Delecto - Games of Mastery (part 1) (9 page)

Amanda sliced
the lamb filet and I watched as she ate her first mouthful. It was
stuffed with spinach, mascarpone and mint and was one of Bertrand's
greatest culinary efforts. I saw her eyes roll in pleasure. She
really did have the most wonderful, expressive eyes. I'd love to
see how they reacted to me, when I pushed her over the edge. I was
going to experience that eventually. However much pain she
inflicted on my body and ego in the process.

We ate our meal
and had our creamy chocolate sundae and coffee. The conversation
found an easy pace. Her thorns were put aside for a while. Time
passed quickly and very pleasantly.

At eight,
Bertrand appeared to say “Goodnight, I'm off duty, sir” in his
usual tactful style. I knew what he meant. He wasn't coming back in
the house until 7am tomorrow.

Amanda consumed
a big glass of wine on top of the red. I wasn't sure she'd be sober
enough to drive... I would have to put her in a taxi. And drop her
car in town tomorrow. I thought I might suggest that. There was a
little left in the wine bottle, so I made an attempt to top up her
glass, raising the issue.

She placed her
delicate hand over the glass. “No, no, no...no more.”

“
You're
sure, I can arrange a taxi for you?” I topped my glass
instead.

“
I'll
have to take a cab anyway, the alcohol's already affecting me. I
don't drink much.”

“
It's not
a problem. I'll drop your car off tomorrow afternoon. I'm insured
to drive any car with the owner's permission.”

“
It won't
be quite the same wonderful experience as driving yours,” she
giggled.

“
Probably
not, but it's your car and you like it. That's all that
matters.”

“
I'd
rather drive yours.”

“
You can
drive it, if you like. Another time.”

“
I meant
I'd like to drive it permanently.” She eyed me coyly from beneath
her sweep of eyelashes.

Her expression
made me laugh.

“
Ah well,
no can do. I'm not that generous. I'm rather attached to my
Jag.”

We shared a
genuine smile. A gentle alcoholically induced buzz began to grow
between us. And with that I felt the throbbing in my groin start to
escalate.

I was dying to
get closer, to touch her, but not sure how, without her approval.
And I couldn't imagine she'd give it. I had a little inspiration
pop in my head. It was worth a try.

“
Mandy,
can I see your hair down. Would you mind?”

She didn't
argue, but removed her band and shook her head, the curls tumbling
in a wild waterfall around her face. My stomach contacted tightly
in response.

It was the most
gorgeous hair I'd ever laid eyes on. She was the most gorgeous
thing. Period.

“
Beautiful. And so much of it. Can I touch it, please?” I
waited with bated breath for permission, expecting her
refusal.

She laughed, a
high pitched, sweet, tinkly laugh that set me alight.

“
You want
to touch my hair?”

“
I'll
settle for that, I don't suppose I can touch much else, can
I?”

“
Oh go on
then. If you must.” She smiled at me, in an amused way.

I was guessing
the wine must have loosened her inhibitions and dulled her previous
objections to me substantially. This was a very positive
development, and more than welcome. She was finally letting me in
her personal space.

I rose from the
table and circled behind her. I stood close, as close as I could,
her shoulders in line with my hips. My eager hands dipped under her
hair. I laid it all down her back and smoothed it in place. A
wonderful wavy, curly, river of dark sin lay before me. I grabbed
handfuls and squeezed the curls, crushing them in my palms. They
were as soft as silk. I wrapped long strands around my wrists and
played with it, like it was my favorite toy.

“
Don't
enjoy yourself too much, Seb.” Her voice was breathy. She was
enjoying it too, and, I suspected, quite a lot.

I leaned down
and whispered in her ear, so she could feel my breath as I spoke.
“I wouldn't dare to enjoy myself too much with you, that would be
deserving of a tongue lashing, wouldn't it?” I chuckled at my sense
of humor, and silently noted her heaving breasts as I leaned over
her.

I tugged gently
on the thick strands, with just enough force to move her head
subtly, this way and then that, side to side.

And then I
pushed things further...I raised my fingers up to her head and
spread them wide around her skull. The heat from her head sent
tremors cascading down my spine.

I gently
pressed and circled my fingertips, massaging her scalp
sensuously.

“
Oh God...
” she moaned, as more heat rose from
her and with it a wave of her perfume. She reached up and gripped
my wrists, removing my hands from her head. Then she turned in her
seat, and glared at me angrily. “That is my head, not my
hair.”

“
Shall I
ready myself for some form of punishment?” I said, followed with
what I hoped was an appealing and mitigating look.

“
Last
chance, okay?” she muttered, letting my wrists fall to my
sides.

“
Best
behavior, guaranteed, ma'am.”

I stood to one
side of her, my hand lightly resting on the back of her chair. What
could I do to please her?

“
Would
you like me to play a piece for you on the grand?” I asked
casually, knowing it would mean a lot, to her.

I'd noticed her
look of disappointment before when she asked if I could play and I
hadn't granted her unsubtle wish. I'm guessing this could be the
highlight of our evening, in her eyes anyway.

Not only can I
play, I can play almost anything and to a reasonably high standard.
I have been blessed with a natural ability and ear for a melody. I
only have to hear something once and it translates from my brain to
my fingers.

She rose
immediately, full of enthusiasm. “Oh yes please. What kind of thing
do you play?”

I led her into
the music room and toward the piano. “Whatever you like. What are
you into?”

“
Just
about anything with a good rhythm. But there's one thing I'd really
love to hear. A few nights ago I watched a Star is Born, with my
sister. She loves that movie. I like the theme tune, Barbra
Streisand...Evergreen... you know... Love, soft as an easy
chair...? Can you play that?”

