Lesson in Romance, page 2
She approached him, placed her hand on his arm, hating herself for what she was about to say. His skin felt warm and the muscle underneath tensed as he turned to look at her. “It sounds like he really cares about you, and helps you out a lot. But what if, God forbid, something happens to Tommy. What then?”
His shoulders slumped in reply and she knew she’d hit a nerve. Then his eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes filled with pain, bore into hers.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and splintered her heart. “This can’t get out. If it does, it’ll destroy my career.”
As a high-profile musician and one of the hottest bachelors in Harlem, she knew the media would have a field day if they learned he was illiterate.
“No one will know. I promise,” she assured him, keeping her voice light in spite of the emotions churning within her. “I live a very quiet, boring life and I’d like it to stay that way.”
“I don’t think anything about you would qualify as boring.”
She bit her lower lip with pleasure, although she was unsure whether he meant it as a compliment.
“Tommy told me about the big money I’m going to give to you.”
She shook her head. “You mean donate. None of it is going to me personally. It’s going to fund Beacon House.”
He gave her a curious stare, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter because you’re both nuts. There’s no way I can learn how to read in one weekend,” he insisted.
She nodded. “You’re right. You won’t be able to read War and Peace, but I promise you’ll be able to read a simple children’s book by Monday.”
Alex shoved his hands into his jeans, revealing a thin line of hair at the base of his abdomen that Cara longed to trace to its final destination.
He sounded doubtful. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
She looked him in the eye. “Of course you do,” she asserted. “You can quit, but look at your options. If you do the tour, your record company is happy and no one knows a thing. If you don’t do the tour, it’ll be a PR nightmare. I’m willing to bet they already sent out the press release, right?”
“Yes. My publicist was overjoyed. At least one of us is happy.”
“So, what reason could you possibly give for backing out now?”
He smoothed his hand over his perfectly round, bald head and gave a sigh of resignation. “I guess the dog ate my homework wouldn’t fly, would it?”
She grinned. “It’s going to be okay. I promise,” she said, reassuring him. “If you don’t want to continue with the reading lessons after the tour, you don’t have to. But regardless, your secret will be safe.”
And so will mine.
Alex stared at her a moment, and Cara knew he was debating whether to trust her or not. She had to figure out a way to make him feel at ease with her…and soon.
Slipping his hands out of his pockets, he pushed away from the window with his shoulder. “I’m going to take a quick shower and finish packing before my limo arrives.”
Panic sluiced through her veins. Tommy had told her Alex’s schedule was clear for the weekend. They needed to spend as much time as possible on the lessons and not be disturbed. “Limo? What limo?”
“The one taking us to my home in the Catskill Mountains.”
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “But I thought I was going to be teaching you here, in Harlem.”
He shook his head. “I’d already planned to spend a long weekend in the mountains. I’m supposed to be relaxing, remember? I’m not changing those plans for anybody. Is that a problem?”
The reality of his words hit full force and a shudder of excitement went through her.
Alone with Alex in the Catskills. Where there were no taxis, no takeout and no escape? She was already a hot mess about being with him in his Harlem town house.
She wasn’t scared of him, just unused to being alone with a man she was attracted to for an extended period of time. Her dates were few and far between, and most of them never made it as far as her bed. Devoted to her work, the words sex and social life were missing from her personal dictionary.
There’s really no need to worry, she told herself. Alex was her student. She was his teacher. The lines were clearly drawn. Remembering how he’d looked at her at the front door, she, like most women, knew when a man was attracted to her.
And Alex Dovington most certainly was not.
The same could not be said for her.
It was difficult not to stare at him as he stood there, maddeningly out of reach, body cut and chiseled to perfection like a Renaissance statue. The man was off the hook, and off-limits, yet her eyes yearned to do what her lips could not—devour him.
His shoulders moved forward, snapping her back to reality.
“Sorry. I lost my train of thought for a second. That’ll be fine. I just need to run home and pack. I should be back in a couple of hours.”
He nodded, and she kept her eyes on him as he walked out. After he left, she grabbed her purse and dug for cab fare.
He popped his head in the room and she dropped her bag in surprise. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I was an absolute terror in school. My teachers hid behind their desks when I walked into the room. Fair warning.”
His voice was stern, but she detected a hint of a smile on his lips.
She arched an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll just have to get creative to keep you interested.”
Where did that come from?
Judging by the odd look on his face, he was just as surprised as she was.
“If you want to grab something to drink before you leave, the kitchen is at the end of the hallway. Help yourself.”
Cara waited until he went upstairs, and then drifted over to the little alcove where gold records ornamented the wall. Tucking a curl behind her ear, she gazed at the Grammy Award, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
Had she been flirting with him just now?
She almost laughed out loud. Absolutely not. When it came to devising enticing lines to attract the opposite sex, she got a big, fat F.
