(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (15 page)

A finger probed his hole, then pushed roughly in. “Oh shit!” He liked it this way, without lube. The burn was heaven, and he whimpered not because of the pain, but because he wanted more. “Oh hell. Please… please….”

He couldn’t see the look on Antonio’s face, but he knew Antonio was just as turned on. He could hear it in the muffled gasps and deep growls, and he felt it in the way a second finger joined the first, stretching him. There was no hesitation, no delay. There were no protestations of taking time to “make love.” He heard the foil packet being ripped open, and his mouth watered. And when he heard the zipper of Antonio’s pants and felt that beautiful cock against his hole, he gritted his teeth and shoved backward.

“Fuck me.”

Antonio did just that. Hard and fast, just the way Cary craved it, skin against skin, the rhythm familiar, Antonio’s large hands grasping his hips so hard, he knew there would be marks the next morning. “Yes, oh God, yes! Oh fucking hell!”

“Mine,” the deep voice rumbled in his ear. “Only mine.”

The words were Cary’s undoing, and he came so hard he had to struggle to stay on his feet. Only a strong forearm, snaked around his waist, held him upright. He felt Antonio’s body tense and shudder and his stuttered exhalation against his neck. Cary shivered.

Was that what he wanted? To belong to this man?

“Only mine,” Antonio repeated.

They leaned against the hard brick wall outside the club a short time later, side by side, bodies touching, but not holding hands. Antonio hadn’t offered, and Cary had made no move to initiate the contact.

Cary had worn his leather jacket; this time, it was not the temperature that made him shiver. His cheeks were flushed, and his body still throbbed, wanting more, even now.

“You’re angry with me.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need to ask—he saw it in Antonio’s face, although there was something more there, as well.

He’s hurt.
Cary’s chest ached with the realization.
I’ve hurt him. Again.

“You think so?” Antonio’s voice was tinged with pain.

“This—tonight—this is
me
. This is all I am.”

The bitter laugh that escaped Antonio’s lips echoed into the night. “Of course. You don’t deserve any better, do you?”

Cary stared down at a crack in the sidewalk between his feet.

“Tell me it wasn’t different. Tonight. Tell me it wasn’t better than what you’ve had before. Tell me you don’t want me again, and I’ll leave.”

“I can’t say that.” God, how could he say that? Even
he
wasn’t
that
consummate a liar.

“Then tell me what you want. Because I’m not going to chase you down again. I have no intention of—” The look on Antonio’s face was one of disgust and barely controlled rage as he struggled to find the right word. “—
sharing
you with anyone else. I’m a patient man, but not
that
patient. If this is the only thing you want, we say goodbye here and now.”

“No. This isn’t what I want. Not just this.”

I want
you. He wanted to
belong
to Antonio. It scared him half to death to realize it. And there was something else he realized, as well. He was jealous. Jealous of the ghost of the lover in the photograph next to Antonio’s bed.

Antonio’s inhaled breath caught in his throat, and he reached his hand out to Cary. Cary took the large hand and found himself pulled tight against Antonio’s chest. Antonio smelled of sex and a scent uniquely his own.

“I was angry.” It wasn’t an easy thing for Cary to admit. “When you didn’t call me. I… I forgot you were going out of town and I….”

I was hurt.

“You thought I didn’t want to see you again.”

Cary just nodded. He felt like a complete idiot. Like the awkward teenager taking a bow at the edge of the stage. Except this time, the audience had figured it all out. They
knew
he was unworthy. There was no place for him to hide. The thief was there, for Antonio to see.

And Cary knew it didn’t matter. Because when Antonio held him tighter and kissed his hair, Cary understood that he didn’t need to hide anymore. He didn’t understand why, but he understood that Antonio wanted
him.
Cary Taylor Redding. The liar. The cheat. The thief. Fucked up, insecure, and undeserving.

“I’m so sorry, caro. Truly I am. I’ll call you when I’m traveling the next time, I promise. But promise me you’ll trust me and not jump to conclusions.”

Cary nodded again.

“Good. Then come home with me. And I’ll show you how I feel about you.”

You are totally screwed, Redding. Totally screwed and falling hard.
And for once, he was entirely okay with that.

Chapter 12

F
EAR
OF
F
LYING

Milan, Italy—February

“
C
AN we start from number twelve one more time?” David Somers asked, looking over the piano stand at Cary. “I want to be sure I give you enough time with the next section. If you’re up to it, of course.”

“No problem,” Cary said with a broad grin. “My wrist feels great. Eight weeks of torture—I mean physical therapy—and I’m as good as new.”

David played the measures leading up to the finale of the first movement of the Dvořák Cello Concerto in B Minor. Cary took a deep breath and followed, managing without difficulty the challenging chromatic double-stop scales that ended in thumb position at the farthest reaches of the fingerboard. He had spent the better part of the last month working back up to this, and the satisfaction of regaining the use of his left hand was tremendous.

“Excellent!” David said as he played the final phrases of the movement.

Cary leaned back in his chair and sighed with relief. It felt so
good
, playing again. Better than before, really. It felt almost joyous. For so many weeks, this studio had been a constant reminder of what he had nearly lost. But now….

“
Bellissimo
,” came the deep voice from the hallway. Antonio leaned on the door jamb and smiled his approval. “So, I take it he’s ready for Chicago next month?”

“Most definitely,” David said. He put his reading glasses away, gathered the score, and slid it into the leather portfolio on the piano. “I’m looking forward to it. Alex and I will take good care of him for you.”

“I’m counting on it,” Antonio said with a grin. “I’m expecting you to keep him out of trouble.”

Cary shook his head and laughed as he put his cello back in its case.

“I didn’t expect you until later,” Cary said after David left a few minutes later. He laced his arms through Antonio’s and claimed his lips.

