Lesson in Romance, page 6
“I’m talking about the tune,” said Tommy dryly. “The one you were supposed to have done a month ago?”
He toed the ground with his sneaker. “It’s coming along.” For once, he was glad Tommy wasn’t there, so he wouldn’t have to lie to his face.
“I hope so, because Mo asked me about the album again. He wants it done Alex—and soon. We can’t put this off any longer.”
“I know, I know. Tuesday morning, Parkside Studios, 30th and Lex, 10 a.m. sharp. I’ll be there,” he grumbled.
“Listen, you can do this, man. Just stay focused. I’ve got another call coming in. Talk to you later.”
Alex slapped the phone shut, slumped against a tree and gazed up at the leaves canopied overhead.
Focus. It sounded so easy, but he didn’t even know what that word meant anymore.
He knew Tommy was only doing his job by lighting a fire under his butt. He had to finish the tune. Today. Forget learning to read. He’d deal with that, and Cara, later.
Right now, he needed to take a shower, grab his horn and get back to the shed. Checking his watch, he headed back toward the house. It was still early. Hopefully, Cara was still in bed and he could sneak back to the garden before she woke up and filled every minute of his time with her tutoring sessions.
If he was lucky, it would only take a few more hours to work out the kinks in his tune and write out the arrangement for the band.
His creativity was more active in the mornings anyway or, his lips curving into a smile, after a couple of rounds of mind-blowing sex. It had been a while, but up until this weekend, he’d been too busy to care.
Although he was trying to disguise his attraction to her, Cara was making it extremely difficult. She triggered long-dormant fantasies within him that were begging to be explored. He felt he was on the brink of unearthing something about himself he never wanted to admit.
His need for a woman in his life.
Her enthusiasm for teaching impressed him. He wished he could bottle it up and drink it down to cure the apathy he was feeling toward his own profession.
Music had been in his life for so long. And now? He didn’t care about it or anything else anymore, and he couldn’t figure out why.
He just knew he had to do something to get himself, and his mind, back on track where it belonged before it was too late and his career was over.
When he got home, his eyes shifted up to the second floor. The curtains were drawn on both windows of Cara’s room.
He exhaled in relief. So far, so good.
He nudged the front door open as slow as he could, frowning when the rusty hinges whined anyway. He took off his shoes and socks and padded barefoot to the laundry room, where he stripped down and threw his running clothes into the washer.
He crept upstairs, wrapping a towel around his waist, praying she wasn’t awake yet. But before he even got to the “amen,” an unusual sound stopped him dead in his tracks.
Feet sinking into the plush carpet, he pressed his ear to the bathroom door. As he listened to the sounds on the other side, his brow furrowed with anger.
Moments later, his mind churned in disbelief as he took a step back from the door.
Cara singing.
The sound of the water masked the lyrics, but Alex recognized the melody immediately.
Hell, he’d written it.
The back of his neck pricked with anger. He felt like he’d been punched, and yet was disturbed by an incredible need to listen to her.
Cara’s voice was beautiful. A bluesy alto, meditative and haunting, that wound around his ears and left him wanting more. The melody sprang from her so easily, while he’d been struggling with it for weeks.
But where had she found his music?
His mind snapped to attention, remembering the wastebasket overflowing with discarded manuscript. Cara must have taken a copy of his tune out of the trash. But why?
He wanted to burst through the door and confront her right then, but hesitated, still mesmerized by her sultry voice that went straight to his gut. His body felt like it was being pulled right into her soul, but his mind was an emotional sandstorm trying to figure out how to handle the situation. He sensed he was hearing something more than raw talent. Much like the woman herself, Cara’s voice was a gift yet to be discovered.
Still, she had no right to take his tune and set lyrics to it without his permission.
Regret filled his heart as he realized just how much he was beginning to trust her. He really thought she was different, that perhaps she saw him as more than the means to an end. The heat that burned between them as they rolled out the biscuits, the concern he saw in her eyes, her commitment to teaching him.
And now this?
This didn’t feel like caring. It felt like betrayal. His heart rocked in his chest. Everything she’d said and done up until this point must have been an act.
What other secrets could she be hiding?
He tightened the towel around his waist. “Only one way to find out,” he muttered.
Arms crossed, he stepped back, leaned against the wall and waited for the door to open.
* * *
Cara stepped out of the shower, so jittery with excitement that her towel kept slipping from her fingers as she wrapped it around her body.
Humming merrily, she opened the bathroom door and cried out in shock at the sight of Alex standing there.
His face was like stone, chasing away her happy mood. He too was clad only in a towel. It hung dangerously low around his torso, in stark contrast to the bank of rippled muscles above.
She tore her eyes away from his waist and forced a smile.
“Good morning! I was just on my way to—”
“Steal something else of mine?”