Passing the piano, her feet kicked something out of the way. Looking down, she saw a balled-up piece of manuscript paper that had somehow escaped burial. She glanced over her shoulder before picking it up.
Smoothing out the wrinkles with the palm of her hand, she hummed the melody. It was the tune he was playing when arrived. Smiling, she refolded the music and stuck it into her purse.
On her way to the kitchen, her smile faded when it suddenly struck her that there were no pictures of
Alex’s friends or family around, not even of his brother, Michael.
Every small room in her own apartment was filled with pictures, memories frozen in time. She cherished each one, especially the ones of her mother who died when she was nine years old.
Shouldering her purse and briefcase, Cara selected a bottle of juice from the fridge. Her mind wandered to Alex’s numerous records, the U.S. and European concert tours, the sold-out performances at jazz clubs across the country and the world. All were trophies to his artistic talent.
But where were the tributes to his personal life?
As she closed the front door, the last thing she heard was the faint sound of water spraying in the shower, reigniting her nerves. Soon the biggest challenge of her life would begin. She sank down on the stoop, leaned her head against the cold iron railing, and prayed.
Chapter 2
Alex shoved his cell phone into his duffel bag, leaned his head against the window and wished he’d never come back to New York. The gray waters of the Hudson River were dappled in the sunlight as his limo traveled north to the Catskills.
The nasal-knife voice of his publicist still rang in his ears. Word had gotten out about the tour. She was going nuts fielding calls from around the tristate area and as far away as Chicago and Los Angeles. Everyone wanted Alex Dovington to read and perform at their school. Local and national media wanted exclusive coverage and personal interviews.
What a joke.
He eased back into the leather seat and reached for the familiar green bottle. Tipping it back, he enjoyed a long swig. If they knew he couldn’t read the label of his favorite beer, or damn near anything else for that matter, they wouldn’t want him.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what would happen if people discovered his secret. He could almost see the tabloid headline:
Playboy Dummy!
Harlem’s Hottest Saxophonist Is Illiterate
The familiar anger rose within him and he gritted his teeth against it. No matter how much he’d already accomplished in his career, in some people’s minds, he would be branded as unintelligent. But he wasn’t stupid. He just couldn’t read.
True, there were some words he recognized by sight. Ones he’d picked up over the years just by living life. Women. Sex. Money. Music. Jazz. Bar. Liquor. Nightclub. Police. Beer. ATM. A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. Those were among the most important words in the world. At least in his world.
Everything else was a cloud of letters he could never see through. A jumble of puzzle pieces he could never hope to solve.
The cold beer felt like heaven raining down his throat as he took another long pull. He snuck a glance at Cara. If his teachers had looked like her back when he was in school, he definitely wouldn’t have dropped out in the ninth grade.
She sat diagonally from him, reading a newspaper, one slim leg crossed over the other. Her hair billowed out from her head and cascaded down her back in tiny spirals of brown curls spun with gold. He wondered if it felt as silky as it looked.
She lowered the paper for a moment to turn the page and Alex got another glimpse of her face, although the caramel-colored beauty of it had captured his mind the moment he opened his door and found her standing there.
His eyes roamed down the cream blouse and over the navy skirt, all buttoned-up and properly pressed. They curved down her legs, all the way to the peek-a-boo pump dangling from her left foot as it kicked out a sporadic rhythm. No stockings, he noted with pleasure.
Bare legs, one shoe half off, and the wildness of her hair stirred a crazy kind of longing within him. Hmm, he thought. Maybe she wasn’t all business, all the time.
An image popped into his mind. He pictured her lying beneath him, those gold-brown curls moving like waves over the pillows, her fingers linked with his as he plunged into her. Again and again. Gazing into those soft, almond-shaped brown eyes until they slid shut from pleasure and then—
Her shoe dropped with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. Averting his gaze, he turned his head toward the window and jammed a fist under his chin. He closed his eyes, willed his erection to relax.
Now wasn’t the time to be hot for teacher.
He had to finish his new tune this weekend. On Tuesday morning he was due in the studio to record his ninth, and hopefully not his last, album for Sharp Five Records.
The muscles in his abdomen tightened with dread. Mo “Money Man” Lowenstein, President and COO, was breathing down his neck. Sales of his last two albums were lower than expected and Mo had threatened to release him from the label.
And now he had to worry about learning the ABC’s? His eyes snapped open and he nearly let out a cynical laugh.
Sharp Five Records, one of the largest, most well-respected labels in the music business, specialized in jazz, R&B and world music. Being cut from the artist roster would be a major blow to his career, and there were plenty of cats lined up ready to take his place at a moment’s notice.
He lifted the bottle and grimaced as the now-warm remnants of his beer hit his throat. Although Alex dreamed of starting his own label and developing his own pool of talented musicians, he knew it was an impossible goal.
How many business owners couldn’t read? He gathered the answer was zero, unless they were as good at hiding it as he was.
