MustLoveMusic (7 page)

Gayle picked up a pizza for dinner on her way home. All that
vigorous exercise had made her ravenous. As she devoured the perfect balance of
tomato sauce, crisp crust, and gooey cheese, she couldn’t help contrasting the
meal with the gourmet fare Rikard had served her. One wasn’t better than the
other, but they were definitely different.

Once her hunger was satisfied, she called her friend Carrie
for the promised gossip session. She sat down on her couch, kicked off her
shoes, and put her feet up on the coffee table, ready for a lengthy call. True
to her word, she told her friend everything, starting with Rikard answering the
door dressed like a pirate, to the way he’d helped her with her audition piece,
the fabulous lunch…and the sex. When she explained that Rikard had fisted her
between the salad and entrée courses of their lunch, Carrie dropped her phone
with a painfully loud clatter.

Gayle held the phone away from her ear. “Ow.”

“Sorry. I can’t believe you let him… Didn’t it hurt?”

“God, no! It was…it was… I can’t describe what it was like.
But it was the best orgasm I’d ever had. Up ‘til then, at least. It got even
better, later.” She sprawled across her couch, the familiar hot pulse beginning
between her legs. “I’m getting wet just thinking about it.”

“But I still don’t understand how it happened. I know you,
Gayle. You don’t usually even kiss a guy on the first date. How’d he get you to
agree to…that?”

She hesitated, thinking back to their lunch. The memory was
strangely blurry. She remembered the taste of the strawberry salad, the blue
and white dishes and white wrought iron table and chairs. She clearly
remembered the beginning of her conversation with Rikard. But then it all got
fuzzy.

“We were talking, about what I expected from a
Dominant/submissive relationship, and he gave me a challenge, to finish eating
my salad without making a sound. The fisting was my reward for completing the
challenge. But I’m not really sure how it happened… I was so turned on by then,
I wasn’t really thinking clearly.”

“Maybe he put something in your salad.”

“No. He doesn’t need any help. He’s sexalicious.”

“He’s certainly persuasive. I still can’t believe I let him
talk me into hanging up without speaking to you when I called the second time.”

Gayle smiled. So that’s why Carrie was fixating on how Gayle
let herself be talked into sex. She was feeling guilty. Gayle hurried to set
her friend’s mind at ease.

“Well, I’d already told you I expected to be having sex, and
not to disturb me when you called back. He was just reiterating that.”

“I guess. So what happened after I called and you had tuna
steaks?”

“After lunch we went upstairs and played pirate.”

“You hoisted his mainsail?”

Gayle laughed. “No. He spun this wicked fantasy, about my
being a proper Victorian lady captured by pirates. If I wanted to live, I had
to become the pirate captain’s sex slave. He vowed he’d make me beg for his
attention, and I vowed that as a proper Englishwoman, I would never beg.”

“And…?” Carrie breathed.

“And I begged. Oh, God, I begged. And then passed out
because it was so good.” Her back and ass burned with remembered pleasure.

“You passed out?”

“Well, it’s not like I was unconscious. I was just flying,
off in the stratosphere somewhere. If he’d tried hard enough, he could have
roused me.”

“That must’ve been the second time I called.”

“Right. I woke up cradled in his lap while he composed
music. He fisted me again, which is when you called the last time, then we went
upstairs and had sex in his guest room. And then I came home.”

“You can’t just skip over all the details!”

So Gayle recounted all the details that she could remember,
and was willing to admit to. She explained what Rikard had been doing, exactly
where his hand had been, and why she’d been so impatient when Carrie had
called. She skipped their strange argument, and her resulting fear, and just
described how they made love, the way he’d kissed her with such reverence
before finally coming inside her. Then how it ended when he ran off to clean up
the melting ice cream.

“You’ll get a kick out of this. My last sight of him was in
the kitchen, barefoot, his black leather pants slung low on his hips and barely
laced, black leather mask, and his black leather gloves full of wadded-up paper
towels dripping vanilla ice cream everywhere.” Gayle laughed merrily at the
memory, but stopped when she realized Carrie wasn’t joining in. “Don’t you
think that’s funny?”

