t help yourself, can you? Just like Pat. Always have to interrupt with questions, the answers to which I’m going to tell you without being asked.” She crossed her arms over her chest, vexed, and stared hard at him.

  The lazy smile she so loved started across his face so she was quick to add, “And don’t try your horse whisperer charm on me. Just listen, okay?”

  He stifled his smile and nodded.

  “When we got back to the hotel, the minute we were in the lobby, I said good night. I just wanted to get to my room, ice my hands, and crawl into bed. He took the elevator up with me and that’s when I found out his room was on the same floor. Luckily, it was at the other end. I started walking down my hallway when he followed again. By then my creep factor was turned up high, so I stopped, turned around to him, and told him I didn’t need him walking me to my door. That’s when he grabbed me and tried to kiss me.”

  Moira waited a heartbeat, knowing Quentin would interrupt her again. But all he did was take a deep breath and silently kept looking at her.

  “Well, I guess it’s true,” she said. “You have evolved.”

  “Not by much, so don’t push me,” he said through clenched teeth.

  She ignored the comment. “I said he tried to kiss me. I could tell what he was going to do, so I put my hand up in his face, said goodnight again and quickly ran into my room. I was nervous, but I figured that would be the end of it. He’d tried to make a move, I’d rebuffed him—”

  “Good word.”

  “-and that would be it. Only it wasn’t. The very next morning I found a red rose outside my door when I left to get breakfast. He’d tied a note to it that said…” She lowered her eyes. Quentin brought her hand to his lips again and kissed it with such tenderness her heart missed a few beats. He didn’t press and she knew he was letting her go at the pace she needed. She looked back up to him, and, with heat infusing her cheeks, told him, “It said, ‘the first time we…make love…you won’t ever run away from me again.’”

  Underneath her, she felt his entire body turn to a block of stone.

  “You’re going to ask me what I did about it, so I’ll just tell you,” she said in a rush. “Nothing. I threw the rose away and ignored it. In hindsight, I realize it was the worst thing I could have done because his campaign to seduce me switched into high gear. At rehearsal I’d find notes and small presents like a chocolates or a bouquet of pansies on my piano.”

  Quentin’s lips curled in derision. “He obviously didn’t know you at all.”

  “Obviously, but he continued. I never joined the group after the concerts again. Instead I’d run back to my room as soon as I could manage it. Sometimes he would make to follow me, but something or someone always prevented him, for which I was thankful. A few times, he’d be waiting for me when I got up in the morning. Just outside my door, just standing there. I’d ignore him but he’d follow me down to breakfast, sit at the same table I would. He would tell me how lovely I was or how my playing was so inspirational. Creepy things like that. I started skipping b
reakfast, waiting until I knew he had to be at rehearsal before leaving my room. He finally got the message because after a few weeks the notes, the presents, the stalking stopped. But then the real problems started.”

  “What do you mean? Sorry. Slipped out.”

  She cupped his cheek in her hand. Grabbing it, he kissed her palm.

  “What happened, Moira,” he asked, his arms tightening around her. The tension slicing through him, under his taut muscles, made her think of a spring, pulled and ready to recoil.

  She dropped her gaze to his chest, and then brought it back up to his eyes. “One night, right before we were due to fly out again, I was exhausted but starving. I ordered something from room service because I didn’t want to go out. It was late and I needed to pack and figured I could eat while I did.”

  She stopped and pulled her bottom lip into her mouth with her top teeth. Quentin kissed her temple, then her brow, landing lastly on her cheek. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The comfort of his gentle caresses and the warmth and acceptance drenched in his voice almost made her come undone. She took another ragged breath. “When the knock on my door came, I just assumed it was room service with my food. I opened it and Sergei stood there, leaning against the door jamb, a sick and scary smile on his face.”

  Quentin’s shoulders flexed as his grip tightened then eased around her.

  When he didn’t say anything, she cupped his cheek in her hand again. “I didn’t think quick enough to slam the door on him and in a flash he grabbed me and backed me into my room.”

  The image of how his full, thick Slavic lips had curled back as he’d yanked her into his arms made bile roll up from deep within her. She swallowed, fighting the sudden nausea, remembering how safe she was now. Sergei couldn’t touch her here.

  Or ever again.

  The muscles in Quentin’s cheek jerked under her hand. “Moira.” Her name choked from him. “He didn’t…please tell me he didn’t…?”

  “No.” She shook her head and pulled into him for a hug. “He didn’t rape me. I didn’t give him the chance. As soon as I felt his arms crushing around me, everything you, Pat, and daddy taught me about how to defend myself kicked in. I swear, a jolt of adrenaline surged through me and I lifted my knee as fast as I could and clocked him square in the groin.”

  “That’s my girl.” Pride danced in his voice.

  “He immediately let go of me and doubled over. I was going to run from the room but then room service really did arrive. The delivery boy took one look at Sergei and said something in French. Sergei cursed and then hobbled out of my room. I was shaking so hard the delivery boy asked me if I wanted a doctor.”

  She shook her head again at the memory. Terrified of what Sergei could do to her, she’d acquiesced and a doctor had been dispatched to her room, examined her and had asked if she wanted anything to calm her nerves. Moira had refused him.

  “Why didn’t you call the police, or at least notify your bosses?”

  With a huge, tired sigh, she said, “I wish I could give you an answer. The only thought I had was putting everything behind me and getting on with the rest of the tour. I really hoped this entire thing was over now,” she said, settling back into his embrace, comfortable across his massive chest.

  “He never attempted anything again?”

