Strung Out (21 page)

“She
is
at home with an instrument in her hand.” Erik was struck by the truth behind his statement. It’d been the same that morning, when he’d woken to find her sitting at the piano with a rapturous expression on her face.

Desiree propped her hand on her hip. “Don’t you know a private conversation when you see one, Overton?”

Erik hadn’t noticed Seth heading in their direction. But it was obvious he’d come on more than a social errand. He offered Desiree a cool smile. “There are no private conversations when you’re around, Desiree. I could hear every word you said from the other end of the gallery. My advice is to find a good man, put him between your legs, and learn the difference between intimate whispers and loud moans.”

She ground her teeth together and glared. “You are such an asshole. What the hell do you want?”

Seth looked pointedly at Erik. “Talia was in the medieval exhibit area several minutes ago. If I had an interest in her welfare, I might try and find her there.”

Erik shoved his empty glass into Desiree’s hands, planning to do just that.

Seth’s hand on his shoulder made him pause. “The documents you requested are ready whenever you are.”

“Tell me he’s talking about a standard prenup.” Desiree shot him a pointed look.

“Thanks, Seth. I’ll be in later this week to sign them.” Erik left him to deal with Desiree. His friend could choose whether or not to tell her Erik had asked Seth to set up a trust for Talia. Regardless of what happened between them, she deserved to be cared for.

* * *

It was soothingly quiet in the European art galleries. She was far removed from the gala taking place for those who wanted to contribute to something they could hardly understand. Had any of them ever come to simply soak in the beauty? Did they waste time on such things in their busy, money-grubbing lives?

Some of them probably did. It was never fair to assume a whole demographic behaved a certain way. After all, Talia didn’t rob convenience stores to support a crack habit. But that was how many people throughout her life had viewed those who grew up in foster care. They were delinquents and losers. Children unwanted by society and shoved into a place where they could be conveniently forgotten until Christmas rolled around and the middle classes wanted to get rid of their cast-off toys to feel better about themselves.

Kicking off her shoes, Talia savored the cool marble beneath her bare feet. Less than a dozen steps away was a display of medieval religious art. Scholars called the period a marriage of art, music, and philosophy. Those immersed in the arts knew better. Those years weren’t called the Dark Ages for nothing. It was a stark reminder that mankind often experienced periods where individualism was controlled by powerful entities who manipulated the undereducated for personal gain.

Like most of the art from that period, the painting depicting trusting sheep with dull, lifeless eyes and the Good Shepherd who kept them all from harm had been painted by an anonymous artist. Talia could sympathize with the guy. She was pretty much anonymous.

But that wasn’t who she wanted to be. She’d wanted to be someone, to make something of her life. She wanted to matter. Not like the sheep that followed the shepherd for their entire existence, eating what he provided whenever he said they could. She wanted to be the artist, persevering against the odds to express herself in any way possible.

“I’m sorry my sister made an ass out of herself.”

Had she known he would find her? Deep down it seemed as if that was the reason she hadn’t made an effort to return to the party. Talia let his nearness wash over her like warm rain. The erotic scent of his male scent, the electricity snapping and biting the air between them—all were familiar now.

“Selena was right about some things.” Talia cast a glance over her shoulder to find him leaning against a pillar. The dimmed lighting in the gallery cast him in equal parts light and shadow, an accurate portrayal.

“Selena is rarely one hundred percent right about anything. She lets emotion get in her way.”

Talia swung around to face him fully. “But isn’t that what life is? Emotion? Passion? All of the things that make each human soul unique are emotional.”

He pushed away from the pillar and took two steps. “But practicality has to overrule emotion.”

His words called to mind business decisions and priorities. If what he said was true, then Leslie was right about him. And eventually she would become what he described.

Erik reached out and pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face before cupping her cheek. “There’s always a compromise.”

“For what?”

“Music is a vital part of you. And I was wrong to think that would change just because you became a part of my world.”

His hand felt so good against her skin, like water on parched soil. “I don’t think I like your world.”