“He wore the mask the whole time?”

“Well, yeah. It’s his Master mask. When he wears it, he’s
Master Rikard. Without it, he’s just Rikard.”

“You’ve seen what he looks like without it, right? He’s not
hiding anything.”

“When we met for coffee. He’s a total hunk.”

“He cooks, he cleans, he gives you half a dozen orgasms
before getting his own, and he’s a total hunk. What’s wrong with this picture?”

“Uh…nothing?”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know…late twenties, early thirties.”

“Why isn’t he already taken? Someone that good doesn’t stay
on the market unless there’s a serious problem with him.”

“Oh. Well, he was. His girlfriend was killed in a car
accident four years ago. I think he’s only just beginning to date again.”

“So you’re competing with a ghost? Is he still in love with
her?”

Gayle thought back to Rikard’s agonized confession. “Yeah.
Big time.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Enjoy the sex, because that’s all
you’re getting from this guy.”

“Maybe.” Remembering that moment on the couch when she’d
realized she was still with Master Rikard instead of just Rikard, she was
inclined to agree. But then there was their final lovemaking. “Or maybe not. He
cried when we made love.”

“He cried? Really? How come?”

“I don’t know. But that’s got to mean he’s emotionally
involved, doesn’t it?”

“Or else it reminded him of his dead girlfriend, and how
much he loved her.”

Gayle sighed. That was also a possibility. “I guess I’ll
have to wait and find out if he can have a relationship, or if it’ll just be
about the sex. But the sex was so good…”

“A relationship would be better.”

“You’re right. As usual. Guess that’s why I keep you around,
huh?”

“Nah, you keep me around because I know where all the bodies
are buried.”

Together, they said, “In the graveyard,” then laughed at the
familiar refrain that had amused them since they were college roommates.

“But Gayle, if he does the Bluebeard thing and tells you
there’s a locked room in his house you can’t go into, for God’s sake don’t
check to see if it’s a shrine to his ex. Just get out, while you can.”

* * * * *

When Tuesday night rolled around, Gayle arrived early at the
theater. She took her time filling out the audition form, and ended up assigned
the fifth spot. Close enough to the beginning that she didn’t have too much
time for nerves to tighten her throat, but with a few other songs first to get
a feel for how the accompanist played. He was good, but nowhere near as
talented as Rikard.

Gayle handed her sheet music to the accompanist, and took
her place at center stage. Closing her eyes briefly, she imagined Rikard
sitting in the darkness at the back of the theater, hidden in the shadows
underneath the overhanging balcony.

She sang to him, letting her voice fill with all of her
emotions, the way he’d shown her during their date. He was the one whom she
couldn’t get out of her head, thinking of him constantly. And now that he’d
brought her body to life, she’d die without his masterful touch.

There was a moment of silence when she finished her song,
and she inclined her head in the slightest of grateful bows. Her competition
had stopped talking and humming in preparation of their own auditions to listen
to her, the best compliment they could give her.

She darted a glance at the director as she walked back to
the piano. He was nodding, a faint smile on his face. The accompanist was also
smiling, holding out her music to her.

“Good job.”

“Thanks.”

He traded a look with the director, then added, “You should
probably stick around to the end of the auditions.”

“Okay.”

She walked off stage, her knees starting to wobble as she
descended the steps. She managed to stagger back to the eighth row before she
collapsed into a seat. Then the delayed reaction of her audition hit, and she
began to shake, her heart pounding and every breath a struggle through her
tight throat. She couldn’t have left the theater if she’d wanted to.

By the time the eighteenth auditionee had performed, her
reaction had run its course. She settled back to watch the remaining
candidates, idly critiquing their performances and judging which she would
choose if she was casting the show.

A pair of young women who auditioned one after the other had
sweet voices, but couldn’t project past the third row without microphones. A
young man allowed his nerves to throw him out of tune, growing worse as he
realized his mistake, until the dissonance between his voice and the piano made
her cringe. A blonde woman sang Rizzo’s solo from
Grease
, her stylized
movements and perfect delivery indicating she’d performed the role many times
in the past.