She flinched at his angry tone but managed to square her eyes with his.
“You know, I may not be able to read,” he continued, his voice like ice. “But my hearing is fine.”
“What are you talking about?”
He took a step forward and she let go of the doorknob.
“I heard you. Singing in the shower. Trouble is, no one but me is supposed to know that tune.”
Oh, Lord. Had she been singing that loudly?
Her eyes slid shut as panic swelled. She hated having anyone hear her sing. But worse than that, after last night, she knew she had to put some distance between them. But not like this.
He glared at her. “Why did you do it?”
She knew the answer, but she wasn’t ready to admit it, to him or to herself.
She opened her eyes and cringed, feeling exposed and angry, more at herself than him.
She tightened the towel around her breasts. “Excuse me, I need to get dressed.”
She tried to walk past him, but he grabbed her arm.
“Not so fast. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you took my song.”
“I didn’t take it! I found it on the floor of your living room, okay? You were upstairs getting ready to leave and I just picked it up. Now let me go.”
She wrested away from his grasp and looked up. His eyes were blazing like fire.
“You found it?” he said, his tone scornful. “That’s a crock. You stole it.”
“I—I’m sorry, Alex. I really didn’t think anything of it.” Cara knew she was telling the truth. Because at the time, she hadn’t thought at all.
“You had no right. Why didn’t you just pick it up and throw it away in the trash can? You had to open it? You had to keep it? Why?”
Cara opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come out. Alex was right.
“I don’t know.”
He folded his arms over his chest, as if he didn’t believe her. “So you just decided to steal it?”
She clenched her fists. “Stop saying that! I didn’t steal it.”
“What do you call taking somebody’s private property?”
She stepped toward him, shivering from the coldness in his voice. “I can’t explain why I did it. All I can say is I’m sor—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hands. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“Nothing, of course! I just liked the melody and then the words just seemed to flow. It’s a great tune, Alex.”
His lips pursed, emphasizing the doubtful look on his face.
Just then, her towel loosened and she grabbed it just before her nudity was exposed. She looked up and her face got hot, as his eyes raked over her body. Alex might have been angry, but it didn’t stop him from checking her out.
“Can we talk about this later? I’m freezing and I want to get dressed.”
Without waiting for his answer, she turned and started walking to her bedroom.
“You know, Cara, this changes everything.”
A sliver of fear ran through her and she spun around.
“What do you mean?”
He walked up to her and stood so close that the tiny hairs on her arm frizzled from the energy between them.
“I can’t be around someone who’s going to steal from me.”
She stepped back and threw up her hands. The towel loosened slightly but she didn’t care. She was tired of him making her feel like a criminal.
“Alex, you’re making too much of a big deal about this. What do I have to do to make you believe I’m sorry?”
“There’s nothing you can do except get dressed and get packed. I’m going to call Frank right now and have him come up here and take you back home to Harlem, where you belong.”
Cara’s face reddened with anger. “Wait a minute,” she exclaimed, turning around and following him as he strode toward his bedroom. “Today I was going to start you on the book I’ve chosen for you to read on your tour. I know you can do this.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Alex, please. I told you I’ll give your music back. Then you’ll have it and you won’t have anything to worry about.”
He turned and frowned. “How do I know you didn’t or won’t take something else?”
She wanted to scream in exasperation, but she counted to five to calm herself. “Because I said I won’t. Isn’t that good enough?”
He shook his head. “You should have thought about that before. Look, I don’t surround myself with a lot of people.” His voice softened. “I was starting to trust you.”
She grasped his arm. “Alex, you can trust me,” she pleaded. “I promise you can.”
His eyes held hers, and for a moment, she thought he believed her.
“I don’t think so. Not anymore.” Without another word, he stalked into his room and slammed the door.
Fear lodged like a stone in her heart, and she stood there trembling, until finally the chill in the air forced her to move.
Back in her room, she shut the door, collapsed and folded her arms around her knees.
If she didn’t teach Alex how to read in three days, she wouldn’t receive the money that would help her prevent Beacon House from closing its doors. The domino effect would be swift and negative, extending to the current clients, the community of Harlem and the thousands of unknown individuals whom she would never be able to help.
Taking that music was one of the dumbest things she’d ever done. And now it could cost her everything.
Chapter 5
Within ten minutes, Alex had dressed, grabbed his horn and was running toward the garden. His feet pounded on the hard ground, dodging tree roots fingering across the path. When he reached the shed, he plopped down on a wooden chair, breathing hard.
Maybe now he could finish his tune.
Or what’s left of it.
His heart still pounded in anger and disbelief over what had just happened inside.
He shook his head, then picked up his sax and played a flurry of notes, not pausing to take a breath until he felt like his lungs were going to explode.