He sighed and looked out the window at the blur of trees going by. Life was so much simpler when he was playing for change in the 125th Street subway station. He wondered if he’d known back then that the music business was more about business, and less about music, would he be sitting here today?
He thought about the manuscript paper strewn all over his living room floor. It seemed like he’d rewritten the tune a thousand times, but there was still something missing. He’d hit a wall, and whenever he tried to fix it, it sucked even worse than before.
Could the problem be writer’s block? He hoped not. If it were, that would scare him more than losing his recording contract. He knew if he lost the ability to compose music, he just might give up playing forever, because it was the only part of his life where he had complete control.
And if he couldn’t play saxophone and compose, what would he do with his life?
He checked his watch and blew out a breath. They’d been on the road for just over an hour, but it felt like an eternity. And they still had about an hour before they reached Cottage Valley Falls, the town where his home was located.
When they’d gotten into the limo, he’d offered Cara a beer, but she’d refused and chose mineral water instead. And that was the last time they had spoken.
The reason why suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.
Cara was the first woman, the only woman, who knew he couldn’t read, and it made him feel like he had been caught by his mother with his hands down his pants.
She knew he couldn’t read a menu in a restaurant, the warnings on a bottle of medicine, his royalty statements or countless other things. And that was way too much knowledge for him to be completely comfortable around her.
He frowned and tried not to squirm in his seat, feeling exposed and trapped at the same time. Still he had to find some way to get through this weekend and get back to what was important: making music.
One of the advantages to being a bachelor was he didn’t have to justify anything to anyone. The other good things about being single escaped him for the moment and he chalked it up to jet lag, not the fact just being in Cara’s presence made him want to forget about a lot of things.
Alex studied her, half wishing she’d put the paper down. What was so interesting she had nothing to say to him? It was almost as if she didn’t want to be there, either. Although she’d played down the donation part and seemed excited about teaching him, it could have all been an act.
From the little he’d observed about her so far, she was somewhat aloof but radiated a quiet confidence. She seemed less like a gold digger and more like the type who wrote letters to the editor or maybe even the President of the United States.
Chicka-bow, chicka-bow, chicka-bow-wow. The Commodores “Brick House” broke through the silence in all its polyphonic glory, courtesy of his cell phone.
Kiki. He swore under his breath and saw Cara jerk the newspaper forward, but she still didn’t lower it.
Since he couldn’t read the address book, Tommy had programmed a different ringtone for every person in his phone. The man had quite a knack for choosing just the right tone for the individual.
Steeling himself for an argument, he retrieved the phone from his bag and flipped it open.
The first few seconds of the conversation were pleasant, until he broke their date for that evening. When there was a break in Kiki’s angry tirade, he gave her his standard line and hung up.
Leaning his head against the seat, Alex exhaled in relief. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cara lower the paper, her full lips turned up in a smile.
“What?” he scowled.
“I’ll call you, baby,” she said in a mock gruff voice, then burst out giggling. “I guess she’s pretty upset, huh? I think the tourists in Times Square could hear her yelling.”
Alex shrugged. “She’ll get over it.” They all do, he thought as he watched Cara refold the newspaper. When she finished, it looked like she’d never opened it.
“I hadn’t heard of her. Kiki, wasn’t it? She must be new in your scene.”
His forehead crinkled in mild annoyance, although her curiosity pleased him at the same time.
“What do you do, follow my social life?”
She gave a little laugh, stowed the paper in her briefcase, then cocked her head toward him.
“It’s not difficult. You’re in the press a lot.” She curved the index and middle fingers of both hands for emphasis. “The Bad Boy of Jazz, always dating the latest ‘it’ girl.”
It wasn’t his fault he was popular with the ladies, but for reasons he didn’t understand, he wished Cara wasn’t aware of the celebrity gossip that dogged him like a vulture. He shouldn’t care what she thought about him, but he did.
“So I like to have a good time,” he snapped. “So what?”
She held up a hand. “I’m not hating on your lifestyle. I was just trying to get you to smile. Or at least talk to me. You haven’t said a word since we got in here.”
Alex arched a brow, surprised and inwardly happy she’d noticed. “You were busy reading, so I figured, you know, that we’d each do our own thing.”
Her smile in response lit up the inside of the limo, and his heart. The knot in his stomach loosened a bit, and left him confused and tongue-tied. This woman was riding hard on his emotions and didn’t even know it.
His eyes drifted down to the briefcase by her feet, and he managed to clear his throat. “What paper are you reading?”
She hesitated a moment and it was all he could do to keep from tearing his eyes away from her warm gaze.
“The Harlem Gazette.”
Alex noted her slender arms as she reached for her water bottle. Her wrists were small and he imagined a pearl bracelet would look nice encircled around them. But other than small silver hoops in her ears, she wore no jewelry.