“You shouldn’t have to make a choice between being with me and playing music, Talia.”

She opened her mouth to argue that she had never intended to make a choice, but he blocked her words with gentle fingers. His thumb brushed her lower lip, awakening a deep longing and creating heat that spread throughout her body.

“There’s a place for you in the Boston Symphony Orchestra.” His other hand pulled her closer until the length of her body pressed against his solid bulk. “I don’t know the details. But if you contact them tomorrow, I’m sure things will work themselves out.”

Excitement and arousal swirled together inside her body. This news seemed like a sure indication that he understood. That Selena’s words were spoken not about Erik, but about herself and her self-centered family. That Leslie was wrong, and that the two of them could stand against the odds.

Warm kisses tickled her jaw as he worked his way down the column of her throat to the base of her neck where her dress bared the sensitive skin of her shoulder. His breath was hot against her skin. “Have I told you how fantastically sexy you are today?”

She pulled away long enough to give him a smile laced with exasperation. “Not since this morning.”

“That’s way too long, sweetheart.” He spun her in his grasp until her back was pressed against him and she could feel his rock-hard erection against the cleft of her bottom. “It’s something I need to be certain you’re aware of every second of every day.”

A gasp ripped from her throat as he pushed her roughly forward until she was forced to place both palms against a column in order to stay upright. The stone was smooth and cool compared to the warm, hard man at her back.

“I think it’s time to find out what you’ve got on beneath this dress.” He lifted the long black skirt out of his way and made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. “Totally unacceptable.”

Her skin burned above the elastic band of her thigh-high stockings. His fingers brushed the sensitive area, roving toward her right hip, where he hooked the side of her plain black cotton panties.

“I think I can help you with this problem.” His low chuckle made her belly quiver with anticipation.

The sound of fabric rent in two echoed a short note in the dim gallery. Once more on the left side and the panties fluttered to her ankles. His hand cupped her sex, the mere feel of his hot skin against her sensitive flesh making her struggle for breath. An instant rush of arousal had her pussy wet and ready for his attention.

“Much better. Don’t you think?”

She could only nod, her mind unable to do more than keep her upright and breathing. Her feet slid farther apart, her legs following their own desire to grant him fuller access.

Cool air brushed against her bare buttocks as he spread her cleft with one hand. Using the other, he dipped fingers into her creamy center and slicked them up and down her wet slit. Her clit throbbed with each stroke, demanding attention. She shifted her hip, trying to force him into brushing against the desperate nerves. One touch and she’d come apart at the seams. But Erik wasn’t about to let her climax just yet.

The sound of his zipper joined her tiny, desperate cries for release. The smooth crown of his cock pressed against her as he rubbed his shaft through the silky lubricant spilling from her cunt.

“Are you ready?” The tension in his voice increased her desperation to a point just below pain.

She nodded, unable to articulate. Her fingers curled into the unforgiving column, nails gripping the solid stone. Finally the iron shaft of his cock angled down, pushing the crown past her tight opening and spearing deep into her pussy.

The penetration drug a groan from deep inside her body. Her cunt was weeping with desire, the muscles in her vagina flexing and grasping at him as he backed his shaft from her channel. Inch by inch, he dragged out the torture until he thrust back. Her body pressed lengthwise against the column to brace against his onslaught.

Shifting, she arched her body to allow him deeper access. He growled, bracketing her hips in both hands and slamming into her again. His strokes grew faster, more erratic, her body creating a drag against his and demanding release. Her muscles undulated, desperate for orgasm and the feel of his hot ejaculate.

They breathed in tandem, every muscle and sinew joining together until there was no beginning and end. Both were joined at a fundamental level that went beyond desire, beyond sex, and beyond comprehension. She strained for release, yet the angle of his entry kept his long strokes from doing more than forcing her further and further into a sense of erotic torture where her clit was denied the firm touch it so earnestly needed.

