Caressa's Knees (6 page)

“I’m leaving,” he said.

She was silent a moment, just standing there in the door. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I didn’t think I made you that angry.”

“Really?
Hm. Interesting perspective.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“You don’t want me here anyway, right?” he snapped.
“The ‘policeman’?
When I’m gone you can do what you want.”

Kyle was folding his shirts carefully into his suitcase, even more agitated now that she was near him. She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, well away from him, as if she read his dangerous mood.

“If you go, she’ll just hire another one.”

Kyle paused in his packing and fixed her with a look. “Yeah, well.
Poor guy.
Whoever he is.”

Caressa looked down at her hands. “Am I that terrible?”

“You tell me. You’re clinging to a pole in the middle of a lightning storm one moment, and embarrassing me at dinner the next. Now you turn on the innocent, apologetic act as if that makes everything better. You’re rude and you—you don’t even brush your fucking hair.”

She ran a hand through the wild curls springing like a halo around her head. “It’s too curly to brush.”

“Maybe try some conditioner. I
dunno
.
Whatever.
I wish you the best, but I’m leaving.”

“And I never even got that spanking,” she said in a voice laced with sarcasm.
So much for the angelic act.

Kyle snorted and returned to packing. “Get out.”

“Look, I just drank too much! And that thing on the roof—
It’s
not— I didn’t—”

“Get out, Caressa. Please.”

She
pursed
her lips and got up off the bed, heading to the door, but then she stopped and looked back at him. “I wish you wouldn’t go. I’m really sorry. I really wish—”

He spun on her. “You know what I wish? I hear a lot of talking from you, from your slick Aunt Denise, but I don’t feel like I’m getting a lot of honesty.
Or reality.
So what I really wish is that you would just stop talking, or else say something that sounded like truth to me.”

“I wish you would kiss me.”

She said it so quickly, it couldn’t have been premeditated. She flushed, stammering. “I—I mean…last night I did. I was just…thinking about that.”

Kyle stared, considering his options. He could turn and continue packing, ignoring her comment. He could give her a fucking piece of his mind. Or he could kiss the damn brat and get it over with.

No.
Trouble.
Big
trouble.
He schooled his face to nonchalance and tried to sound pedantic.

“
Caressa, that
would be such a bad idea.”

“You wanted honesty.” She dug her toe into the carpet as he returned to packing. “It would help me.”

He sighed, turning from the luggage again. “Help you how?”

“I don’t know. It would make me feel better maybe.”

“Feel better? You’re like, this super talented musician. You’re playing, what, thirty venues this summer? Most of them already sold out? I don’t understand what the fuck is going on here.”

“What don’t you understand? I’m not happy!”

“So quit! Do something else that makes you happy.”

“I can’t.”

“Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous.” He turned to packing again, jamming tees next to neatly rolled-up jeans. “Seriously, grow up and get a life already. You can’t let your aunt pimp you out if you’re this unhappy. Be an adult, put your foot down. Say, ‘I’m done, Aunt Denise. Sayonara’. You’re acting like this petulant child, over this false prison you’ve completely fabricated in your mind. Just quit if you’re unhappy.”

“I can’t quit!” Her voice quavered, almost broke. “I don’t want to quit, but it’s hard to keep going. I’m stuck and I can’t… I can’t…” Her hands made helpless grasping motions. “I want to do it, I want to play, but I can’t ever be good enough. I’m chasing this ideal that I can’t meet, and I just need… I need to—”

“Go up on the roof and make me think you’re going to fling yourself off?”

“No! Jesus. Can’t you just stay? Please.”

Kyle scowled and shut his suitcase, heading back to the closet for his shoes.

“I’m sorry, but no. I value my sanity too much.”

He returned to the bed, glancing over, but she was gone. Good. What a nutcase.
Her
and Aunt Denise and Paul the tour manager could all fuck themselves. He started arranging the shoes in the larger suitcase, trying not to think about her words, or the way her voice sounded when she said them.
I’m stuck… I can’t ever be good enough… I just need…

He would need to call Walter. How the hell was he going to explain this situation? He would have to make up some kind of excuse for why he was leaving, or else tell him the bald truth. That Caressa was too much to take on, for all she was talented and beautiful. Someone would be happy to deal with her drama, it just wasn’t him. It wasn’t his problem.

He had finally convinced himself of that when he heard the first quiet strains of music from her room. He wasn’t a musician, but he recognized warm ups. He tried not to listen, sitting down to compose an email to Walter.

Walter,

This new assignment has not gone as planned. Having spent time with Denise Gallo and her niece, I’ve realized that I am actually not a very good fit for the requirements.

Kyle stopped typing as the methodical scales halted in the other room. He listened for footsteps, hoping she wouldn’t make another appearance. He looked over to the door which was still standing ajar, but heard no movement.

No, he heard something else entirely. Caressa Gallo began to play a song, and Kyle listened, his fingers poised over his laptop keyboard. The song went on, an aching, furious melody. He had been told about her virtuosity, read her file, seen the wealth of accolades and press about her online, but none of it had prepared him for what he heard.

Against his better judgment, he went closer to the door just to listen. He didn’t know the piece she played, only knew it was emotional. Long strains of reverberating sound clashed with sudden changes of tone and tempo, the notes slow at
times,
and then so fast that he couldn’t believe any human could play them.

He pushed the door open. She faced the window so her back was to him, and her hair obscured her fingers on the cello strings. Her legs cradled the instrument and she leaned over it like a lover. He had a sudden wish to see her face, but he couldn’t have gone closer at that moment, not while she was playing. She seemed unapproachable, majestic.
Untouchable.