  “Not physically, no.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She waited a few heartbeats. “Without sounding conceited,” she finally said on a sigh, “you know I never make a mistake or flub a piece once I know it. Ever.”

  “Truth,” he said, while he rubbed her knuckles. “I remember in high school you had a bad case of the flu and a temp of 102 and you still performed. Beautifully.”

  She nodded. “One morning we were rehearsing a Bach movement I can do in my sleep. Sergei started banging his baton on the podium and screamed at me I was off tempo. The entire company stopped, shocked, especially since it wasn’t true. We did it again and he made us come to a screaming halt three more times before he threw his baton at me and ordered me to leave the stage until I could learn how to count.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I left. Mortified, but I left. The conductor is God in a symphony company. I spent the afternoon in my room, going over the piece in my head a thousand times. When call time came, I got dressed and went out on stage with everyone else. The concert was perfect. It was as if nothing had ever happened. But he did the same thing the next morning at rehearsal and the day after. Then he stopped. We traveled to a new city and the first day there he banished me again claiming I was playing too loudly, or some such nonsense. I really can’t remember what. That night he’d changed the order of the music and I didn’t know about it. I started playing what I thought was the correct introduction and he stopped, turned to the audience and apologized. Then he walked straight to the piano, pulled out the correct piece of music and said for everyone to hear it must be the wrong time of the month because my brains were scattered.”

  “Jesus, Moira, did you smack the guy?”

  “Calm down, and no, I didn’t. It would have just played into his hands. I found out from one of the violinists Sergei wanted me out of the company and this was his way of making it happen. He figured if I made public mistakes during high priced paying concerts, it would get me fired. Or, I would quit outright. Since I knew what he was up to, I prepared myself. Every night before going on, I made sure I had the correct sequence. I think it made him even madder and more determined to get rid of me. Soon, I wasn’t allowed to rehearse at all with the company. He banished me and because of it I was isolated and alone most of the time. I started feeling panicky before shows. In one city, I found a local clinic to get something for my nerves. The doctor gave me a prescription for Valium. Around that time was when I must have picked up the intestinal bug. I ate all my meals in my room and room service in most of the places we stayed wasn’t exactly speedy, so I’m not surprised I got sick. When I started being unable to keep any food down, it got worse. The last straw came with the final concert in Budapest.”

  She stopped, realizing suddenly how tired she was. Quentin pulled her head down to his shoulder and said, “Tell me the rest of it.”

  She snuggled into his shoulder, reveling in the comfort he gave. “After the last concert of the season the President of the Board of the symphony, Aldus Magnusson, usually organizes a finale party. Everyone is expected to attend. It’s considered professionally rude if you don’t, so of course, I went. The minute I entered the room I knew something was wrong. No one would look me straight in the eye, but everyone was looking at me, know what I mean?”

  He nodded.

  “I made my way up to Mr. Magnusson to thank him for organizing the tour, like I had for the past four years. He was unusually cold to me, wouldn’t even smile or look at me. That’s when I saw Sergei standing next to him. He had a smug smirk on his face and I knew he’d said something derogatory about me, I just knew it. My stomach started spasming and I couldn’t stay in the room another minute so I put a smile on my face and walked out, with my head high.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, rubbing her arm and kissing her temple.

  “The next morning, my violinist friend informed me Sergei had told Magnusson what a miserable diva I’d turned into. Refusing to rehearse, coming to concerts late and unprepared, not interacting with the company, and worse, not making any excuses for it. It seems he killed my reputation all because I wouldn’t sleep with him. Ridiculous.”

  “No, Moira. It’s harassment of the first order.” Quentin pulled her off his lap and sat her on the couch. “Did you leave right then? Did you even try to repair what he’d done?”

  “No. By then my stomach hurt all the time. I couldn’t eat, and when I tried, I couldn’t keep anything down. I could barely put a sentence together on the evenings we performed I was so nervous about making a mistake. I just wanted to cut my losses and come home.”

  “Withou
t even fighting?”

  “Q, it was my word against his. Most of what he said was true, although skewered. I didn’t rehearse with the company, but it was because he wouldn’t let me. I did arrive late to concerts and was unprepared, first because I was sick and second because he changed things without my knowledge. And I’d isolated myself toward the end, so he was also right about my not interacting with anyone.”

  “But Moira, you had legitimate reasons for every one of those things. I’ve never known you to turn tail and run away from a problem or a person before. It’s just not you.”

  “I know,” she said, rubbing her temples. “My only excuse is that I was physically sick and didn’t feel like I had any support around me to fight him. Please don’t be mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you,” he said, taking her back into his arms. “I could never be mad at you. I’m mad for you.”

  They sat silently for a few moments, wrapped in one another’s arms.

  “I wish I’d been there,” Quentin told her. “I wish I’d known what you were going through. You should have had someone defending you, helping you with this guy.”

  Moira cupped his face again. “It’s over now.”

  “But still, Moira. I’d like nothing more than to find this jerk and beat the crap out of him for what he did to you. He deserves it. Don’t think Pat or your father wouldn’t agree with me, either.”

  She could feel the anger sluicing off him. “This is why I didn’t want to tell anyone when I came home. I know how you all get, how you treat me like I’m five years old and need to be protected from everything bad in the world. I hate that, Q. I simply hate it.”

  He stared at her, anger and frustration written on his face.

  “I’m an adult,” she said. “Despite what you and everyone else thinks. I can handle things when they happen. Let me finish.”

  He closed his mouth.

  “I realize you don’t agree with how I handled Sergei, but believe me, I was trying to make the best of an impossible situation. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the best way, but it was still something I had to do. By myself. Just me.”