As though he sensed her distress, his hands slid from their position on her hips until they reached her mound. The fingers of one hand spread her damp, swollen labia. Cool air brushed the sensitive flesh hidden within until she was panting with longing.

“You’re splayed open, Talia, ready for my touch,” he murmured in her ear. “One brush of my finger and you’ll come all over me.”

She whimpered, eyes screwed shut and body squirming for release.

“Are you ready?”

She couldn’t answer. She’d lost control of her vocal cords.

Her cunt flexed hard, bearing down on his cock as it waited for his commanding touch. Finally when she thought she could take no more, the fingers of his other hand slid into her slit, rubbing a delicious rhythm against the hood of her distended clitoris. Shaking, she convulsed with the orgasm that shattered what was left of her composure and left her gasping for air. Unable to take her unbridled response, Erik thrust hard into her pussy and let loose a thick stream of cum.

She would have fallen but for his strong arm wrapped about her waist. Her legs turned to mush, and she leaned heavily on the column for extra support.

“Easy, sweetheart.” He pressed kisses to her shoulder and neck. “Why don’t we go home and spend the rest of the evening relaxing?”

She sighed. “By that you mean spend the rest of the night doing this over and over again.”

He slid his cock free of her slick channel. “Something like that.”

She turned around, her dress falling back into place and hiding her now bare bottom from sight. “I think I might as well stop wearing panties. You keep tearing them to shreds.”

Erik grinned. “Maybe one of these days you’ll learn.”

Chapter Twenty-one

The car stopped at the curb in front of the Boston Symphony Hall service entrance at precisely five minutes to one. Rehearsals began at one o’clock sharp, and several people were either milling about the entrance in conversation or hurrying inside. Talia took deep, cleansing breaths while she waited for the driver to come around and open her door. If she were lucky, she wouldn’t faint dead away as soon as she stepped to the pavement.

“Best of luck, Miss.” Erik’s driver, Jake, offered a real smile and a tip of his hat. “Call Mr. Erik when you’re done with rehearsals, and I’ll be right here to pick you up.”

Talia stood up and shook out her black-and-white tiered skirt, smoothing a hand down the sleeve of her wool jacket. Overhead a dreary sky threatened to pour buckets of cold fall rain at any time.

She fumbled in her jacket pocket and pulled out the cell phone Erik had pressed into her hand on her way out the door. “If I can figure out how to use this thing, I’ll do just that.”

“I believe he put his number in the phone, Miss. Simply find his name on your contacts list and press Dial.”

Talia reached inside the vehicle and grabbed her battered violin case. “Well, that sounds easy enough.”

Jake nodded and headed back around to the driver’s door. Several people turned to watch the sleek black limo pull out of the alley. Talia offered them warm smiles and tried not to feel slighted when they weren’t returned. It was difficult to tell if they were members of the staff or members of the orchestra. But she knew there was bound to be a period of time when she’d have to prove she belonged here.

Stepping boldly to the entrance, Talia pulled it open and strode inside while trying to pretend she wasn’t about to drop her instrument case because her hand was so sweaty with nerves.

“Good, you’re on time.” A short man in a horrible green and blue patterned sweater-vest pushed a pair of round, rimless glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“You must be Mr. Van Noord.” Talia smiled and put out her palm to shake his hand. “It’s great to meet you.”

“Yes, well we hardly have time for all that. We’re practically midseason. So much to do.” The little man ignored her hand, turned around, and puttered off down a corridor to the left.

Deciding she had no choice but to follow, Talia hurried along behind him. She tried not to gawk as they passed small studios occupied by performers and doors labeled with the names of some of Boston’s most prominent musicians.

“Will I audition for the director or one of his assistants?” Talia managed to ask as she trailed along in Mr. Van Noord’s wake.

“It’s a bit late for that. Auditions happen during the off-season between the spring and summer concert series. We’re almost to the end of fall, and they’ve already begun rehearsing for the Christmastide season.”

“Okay.” A sick feeling began to grow in Talia’s midsection. “So am I standing in for the season as a guest performer?”