“I finished up early, and I thought I’d stop over here before heading home. I figured since you were gone last weekend, I’d start this weekend a bit sooner.” He tightened his hold on Cary, who relaxed into the embrace. Most of Cary’s trips out of town had been short one- or two-day stints, but this last trip had lasted the better part of a week.

For nearly four months since they’d first met, they spent every weekend together at Antonio’s apartment, except when Cary’s performing schedule took him out of Milan or Antonio traveled on business. On weekends when she worked, Roberta had taken to making them dinner at Antonio’s. Even Cary had to admit that Antonio’s place was starting to feel more like home than his own.

“I missed you.” Antonio buried his head in Cary’s hair and inhaled his scent.

“Me too,” Cary said with a soft yawn.

“Long day?”

“Yeah. But a good one. Playing with David is always a blast, even if it’s just with him on piano.”

“I can hear it in your playing,” Antonio said, leading him over to the couch and pulling him down so Cary’s head lay on his chest.

“Really?”

“There’s something different when you play with him. I’ve heard you practice the piece enough, I can hear the difference.”

“The man’s a genius. I’ve performed this piece dozens of times, and still he finds something new to show me.”

“You seem happy, caro.” Antonio ran his fingers through Cary’s hair. “It makes me happy too.”

Am I happy?

A
N
HOUR
later, they were seated on the balcony of Antonio’s apartment, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather and drinking coffee.

“Gentlemen.” Roberta peered outside. “I’ll be going now. Signor Bianchi—”

“Antonio,” Antonio corrected.

“Antonio,” she said with a blush on her cheeks, “I’ve left instructions on how to reheat the dinner. Dessert is in the refrigerator.”

Cary looked from Roberta to Antonio. “Instructions?”

“A little something special Roberta agreed to make.
Grazie mille
, Roberta.”

“
Prego
.” She shot Antonio a sly wink and closed the glass doors behind her.

“What was that all about?” Cary eyed Antonio with suspicion and cocked his head to one side. “Special dinner? Instructions? Am I missing something here?”

“Nothing at all, caro.”

Antonio stood up and offered Cary his hand, then led him inside to the dining room, where the table was set for four. The smell of seafood and saffron wafted in from the kitchen, and there was a vase filled with flowers in the center of the table.

“Wait a minute,” Cary said as he met Antonio’s gaze. “We weren’t expecting company. What’s going on?”

But before Antonio could respond, the doorbell rang. Cary went to open it to find David standing there.

“Did you forget something back at my apartment?” Cary asked, confused.

“No,” David said as he walked past Cary into the apartment, followed by his partner, Alex Bishop. “But I think perhaps
you
forgot something.”

“Happy birthday, Cary,” Antonio said. “
Tanti auguri
.”

“I… I forgot,” Cary stammered.

“I know, caro.” Antonio kissed him tenderly on the lips.

“For you.” Alex handed Cary several bags filled with gifts and hugged him. David shook Cary’s hand and clasped his shoulder warmly. “Aiden and Sam send their regards. There’s a bottle of tequila somewhere in here. Aiden said you’d appreciate it.”

“Thanks, guys,” Cary said, overwhelmed.

The Reddings hadn’t done much to mark birthdays. Cary had been on the road so much of the time that birthday parties weren’t particularly easy to plan. Other than his birthday two years before, which had included the
SpongeBob
and cognac celebration with Aiden, Cary couldn’t remember the last time he’d noticed he was officially a year older.

“
D
AVID says you’ll be staying with us in March,” Alex said as they sat down to a dinner of Roberta’s paella and a couple of bottles of a heady Chianti Riserva that David had chosen with obvious care.

“That’s the plan,” Cary said as he dug into his food with relish, spearing a shrimp with his fork.

He couldn’t help but notice the way David and Alex always seemed so comfortable together and the way they touched each other—light touches that communicated the intimacy of their relationship and their commitment. Cary had known David Somers even before David had met Alex Bishop and long before they’d moved in together, but it was the first time Cary realized how much happier—more relaxed—David was at Alex’s side. He wondered if someone might see the same thing, looking at him and Antonio.

“Sounds like you have a little free time on your schedule after Chicago.” Alex shot a conspiratorial glance at Antonio. “I’ve got an idea of something we could do together.”

“Don’t tell me you want me to play at that jazz club with you again.”

Alex laughed. “That’d be fun. But it seems David also has a little time on his schedule, and so do I.” He winked at David and took a sip of wine.

“Give it up, guys. One surprise an evening is more than enough. What do you know that I don’t?”

“Antonio has managed to negotiate all three of us a recording contract,” David said, smiling over the top of his glass.

“Are you serious? The Brahms Double Concerto?”

“You got it,” Alex said triumphantly. “And the musicians union just signed on to the deal yesterday. All this baby needs is your John Hancock, Cary Redding.”

Cary grinned and pulled Antonio in for a sloppy kiss. “You’re a fucking genius! So that’s what you’ve been up to with the evening meetings.” It had been nearly three years since the last time Cary had recorded anything. Not only would it give him the extra financial security he had been hoping for, but he adored the Brahms, and he couldn’t have chosen a better violinist to play it with. Or a better conductor.

“Happy birthday, caro.” Antonio lifted his glass, and the other two men followed suit.

L
ATER, they lay in bed together after what Cary deemed his “best birthday ever,” Cary nestled in Antonio’s arms, his head against his chest. Since they had started seeing each other regularly, he had not once longed for the seedy clubs and back-alley encounters, although he still preferred it hard and fast and from behind. But the uneasiness he had felt in “making love,” as Antonio put it in his sexy-as-fuck bass-baritone, had dissolved into an insistent, thrumming need for Antonio’s touch.