Seducing the Wolf (17 page)

Manning stared down at his hands, watching the way the sunlight reflected off the empty glass he held. What the hell was taking Rutledge so long to get back?

“It was pure torture having to watch you and Taylor around school,” Caitlyn continued. “Holding hands, walking each other to classes, eating lunch together, kissing and flirting at your lockers. I hated seeing her in the stands at your basketball games, hated the way you pointed to her and winked every time you scored. I couldn’t
wait
to graduate and go off to college so I could forget all about you. Except…I never really did.” A self-deprecating smile curved her lips. “Pathetic, isn’t it? I had guys falling all over me. Yale men. The cream of the crop. I had them eating out of the palm of my hand, but all I could think about was some roughneck from back home.”

Manning raised a brow. “Roughneck?”

Caitlyn grinned. “You were and you know it. Hell, you still are. You’ve just added
Ph.D.
to your name and upgraded your wardrobe to Armani. But make no mistake about it, baby. Beneath that fine broadcloth shirt you’re wearing beats the heart of a bona fide roughneck.”

“Ah.” Manning nodded, mouth twitching. “Good to know.”

Caitlyn smiled, glancing around the room as if she’d forgotten where they were. “I think I’ve bared my soul enough for now,” she said wryly. “I’m sure this isn’t the most conventional way to land a job—”

“You think?”

She gave a low, indulgent chuckle. “I’m not worried about you hiring someone else, Manning.”

“No?” He was faintly amused. “And why’s that?”

“I’m the best person for the job,” Caitlyn said with implacable certainty. “My educational background and qualifications speak for themselves. I graduated with honors from Yale and I’m a partner at one of the top law firms in Connecticut, where I work in corporate litigation and have handled cases involving patent law—which is crucial to your business.” She sighed with smug satisfaction. “As if that weren’t enough, I’ve got fate on my side.”

“Fate?” Manning repeated.

“Yes. Fate.” She looked him in the eye. “There’s a reason you’re still single. There’s a reason I’ve had horrendous luck with husbands. And there’s definitely a reason we’ve remained in each other’s lives after all these years.”

“Yeah?” Manning drawled, slightly mocking. “And what reason would that be?”

Caitlyn smiled, a seductive curling of red lips. Moving closer to him, she placed her hand on his knee and purred, “I think we both know.”

Manning frowned, no longer amused as he stared at her.

She stared back unflinchingly.

“Sorry to keep you two waiting,” Saul apologized, striding into the room.

Manning had never been happier to see the man.

He practically bolted from the sofa while Caitlyn followed more slowly, her eyes glimmering with mischief.

“That was our estate agent over in London,” Saul ruefully explained. “We put a contract on a house and have been negotiating back and forth for days. It’s been frustrating as hell.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Manning commiserated. “Hope everything works out.”

“If it doesn’t, I guess we’ll just have to stay right here. Moving to another country was my wife’s idea, not mine.” Saul smiled at Manning and Caitlyn. “I hope you two enjoyed catching up.”

“Oh, we did.” Caitlyn smiled, giving Manning a meaningful look. “But we’re just getting started.”

13

W
ith her eyes closed, Taylor listened carefully to the first movement of the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in E Minor. The song was being performed by Danisha Orton, an eighteen-year-old sophomore music major at Emory University. She was playing one of the most popular violin concertos of all time, a piece that was frequently performed and recorded by professional violinists, and was often used in music competitions as a measuring stick for aspiring virtuosos.

Danisha had good intonation and phrasing, and she executed the piece at a level of proficiency that demonstrated why she was one of the most talented soloists Taylor had heard that morning. But she knew there was so much more she could pull out of her. And she intended to do just that.

As the concerto segued into the
Andante
, Taylor opened her eyes and held up a hand.

Danisha abruptly stopped playing, as did the pianist accompanying her. The young violinist’s eyes were wide as she nervously waited for Taylor’s feedback. 

“That was good, Danisha,” Taylor said encouragingly. “You play very well, and you’ve obviously practiced this piece a great deal. A few things I want to point out. Your ricochet in the cadenza was a little tight. You want to play with more harmony and modulation, and the key to doing that—to achieving better control on those fast notes—is in the way you bounce the bow.” Taylor demonstrated, tucking her own violin under her chin and deftly drawing the bow across the strings to produce the desired notes. “See how I flick my wrist on the down bows?”

Danisha nodded quickly.

“Your right hand, especially your thumb, should be completely relaxed. Then you want to kick the bow off the string and let it bounce on its own. Try it with me.”

Danisha mimicked Taylor’s technique.

“Good.” Taylor nodded approvingly. “Much better.”

The girl beamed with pleasure. She had flawless dark skin and gorgeous locs pulled back into a ponytail.

“Now let’s talk about your voice.” Taylor paused for a moment. “Even though you play very well, the way you just performed the piece was a little, well, uninspired. What I mean is that it was more mechanical than organic. More technical than artistic. Mendelssohn famously told his friend, Ferdinand David, that the opening of this violin concerto gave him no peace. That’s why the first movement is a soaring, passionate melody infused with restless melancholy. I don’t want you to perform a technically sound rendering of the Mendelssohn Concerto, Danisha. When you play it, I want you to think about what will make your performance unique and compelling—what will set it apart from the countless other renditions being performed around the world. Why should audiences flock to any concert hall to hear Danisha Orton play the Mendelssohn Concerto?”

“Um…” The girl flushed, biting her lip. “I guess I hadn’t really thought of it that way before.”

