Still Life with Strings (29 page)

My feet hit the
concrete, but we don’t move. I stand there, staring up into his eyes as his
grip on me tightens. He ducks his head down and presses his lips to mine, his
tongue flicking out experimentally for a second.

“Better get inside, or
I’ll be in danger of taking you right here,” he murmurs darkly into my ear and
I tremble, allowing him to lead me to the house. I didn’t bring an overnight
bag because I don’t plan on staying the entire night. I have to get back to
April and Pete, but there’s also the fact that sleeping with Shane, and I mean
actually
sleeping, is too intimate. Since we spoke on the phone, I realised that needs
to be another rule. Just sex. No sleepovers.

“Do you want anything
to drink?” he asks as we walk into his kitchen.

I shake my head, and he
sets down his bag and violin case. I glance at the clock and see it’s almost
eleven, which means I can spend a couple of hours here before I have to leave.
Seconds later he’s scooping me up into his arms and kissing me so deep I ache.

Kissing and roaming our
hands over each other, we fumble up the stairs, somehow finding our way to his
room without tripping up on anything. He turns me so my back is to his front,
and then his hand goes to my neck, gripping it possessively as he walks me over
to his bed. My knees hit the mattress and he bends me over, grinding his
erection against my bottom. Frenzied, he tugs my dress up over my thighs until
my underwear is bared, which he quickly rids me of.

He seems to be in the
mood to take the lead and I let him, revelling in it.

His mouth joins his
hand at my neck, licking and sucking. “It’s probably a bit late to be bringing
this up, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m clean.”

My brain is too fogged
by desire to get what he’s saying at first. Then I understand. “I’m clean,
too,” I reply breathlessly.

His hand on my neck
tightens. “I don’t want to use protection with you. Is that okay?”

Moaning as he uses his
teeth to nip my neck, I nod my head. “Yeah. I want to feel you.”

My response seems to
please him, and he gives my bottom a little spank. I yelp and he growls,
kneeling down behind me and lightly biting the curve of my arse cheek.

Emitting a low groan,
he purrs, “Have I ever told you how much I love your arse?”

I laugh. “Not that I
recall.”

“Well, I do. It’s
fucking perfect.”

He bites me again, a
little harder this time, and then stands. Before I know it he’s undoing his
pants and whipping out his cock. I’m still bent over the edge of his bed,
waiting, my impatient sex quivering with anticipation. When I feel him part my
lips and position his cock, my muscles clench, needing him inside. He pushes in
slowly, easing through my tight channel and feeling every inch of me around
him.

“Every part of you is
perfect,” he breathes, both hands going to my hips and holding on.

He thrusts into me once
hard before he starts to fuck me with quick, delicious pumps. I fist the duvet,
trying to keep my arms from falling limp. When he’s inside me, my entire body
gets so full of pleasure that I can hardly focus on doing anything.

“Perfect,” he says
again, this time sounding like he’s gritting his teeth. “I love doing this to
you.”

I can only moan in
response. The sound of our skin slapping together fills the room, and I can
feel my wetness running down the inside of my thighs, I’m so turned on. There
was hardly any foreplay between us, and still I’m soaking wet. He reaches
around the front of my body and between my legs, finding my clit and rubbing
fast circles, coaxing me to a sharp orgasm. I moan loudly as I come, my channel
tightening and releasing around his cock.

“Wow, babe, you feel
amazing,” he murmurs, kissing the back of my neck, still thrusting into me.

He keeps going after
I’ve orgasmed, clearly not ready to end this yet, savouring me. When he finally
comes, the sound he emits makes me shiver. His arms tighten around me, and he
doesn’t pull out. Instead he guides us onto the bed so that we’re spooning. He
kisses just below my ear, creating tingles at the base of my spine. I feel him
softening inside me, and then he finally pulls out.

“Let’s get under the
blanket,” he tells me, all husky and sleepy, as he pulls the duvet out from
under us and then over our bodies.

“Are you tired?” I
whisper.

“I could go another
round if you want, but I’d rather sleep. I love sleeping with you, Bluebird.”

I turn around in his
hold, trying to keep from sinking into him and just letting myself sleep.
Tracing my fingers over his beautiful face, I say softly, “I can’t stay,
Shane.”

His body tenses and he
frowns. “Why not?”

“It’s another rule I
thought of. No sleepovers. Plus, I need to get back and check on the kids.”

“Shut up and sleep.
That’s a ridiculous rule,” he says, his arms turning to steel around me,
clearly getting ready not to let go. “And we both know Alec is there to keep an
eye on April and Pete.”

“Shane,” I start, but
he interrupts me.

“No, babe. I’m sorry,
but I’m not accepting that rule. I can deal with only seeing you every three
days and I can deal with not touching you in public, but I can’t fucking deal
with you not sleeping here. I need this.” He pauses, face serious. “Please.”

The agony in his
features makes my chest pound. God, I feel like a bitch right now. My resolve
withers away, and I press my lips together.