He wanted to kick himself in the head for being so stupid. For starting to fall for what he thought was straitlaced, sweet innocence. His mother always said he was a bad judge of character.
With an exasperated sigh, he started playing again. His fingers flew up and down the saxophone, crushing notes and bending pitches along the way.
But all he could hear was Cara’s voice. She had taken what was supposed to be an up-tempo bebop tune and flipped it into a ballad. Sweet, sultry, mystifying. Her voice invaded his mind, drowning out any musical ideas he might have had.
He smirked and let his saxophone drop against his chest. Might was the operative word. The truth was for the last few months, he’d been having trouble concentrating on composing, or anything else for that matter.
And now he was expected to learn how to read? With a so-called teacher who had pretty much stolen his music?
Yeah, man, like you never did anything wrong in your life.
He pushed the voice inside his head aside, just like he had the past. Or at least he tried to. He had a sinking fear the past was about to catch up with him, and what he was starting to feel for her was only the beginning.
He wasn’t sure which was worse.
What he felt couldn’t be love. It was too soon for that. Besides, he’d never truly loved a woman, so he wasn’t sure he would know how it felt when it came along.
He just knew that despite what she’d done, there was something about her that he found extremely appealing. She piqued his curiosity more than any other woman had in a long time.
But none of that mattered now. She’d be gone in a few hours and he could get back to his so-called wonderful life.
He fingered the saxophone around his neck, the one that he loved so much, that had cost his family so much.
If his fans only knew the truth.
He tipped his head back and stared at the rusty tin roof. His breathing eased and he inhaled the dank smell permeating inside of the shed, even though he’d left the door wide open.
Right now, he felt as old as the shed smelled. Was it because he’d just turned thirty this summer or was it something else?
He inhaled again and his nose twitched at the scent of vanilla, as intoxicating as the woman who wore it.
“I just came to tell you that I’m not going anywhere.”
Whirling around, he blasted Cara with a pointed stare. “Yes. You. Are. Frank will be here any minute to pick you up.”
With a smug smile, she crossed her slender arms. “No, he won’t.”
He raised his eyebrows and fought the desire to pull her into his lap. “Oh, yeah? Why not?”
“Because you’re not a quitter. You wouldn’t have gotten this far in your career if you were.”
“Listen, Cara.” He got up and stood so close only his saxophone was between them. “You don’t know anything about me,” he retorted, starting down into her brown eyes. “And if you did, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
Fire met fire. “And leave this half-finished? No. Way.”
He held on to the mouthpiece of his saxophone, never taking his eyes off hers. “Why is this so important to you?”
“I don’t like to see anyone giving up on something, and—”
“Oh, c’mon!” he said, his tone mocking. “Do you really expect me to believe your holier-than-thou attitude? You were hired to teach me how to read, not to steal my music.”
Her eyes widened with hurt, and he felt guilty for causing her pain. Maybe he was being too hard on her.
Alex took a deep breath, softened his voice. “I’m serious, Cara. I want the truth.”
“I know it was stupid,” she began, biting her lip. “But when I opened that crumpled-up piece of paper and hummed the melody, I knew it was something special.”
She traced a finger down the bumpy surface of his saxophone and he groaned inwardly, wanting her fingers to continue traveling south.
“It sounds dumb, but you create magic every day, and I guess, just for once, I just wanted to be a part of it.”
Her eyes bore into his, her need for him to understand so pure his skin tingled. It was then he knew she was telling the truth.
“Magic?” He snorted. “Nah, it’s just a lot of hard work.”
“True, but it also takes a whole lot of talent and dedication.” She placed her hand on his arm, traced his tattoo with her finger, and when his groin quivered, he wished his saxophone wasn’t playing referee between their bodies.
“I’m sorry, okay? You have to believe me.”
He stared into her brown orbs and his heart dropped when he saw they were brimming with tears.
To his knowledge, he’d never made any woman cry. Remorse tumbled through him. He broke away from her gaze and ran his hand over his head.
“You’re good, you know.”
She took a step back. “I’m what?” she choked out.
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “You have a nice voice.”
Her smile was wary, and so sweet to behold. “Thanks. I never thought I could do it. You know, make up words to a song and have them sound like that. So perfect, like they were always meant to be together.”
He smiled back, felt something good break within him. “That’s what I love about playing jazz. I can get that feeling every day.”
“Yeah. I felt like I was high,” she confided. “Not that I would know anything about that, you know from a drug perspective that is. I fall out on cold medicine.” She giggled.
He laughed. Her sense of humor always caught him off guard.
“It sounds like a dream life, being able to travel the world, play the music you love and get paid doing it.”
He shrugged. “I hate to bust your bubble, but the music business isn’t all fun and games and VIP parties. Do yourself a favor. Stay an amateur.”