Finally, the last candidate completed his audition, and the
director stood to address the two-dozen people who’d been asked to remain.

“Steve has some handouts for you. I’d like to hear you read
them, please. Number five. The witch’s speech.”

Gayle returned to the stage, picking up the paper from the
pianist. It contained five short paragraphs, from different characters. She
read over the witch’s speech to the baker, settled her body to mimic the
witch’s stance, and read it for real.

“Thank you. Number nine. The baker’s wife.”

Gayle walked off stage as the next woman came up, returning
to her seat in the audience.

The director and pianist conferred briefly after the last
person had given their reading, then the director announced his choices.

“The baker, number fourteen. The baker’s wife, number
thirty-two. The witch, number five.”

Gayle didn’t hear the rest of the casting announcements. All
she could think of was that she’d scored her favorite part in the show. And
that she couldn’t wait to tell Rikard.

As soon as she got home, she called him.

“Hello, Gayle. How’d it go?”

“I got the part! The witch. I got it!”

“That’s fabulous.”

“I’m so excited. I’m sure it’s because you helped me with
the audition song. Would you like to go out and celebrate?”

Rikard paused. “Now?”

“Well, no, it doesn’t have to be now. It’s late, and
tomorrow’s a workday. But later this week.”

“Okay. You can come here tomorrow night, and I’ll make you a
celebratory dinner. Then we can have a…private celebration. Unless you have
rehearsal tomorrow?”

“No, rehearsals don’t start until next week.”

“Fine, then. I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.” His voice
dropped to a low, seductive purr. “Congratulations, Gayle. I knew you could do
it.”

* * * * *

Wednesday night, Gayle went straight from work to Rikard’s
house. She didn’t wear anything special, since her tropical-print circle skirt
and teal blue microfiber blouse were both comfortable and flattering, and she’d
thought this would be more of a friendly celebration than a sex date. So she
was surprised when Rikard answered the door wearing his leather mask and pants again,
although this time coupled with a black tunic top that laced up the chest.

“Did I misunderstand? I thought it was going to be just
Rikard tonight, not Master Rikard,” Gayle asked.

“But it was Master Rikard who helped you with your song.”
Rikard captured her hand in his gloved one and drew her into the house.
“Besides, you deserve to be spoiled and pampered for your success, and Master
Rikard is far better at that than just Rikard.”

His lips curved, and good humor laced his voice, as though
he found speaking of himself as two separate people extremely amusing. Then he
led her into the kitchen, and all thoughts of protest evaporated.

Tray after tray of tapas covered the glass tabletop. Some
fillings were pinkish, some golden brown, some a deep russet. Then there were
the small bowls filled with hot sauces in every shade from bright red to dark
brown, sour cream, and a green chili paste.

“You must have spent all day cooking!”

“It was for a worthy cause.” Smiling, he held out a chair
for her.

She sat. He offered her a crisp damask napkin, snapping it
open and holding it out for her. Disappearing behind her, he returned carrying
two goblets and a bottle of white wine. Then he took his own chair, opened his
own napkin, and gestured to the expanse of food on the table.

“What would you like to try first? Seafood? Beef? Chicken?
Vegetarian?”

Gayle shook her head, overwhelmed by all the possibilities.
“You choose.”

He selected a neatly rolled white-and-pink offering, and
held it to her lips. “Try this. Crabmeat.”

She relaxed and let him feed her, enjoying the complete
pampering of delicious food and exquisite service. All of the tapas were good,
but some prompted her to close her eyes and groan with pleasure as she savored
their flavor. She worried at first that she was taking advantage of Rikard’s
generosity, but his soft smile and the gleam in his blue eyes proved he was
enjoying the meal as much as she was. The final offerings, combining cinnamon
and a rich chocolate sauce, were positively heavenly.

“That was wonderful. You’re a marvelous cook.”

“Thank you. It’s good to have an appreciative audience.”

“Have you always enjoyed cooking?”