“Why do you think this concerto is an integral part of the violin repertoire?” Taylor asked her. “I can tell you that what
I’ve
always loved about it is that it doesn’t begin with an orchestra, unlike most other classical concertos. In the Mendelssohn Concerto, the violin enters almost immediately at the beginning, right? It’s as if the violinist needs no lengthy introduction by the orchestra, or is far too impatient to wait for one.” She smiled. “Sometimes when I play this piece, I imagine that I—the violinist—am a tempestuous young woman rushing through a moonlit garden to meet my long-lost lover, which is the audience. I’m so eager to see him and embrace him, but I know to temper my passion and excitement with just the right amount of demure restraint.”

“Ohhh,” Danisha breathed with an expression of fascinated insight. “I
love
that analogy, Miss Chastain.”

Taylor grinned. “Let me show you how it sounds.”

Lifting her violin to her chin once again, she put the bow to the strings and launched into the
Allegro molto appassionato
, which was the first movement of the concerto. She moved fluidly through the opening themes, transitioning from emotionally turbulent chords to the effervescent notes of the cadenza before winding down to the stormy coda.

When she’d finished playing, Danisha looked completely awestruck—and more than a little intimidated.

Taylor smiled gently. “Let’s take a short break.”

As she and Danisha put down their violins and bows, the pianist excused himself to use the restroom and stretch his legs.

That morning’s private lesson was being held in one of the music rooms located inside Emory University’s Schwartz Center for Performing Arts. After teaching a violin masterclass earlier, Taylor had spent the rest of the morning working individually with the residency students. She was thoroughly enjoying herself.

“I was so excited when I found out you were coming to my school this summer,” Danisha gushed, following Taylor to the refreshment table in the corner. “I’ve always been a huge fan of your work.”

Taylor smiled. “Thank you, Danisha,” she said, handing her a cold bottle of water before taking one for herself.

“You inspired me to start playing the violin.”

“Really?”

Danisha nodded vigorously. “When I turned ten years old, my mother took me to New York to see you perform at Carnegie Hall. You played so beautifully, you brought me and my mother to tears. I had never seen an African-American classical violinist before. To be honest, I didn’t know there
were
any.” She smiled winsomely. “Attending your concert was the best birthday present I’ve ever received.”

Taylor was touched. “You’re so sweet, Danisha. I’m glad you enjoyed my performance.”

“
That’s
an understatement. I was so inspired by your playing that I begged my mom to enroll me in violin lessons when we got back home. Even though we didn’t really have the money, she could see how much it meant to me to learn how to play. So she found a way to make it happen.”

“That’s wonderful, Danisha,” Taylor said warmly. “You’re very lucky to have such a supportive mother.”

“I know. I’m very grateful to her. Playing the violin hasn’t always been easy, and there were times I wanted to quit. But my mom wouldn’t let me. Every time I started doubting myself, she’d say to me, ‘Look at your role model Taylor Chastain. Do you think she got where she is by being a quitter?
She
never gave up on herself, and neither should you.’ ” Danisha smiled shyly. “It was great motivation.”

Taylor smiled. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

Danisha twisted the cap off her bottle but didn’t take a sip. “Did you ever think about quitting, Miss Chastain?” she asked curiously.

“I did,” Taylor admitted. “I think every musician does at one point or another. It takes hard work, sacrifice and discipline to master playing an instrument. The music lessons, the grueling hours of practice, the pressures of performing in recitals and competitions. It can be overwhelming, especially when you start at an early age.”

“You started playing when you were four, right?”

“Right.”

“And when you were ten, you made your solo debut with the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You also know how to play the piano and guitar, even though the violin is your ‘first and only love.’ ”

Taylor raised an amused brow. “You’ve really done your homework, haven’t you, kiddo?”

Danisha grinned sheepishly. “I’m not trying to suck up or anything. It’s just that I’ve been a fan of yours for so long. Now that I’ve finally met you, I can’t help regurgitating facts I’ve learned about you over the years. And I’m definitely glad that you never quit playing the violin. But it makes me feel better to know even
you
thought about it. How old were you?”

“I was eight the first time.” A soft, reminiscent smile curved Taylor’s lips. “I was having the hardest time with Paganini’s Concerto Number One. No matter how hard I practiced, I just couldn’t grasp it. I remember the day I came home from my lesson so angry and frustrated with myself that I shoved my violin into my closet, slammed the door and told my mother I wasn’t playing anymore.” She chuckled. “I don’t know what I was thinking, saying something like that to her. See, my mother was a real taskmaster. She made tiger moms look like pushovers. I wasn’t allowed to have play dates or sleepovers or do anything fun until I’d finished all my homework, read several chapters of a preapproved book and practiced the violin for three hours every day. If I was struggling with a new piece, she would tape the score to every television set in the house and tell me I couldn’t watch my favorite shows until I’d perfected the song—preferably by the next day.”

“Wow,” Danisha commiserated. “And I thought
my
mom was strict.”

Taylor grinned crookedly. “My father tried to balance things out. Even though he fully supported my violin playing, he wanted me to have a normal childhood—child prodigy or not. So he didn’t allow me to skip any grades at school like my mother wanted. As long as I was taking all honors classes, he thought that was sufficient. He used to tell me that attending Juilliard would be challenging enough, but it’d be even worse for me if I got there as a sheltered fifteen-year-old who’d barely been away from home for sleepovers.” She chuckled knowingly. “I don’t think he wanted to part with me any sooner than he had to.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Danisha agreed with a grin. “So what happened after you told your mother you were quitting? How fast did she make you learn Paganini’s Concerto?”

“Actually,” Taylor said quietly, “she didn’t.”

“She didn’t?”

“Nope.”

“What’d she do?”