I sat down on
the piano stool, and lifted the lid. I might be smiling, but I
really didn't want to play such a sickly little love song on my
Petrof, the idea played havoc with my testosterone. I was far more
in tune with soulful jazz, or something with a strong or heavy
beat, but I could do a sugary Streisand, if it pleased her.

“
Sure, I
know that one.”

“
That
would be lovely. Thank you.”

“
But
there's a condition. If I've got to play it, you can sing it. I'm
not suffering Barbra Streisand alone,” I joked, with a wicked
little chuckle.

“
You
actually want me to sing along?” She laughed, with a twinkle of
amusement in her brown eyes.

“
Fully
fledged Barbra vocals. Let it rip, Mandy.”

“
If I
hadn't had such a big glass of wine, I'd say no way...but as I
have, I'm feeling brave. Why the hell not? I'm ready when you
are.”

“
I'll
intro a couple of times and give you your cue.”

She stood at
the piano, leaning on her forearms. My vision was interrupted by
the fine view down her blouse. My mouth watered at the beautiful
sight of the creamy swell of her breasts. Reluctantly, I dragged my
eyes away and back to the keys as I began to play.

“
Wow,
that's note perfect...” she said smiling the warmest, widest smile
I'd seen yet. Was this the real her? I'm seeing a different Amanda.
A truly vibrant, uninhibited beauty standing before me..

My fingers rush
over the keys, with a flush of excitement. I love to play. And I
enjoy the reaction to my playing.

I can hear
music in my head. If I lose the thread, which I do occasionally, I
improvise with a few flowery extras, which most people don't
notice, until I find my way again. But this song is simple, I can
hear every note clearly.

I begin the
intro, flick my eyes to hers with a nod of my head.

“
Love soft as an easy chair

Love fresh as
the morning air...

She came right
in, loud and clear, perfectly timed. This wasn't hesitant singing.
I was already enthralled, a dozen words in.

...One love
that is shared by two

I have found
with you

Like a rose
under the April snow

I was always certain love would
grow
...”

To say I was
gobsmacked was the understatement of my life and I was not easily
impressed.

I almost forgot
what my fingers were doing. Her voice was angelic, haunting, hair
raising, but with a tiny catch that tugged at my heart. I stared at
her with newly opened eyes; the long curls tumbling down her
breasts; the face of my dreams; and now, the voice from heaven. She
continued through to the end, the two of us locked in a stare.

As she finished
her final, lengthy, evergreen, the both of us trailing off, my
heart skipped a long, long beat. The silence strained between us
like a heavy mist of utter disbelief. I don't think she could
believe she'd produced that, and neither could I.

“
You've
sung that many times before, haven't you?” I whispered. It was more
a statement than a question.

She shook her
head. “No...once or twice, at home, on my own.”

“
You've
got such a beautiful voice. Would you sing something else for
me?”

Her smile lit
up the whole room. It was so dazzling.

“
What
about The Way We Were? 'Memories... light the corners of my mind...
'...can you play that one?” she half sung to prompt me.

“
Let me
think for a second... Barbra Streisand again...and...Gladys Knight
did it....I think I've got it in the mind bank....yep,
definitely... let me practice first...”

I began to
play, getting the feel. She stared at me, and I stared back.
Something happened between us in that look, and I really don't know
what it was. A bond forming or some kind of connection?

I moved on from
my extended introduction and gave her the sign.

“
Memories,

Light the
corners of my mind

Misty
water-colored memories

Of the way we
were

Scattered
pictures

Of the smiles
we left behind

Smiles we gave
to one another

For the way we
were

Can it be that
it was all so simple then?

Or has time
re-written every line?

If we had the
chance to do it all again

Tell me, would
we?

Could we?
....”

As I listened
to her singing, it was almost as if we were no longer in the room.
We were an altered state of being, rising above and beyond the
mortal one.

And the song
hit me with such a powerful punch in my gut.

But it wasn't
in a good way.

Its words
reminded me, far too painfully, of my own better times, before
Savannah died, before I became what I am. Everything really was so
simple then. Not like now. My life had become a screwed up, fucking
mess. My head was ruined. Ruined in a way I could do nothing about.
Nothing could erase those kind of memories...nothing. Once again,
like in my dreams, the dreams that still haunt me...I'm seeing her
floating, face down. Sixteen and snuffed out, like a brightly
burning candle, extinguished in the water. One that I may as well
have drowned with my own hand.

My heart was
bleeding as I listened and forced myself to play along. I could
hardly concentrate as my eyes had blurred so badly and I choked at
the salty sting at the back of my throat. Misery flooded me. I was
hoping she saw my glassy eyes as an emotional tribute to her
singing, because the real reason I was choking back tears was a
stomach sickening reminder, a shattering memory of what could have
been and the contrast with the way things were now. It was only the
length of time which had elapsed, since her drowning, that had
hardened me to it, or else I'd have lost the battle to keep myself
in check. That really wasn't something I'd want Amanda, or anyone,
to see. Men did their crying in private. I was a strong advocate of
that.

I raised my
gaze to hers, pulling myself back from the brink with a harsh
intake of breath and a deep gulp.

I was
overwhelmed as a tear trickled down her cheek.

Oh no... don't..
.
please.
..

Whatever memory
was stirring her mind was just as painful as the one in mine. I
could see it. At that moment the words she were singing were
torturing her.

Don't make it
harder.

She stopped,
with a tiny squeak, unable to sing another note. And I stopped
playing, grateful the torment was over.

She stood
sniffing loudly and collecting herself, wiping her finger under her
eye.

“
Amanda...come and sit here.” I suggested, reaching out to
her. She took my hand and sat beside me on the stool. Her face held
a sad little smile that touched my ruined heart. I turned and
wrapped my arms around her slim shoulders, not thinking about
anything more than comforting her and having her close, comforting
me in return.