She stopped abruptly and turned to him.

“What?” The genius transformed again into the rude, conflicted girl. “Get out. Isn’t that what you said to me? I’m saying it to you now.” She stabbed her bow in the air, gesturing. “Get out.”

Get out. Listen to her. It would be for the best.
“Were you telling me the truth?”
That’s not getting out, idiot.

She turned her back on him and sliced the bow across the strings, eliciting a strange, discordant squeal.

“Were you telling the truth?” he asked again. “About feeling like you’re not good enough?
About wanting…wanting me to kiss you?”

She was silent. Something in her hunched, defeated posture kept him standing where he was against all his inner instincts.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” she said quietly, and started to play again, the same haunting piece.

“What’s that song you’re playing?” he asked over the music.

“
Moeran’s
Cello Concerto.”

“I’ve never heard it before.”

She flexed her knee and stopped playing again with a sigh. “Not many have.
Moeran
never got popular. He was an alcoholic.
A failure.
In the end he was most famous for his ability to memorize train schedules.”

“Oh, well, see? You’re already worlds ahead of him.”

She turned with such a virulent look that he backed up a step. “It has nothing to do with being ahead of him. It has to do with the fact that I understand exactly why he memorized train schedules.
Exactly
why.”

“If you hate it so much, why do you do it?”

“Get out.”

“Answer me. Explain it to me. If you can tell me anything that makes sense, I’ll
kiss
you.”

“Get out!”

He knew he was making her angry. He couldn’t stop. “What kind of help do you need? Is Aunt Denise drugging you and holding you here against your will? If you want to memorize train schedules, why the hell don’t you put down your fucking cello and do it?”

She stood up, gripping her bow in her hand, and he braced, expecting her to throw it at him. Her gaze seared him. “Get out!” she screamed. “Get out! Get out of here!”

He watched her just a moment before he decided. He’d wanted truth, and he’d gotten it in all its raw glory. She was desperate. She was enslaved to a talent she couldn’t control. She was drowning and she didn’t have a life vest. He crossed to her and took her bow away, because he was afraid otherwise she would eviscerate him with it. He slid one hand in her ridiculously messy hair to hold her still for his kiss. The last coherent thought he had before he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers was that, for being such a tangled wreck, her hair was amazingly lovely and soft.

* * * * *

There was no choosing, no thought.
Nothing but the feel of his stubble against her chin, and the strength of his arm as he grasped her.
He was pulling her hair with his other hand, the hand that had taken her bow away. She still held her cello, a fact she completely forgot until he released her to guide it to its side on the floor. He did it so carefully, while she tasted him on her lips and stood feeling shocked. Then he was back, kissing her again.

She knew it was only because he’d heard her play. People always changed when they heard her play, which was why she couldn’t “put down her fucking cello” as he’d exhorted her to do. Her music was the most wonderful thing about her. The
only
wonderful thing about her, she thought sometimes—but if it had won her this kiss, she didn’t care.

He
kneaded
her neck as his mouth slanted over hers. His lips were warm and strong. She tasted his anger and his longing, and answered it with her own furious lust. His hands were on her hips, sliding down to cup her ass. The kiss deepened and she felt his hard cock against her front.
It’s not you he wants.
Just the music.

She didn’t care. She wanted this, just this one thing from him. If he left her afterward, so be it. Her fingers fumbled at the front of his jeans, wanting to free him and touch him, curious to feel the manly shape and heat of him.

For a moment his hand closed on hers hard, and she thought he would tell her no, but he only dragged her over to the door and fell against it, slamming it. There was no need to lock it because he pulled her to the floor in front of it, effectively blocking anyone from coming in. He came over her and she drew in a deep breath. It was really happening. She could feel him so hard and strong against her, so powerful and dangerous.

She started to panic, but her desire for him won out over her fear. She’d finish what she’d started. She ripped open his button fly as he plunged his hand down the front of her sleep pants. She moaned against his mouth as he kissed her again, harder, deeper. His fingers played over her clit, skillful touches that weren’t too hard or too soft, but just right. Her hips jerked and sought for more of the building pleasure. Then he slid those amazing fingers down to her pussy, stroking and tempting, fanning the fire he’d lit the moment she laid eyes on him.

She wanted him. She was terrified, but desperate to feel him deep inside. She wanted him to soothe the longing that had her arching wildly against his hand. She reached for his cock as he freed it, gripping it with trembling fingers. It was so large, so firm. How would he feel sliding into her?

“Please! Kyle!” She would beg if she had to. His hand left her pussy abruptly and he pulled away. She moaned in complaint but he was back a moment later. He placed a finger against her lips.

“Complete
silence,
or we’re stopping.” His expression was serious, intent. She nodded, going silent as a mouse. With his other hand, he was rolling on a condom he’d magically produced, from his wallet perhaps.
Thank God.
She shimmied out of her pants as he yanked them downward. He reached under the front of her wrinkled tee shirt and squeezed her breast as he surged forward into her. She clenched her teeth at the sudden pain, trying not to cry out, but a strained
mewl
of shock escaped.

He stopped still.
“Now?
Really, Caressa?” he hissed in her ear. “
This
is your first time?”

She looked up at him, reeling from the sensation of fullness, the fact that he was inside her, joined to her. She grasped his shoulders, terrified he would leave her at this ground shaking moment. “There weren’t a lot of opportunities before now!”