Dragonfly Kisses (2 page)

He longed to open his mouth and say something vile about her makeup or her overblown dress or the fact she was dripping in Diamonique. But he didn’t.

He sat on the edge of his seat and waited. Impatiently.

Finally the lights dimmed.

The conductor entered to a rumble of applause and took a bow. He swept out an arm…and
she
walked onto the stage.

Dylan’s breath stalled.

She was gorgeous.

Her flowing black gown swept around her ankles as she crossed the stage and took the conductor’s hand. The crowd went wild, cheering and clapping and coming to their feet.

He stood as well, though the drop from this height gave him vertigo.

Silence fell as she took her place in the front of the assemblage. A hush wreathed the auditorium when she pulled her cello between her legs and set her bow to the strings.

The first piece was Concerto by Shostakovich. Dylan couldn’t remember the name of it then, though it was printed in the program. He couldn’t remember much of anything because, with the very first chord, the very first draw of her bow over those strings, he was enraptured.

He’d never been a fan of classical music.

But this wasn’t music.

This was magic.

Next was a Mendelssohn duet with a piano. “A Song without Words,” the program said, which was absurd, because no classical music had words. Dylan wasn’t terribly impressed. With the piano player.

But when Cassandra launched into the prelude to Bach's
Cello Suite No.1
, it gave him chills. Her “Flight of the Bumblebee” stole his breath. And “The Swan” by Saint-Saens brought tears to his eyes. He couldn’t help but think of Lila. Hell, he almost felt her, sitting next to him, threading her small fingers into his.

This was what music was meant to be. A beautiful expression of spirit. A healing balm to a weary, wounded soul.

He didn’t want the concert to end.

But it did.

And long after Cassandra French had taken her final bow, long after the poodle and her blowsy companion had left the box, he sat there and stared down at the deserted stage.

Transported. Yes.

He’d been transported to heaven.

And Lila had been there.

He went to the island the next day, although he didn’t expect her to be there. It made him feel close to her, being there, and he couldn’t bear not feeling close to her. Not after hearing her play.
Feeling
her passion. Seeing the depth of her spirit.

But she was there, walking on the beach with a friend.

He was tempted to fly down there and meet her and gush about how amazing she was, how incredibly she’d played, how fucking
transported
he’d been, but he couldn’t find the courage.

Because surely she was far too good, too fine, too
refined
, for a damaged, surly man like Dylan Deveney.

It was a sad state of affairs. Really it was.

Because he wanted her with every fiber of his being.

And she could never be his.

Chapter Two

May

Lucy burst into the great room from the deck with a gusty sigh. Cassie looked up from the sheet music she was studying, but it was only a glance. Lucy did have the tendency to gust. A lot. Usually over nothing.

“Oh my God, you guys,” she said, fanning her face. “He’s here again.”

Bella, sitting to Cassie’s left in the recliner, tapped her pencil on the crossword puzzle she was ignoring. “Who’s here?”

Lucy batted her long dark lashes. It was hardly fair for her to have lashes so long and lush, considering she was a platinum blonde. But it was hard to be jealous because Lucy was such a sweetheart. She leaned forward and whispered, “The Highlander.”

Bella gave a little squeal, flung her pencil and paper onto the floor and bolted for the deck.

Emily, curled up with a good book on Cassie’s other side, peered over her glasses. “And who, pray tell, is the Highlander?”

Lucy dropped into the spot Bella had vacated. “Don’t know. But he’s a hottie. We saw him a couple of times last month, running on the beach. Shirtless. And holy Hannah, is he built.”

Cassie pressed her lips together and turned back to her music. Lucy and Bella’s idea of a “hottie” rarely agreed with hers. She was attracted to deep, soulful men, not guys with bulging muscles and gruff personalities and piercings and tattoos.

Although, come to think of it, things hadn’t worked out so well with Peter—who’d certainly been deep and soulful. She wasn’t sure why things hadn’t worked out. He was exactly the kind of man she always dated. Sweet, gentle, thoughtful. A creative, artistic spirit and one of her fellow musicians. Her parents had loved him. It should have been a match made in heaven.

It had, in fact, been boring.

In the end, they’d simply drifted apart.

Then again, the whole relationship had been adrift.

She shuffled her papers, and one of the scores in the pile caught her attention. The score she really wanted to work on. Determinedly, she shifted it to the bottom of the pile and focused on the Dvořák. She had a concert to prepare for. People were counting on her. There was no time to indulge herself with fribbles.

She swallowed the tickle of bitterness in her throat.

“Do you think the Highlander lives on the island, or is he one of us?” Emily asked, reaching out to pluck a carrot from the platter on the coffee table. They’d all made a vow to eat healthy food this weekend. No matter how miserable it made them. Swimsuit season was coming.

Lucy shrugged. “I’ve never seen him at Darby’s or Lil’s, but that doesn’t mean anything. He may not be a barfly and he could pack in his groceries when he comes. But I’ve never seen him during the week.”

Trystacomseh Island, or Tryst Island as the regulars called it, was predominantly made up of vacation homes owned by rich Seattleites who made the short journey by ferry for weekends and holidays. Very few people lived there year round.

Cassie couldn’t even afford to visit a place like this if she didn’t share the costs with a large group of friends. They all signed up on an online calendar for the days they wanted to come. This particular visit was a girls-only vegan weekend, but no one but Bella, Lucy, Emily and Cassie had been able to make it. More likely, they were the only ones brave enough—or stupid enough—to go three whole days without meat.

Bella reentered the great room warbling a moan. She leaned against the sliding glass door and clutched at her t-shirt. “What a man. I could stare at him forever.” She plopped into the easy chair and propped her feet on the coffee table. Cassie shifted the platter of crudités away from her grungy flip flops.

“He is perfect,” Lucy gushed.

“Did you see those abs?”

“Yep. And the muscles in his thighs?”

“And his shoulders?” Bella blew out a breath. “I’d love to get a closer look. We should try to meet him.”

“We?” Emily closed the book on her finger and pursed her lips. “Or you?” Of the four of them, Emily was, by far, the least likely to accost a strange man.

Bella and Lucy—not so much.

“He usually runs for about twenty minutes.” Lucy consulted her watch. “Let’s go down to the beach.”

“
Usually
?” Cassie laughed. “Are you stalking the poor guy?”

“Only a little.” How Lucy managed such an innocent expression—tinged with mischief—was a mystery.

“It’s a new reality show.
The Manhunters
.” Bella waggled her brows. “Four hot chicks. One super-hot Highlander. Which lucky woman will win his heart?”

“Not his heart I’m interested in.” This, Lucy offered in an aside. “Don’t look so horrified, Cassie. You haven’t seen him, so you don’t understand.”

“Come on, you guys. Let’s go down to the beach. We can pretend to be, I don’t know, hunting for driftwood or some shit.” Yeah. Bella was always full of brilliant ideas.

Cassie waved her sheet music. “Sorry. I need to get this down. It’s a new piece. You go ahead.”

Bella narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be a stick in the mud, Frenchie.”

“I’m not a stick in the mud. And don’t call me Frenchie.” Bella knew she hated the nickname Drew had given her. Drew gave everyone nicknames. Most of them were annoying. He’d even named her cello Big Bertha, which aggravated Cassie no end.

“You can’t study and practice all the time.”

“I don’t do it all the time.”

She had no clue why all three of them felt the need to snort—in concert. Bella’s snort was the loudest. “If we let you, you’d practice until your fingers bled,” she added.

Cassie frowned. The accusation was hardly fair. Her fingers almost never bled anymore. And if she was dedicated to her craft, well, there were reasons for her persistence. People depended on her. There were expectations.

Bella, on the other hand, did what Bella wanted to do, regardless of other people’s objections or opinions or expectations. Cassie tried to bury the sting of jealousy the thought evoked. What she wouldn’t give to be free…

“You’re coming, Cassie,” Bella commanded and then narrowed her baby blues on Emily. “You have to come too.”

A blush crawled up Emily’s cheeks. Poor Emily. She was painfully shy around men. Especially around hot, hunky males. Not so much with the feral third graders she wrangled five days a week, nine months out of the year. With
them,
she was a Valkyrie. Hot guys, however, scared her to death.

“I’m not a Manhunter,” she murmured.

“It’s okay.” Bella grinned. “You can be our sidekick.”

“You should come with us, so you know what you’re missing,” Lucy cajoled. “This guy is seriously hot.”

When both Cassie and Emily shook their heads, Bella crossed her arms over her chest. “For God’s sake, it’s a walk on the frickin’ beach.”

“Come on.” Lucy mimicked her stance.

“Yeah. Come on.” They were, indeed, evil twins. Evil, insistent, stubborn, intransigent twins.

Cassie and Emily exchanged a look. They’d known Bella and Lucy since freshman year in college. Those two wouldn’t let up until they got what they wanted.

“All right. Just a short walk on the beach.” Cassie dropped the music onto the coffee table. “But in exchange, no grumbling when I practice tonight.”

Of course, Lucy and Bella grumbled about that, but in the end, they agreed.

Because they were getting what they wanted.

A posse. For their Manhunting.

Dylan focused on the thud of each footfall on the sand. One. Then another. Then another. It was the way he approached life anymore, and he found it strangely satisfying.

One day at a time.

One step at a time.

One breath at a time.

It made things bearable.

Also, he’d cut back on his drinking in the past few months, increased his exercise and, to his surprise, found his depression had eased. A bit.

He lifted his face to the sun as he ran, reveling in the surge of his pulse through his veins, the brush of wind against his cheek, the pure, clean scent of the sea air.

Gulls wheeled overhead and, in the far distance, a white sail billowed.

He loved this. Loved it.

Sucking in a breath, he prepared for his last sprint. He rounded the tip of the island and pounded down the beach, making sure to stay on the wet sand at the surf line to enhance each push.

When he was halfway to his goal, he glanced up the beach and saw her.

How he knew—
knew
—it was her from such a distance, he had no clue. But he did. She was on the beach with three friends. His angel. His Cassandra.

He hadn’t seen her since March. Was sure he’d stopped thinking about her altogether. Stopped wanting her. But apparently, he hadn’t.

The rush of giddy elation at the sight of her frightened him. The way his heart leapt and soared, the way his pace increased, the way his feet seemed to sprout wings…

Well, maybe not wings.

More to the point, his legs ceased to work altogether—not unlike his brain. Somehow they tangled together and he fell—sprawled was a better word—face-first into the sand.

He lay there, groaning, more at his own clumsiness than from any pain, though a sharp twinge screamed down his leg.

He buried his head in his arms and cringed as he heard female cries of concern, and their footsteps thundering toward him. Mortification swamped him.

Great.

This was how he’d meet her? After all this time?

Sweaty and stinky? In an ungainly tangle?

He wanted to sink into the earth.

But there was hardly time for self pity.

The women were upon him.

“Oh my heavens. Are you okay?” one of them cooed. Yeah.
Cooed
.

Dylan peeped up at her. She was a cute thing with blue eyes and long blue-black hair. A tiny diamond stud winked in her nose. But she wasn’t Cassandra.

Relief gushed through him. Oh, thank God. He must have mistaken her for—

Oh. No. His gaze skimmed the others—a slinky platinum blonde and a pixie with a sandy bob and…Cassandra. His attention stalled on her.

Holy hell. Up close and personal, she was even more beautiful than he’d imagined. Her skin was a creamy brown, her face like an Asian goddess. Her eyes were a delicious mocha and her lips… Ah. Her lips. A sweet, rosy red.

He knew he was staring. He knew his mouth was agape. But he couldn’t snap out of it.

Being in her presence—finally—stunned him.

“Hello there.” Diamond Stud waved a hand in front of him. “Are you all right?”

“I think maybe he’s in shock,” the pixie said with a frown.

Platinum Blonde knelt down and brushed the sand from his cheeks. Of course, as she swept it away, it sprinkled into his mouth. The grittiness was not pleasant.

He pulled away and tried to stand, but a scalding pain shot up his leg when he put weight on his ankle.

Shit.

He would have collapsed into another ignominious pile if two of the girls—Platinum Blonde and Diamond Stud—hadn’t stepped forward to catch him.

“Whoa there, big guy,” Diamond Stud said as she steadied him. She was a tiny thing, barely came to his shoulder, but her tight grasp around his middle made up for her stature. Between the two of them, they helped him stand upright.