“Okay. I’ll forget
about that rule, then,” I whisper tenderly, my words barely audible while my
heart urges me to forget about all the rules.

He kisses me softly and
gives me an intense look. “Thank you. Now go to sleep.”

Resting my head on his
shoulder, I close my eyes and let sleep take me. That night when I dream, I
dream of drowning in deep, dark water, and Shane’s music pulling me back to the
surface.

Familiar music drifts into my
consciousness, dragging me from sleep. I turn over in the bed, naked but all
wrapped in blankets. I discover the music is real when I blink open my eyes and
see Shane sitting in a chair by the large window, topless. The blinds have been
pulled, bright light streaming in, and he’s holding his violin. I love how the
muscles in his arms move when he plays.

I know I’ve heard this
song before, but I can’t seem to put my finger on what it is. I smile at him
sleepily and he smiles back, continuing to play. Glancing to the side, I see a
big glass of orange juice on the dresser alongside a plate with grapes, cheese,
and crackers.

“Is this my breakfast?”
I ask softly, and he only nods, smiling again.

My heart does a
somersault in my chest. I’ve never been brought breakfast in bed by a man
before. Picking up the juice, I take a long gulp, those butterflies wreaking
havoc with my insides as his beautiful playing penetrates something deep in me.
I put the juice down and pop a couple of grapes in my mouth before starting in
on the crackers and cheese. I feel like the most special girl on the planet
right now, being entertained by a world-class musician while I do something as
mundane as eat breakfast.

A couple of minutes
later Shane’s piece comes to an end, and he puts his violin down. I have a
sheet wrapped around my chest to cover my modesty. He steps over to the bed,
bow still in his hand, and uses it to lower the sheet. I’m too busy eating to
stop him, and the sheet falls free. He sucks in a breath, his eyes drinking me
in. I’m struck with a memory of fantasising about him stroking my body with his
bow, as though playing me like an instrument.

“That was a sneaky
move, Mr Arthur,” I say, attempting a scolding tone as I set down the plate and
pull the sheet back up and around my body.

He gives me a hot look.
“I’m not going to apologise.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think
you would.”

He perches on the edge
of the bed and runs his hand from my collarbone and over to rest on my nape. “I
ran you a bath,” he says low, leaning forward to nip my earlobe.

“Oh, and I suppose you
showered already?” I ask back teasingly.

His grin is evil.
“Nope. I was hoping we could share.”

“Hmm, that depends.”

“On?”

“How big is your tub?”

He lets out a loud
bellow of a laugh that makes my sex clench. Yeah, I definitely want to share my
bath with him. He stands, shucking off the trousers he’d been wearing before
holding his hand out to me. I take it and he leads me into the large bathroom,
the tub filled with warm water and bubbles. I step in and sink under, sighing
in pleasure at the sensation.

A moment later Shane
climbs in behind me, pulling my back flush with his chest. His entire body is
wrapped around mine, and I can feel his erection pressing against my lower
back. He runs his hands up and down my arms for a long time and I stay still,
eyes closed, enjoying being touched just for the sake of it.

His hands move to the
upper part of my chest then, before sliding slowly down to my breasts. I moan
softly, and he grunts. When he reaches my nipples, he pinches them lightly, and
then his hands continue their descent below the water. They get to my belly and
still, his thumbs rubbing small circles into my skin. Then one hand lowers
between my legs, which have fallen open. He strokes my throbbing lips and then
fingers the petals of my sex.

He keeps stroking me
for so long that I feel like I might burst. Finally, he moves lightning fast as
he plunges two fingers inside me. I let out a sigh of relief, rubbing my bottom
against his cock, which is now rock hard. We continue to play this game. I
swivel my hips in circles and he groans, clearly enjoying the friction. He
keeps his fingers inside me, moving slowly in and out, all lazily sexual, as
his other hand moves to my aching clit. He rubs as slowly as he possibly can,
and I feel an intense orgasm coming on.

I want him to come,
too, so I keep swivelling my hips. I move my own hands to my breasts, moulding
them and pinching my nipples, letting out a long, erotic sigh of pleasure.
Shane practically hisses when he sees me touching myself.

“Fuck,” he mutters,
breath heavy and humid against the side of my neck. “Come,” he goes on. “I want
to feel you come all over my hand.”

“Please,” I beg,
needing him to rub me faster, but he continues at his slow pace, building an
inferno inside me. I tug on my nipples hard, causing pleasure to ripple right
down between my legs, where both his hands are hard at work.

“Oh, shit, I’m gonna
come,” I pant, my muscles clenching.

I feel him spurt all
over my lower back as I orgasm hard, crying out wildly with the release of it.
Once I’ve ridden out all the waves, my body melts back into his and I shut my
eyes. I’m glad we’re not facing each other, because if we had been, he would’ve
seen something scary on my face just now. Something far too serious for what’s
supposed to be casual sex.

We stay there in that
exact position for a long while. He whispers sweet things in my ear and I try
not to let them get to me, but they do. I need this man far more than I care to
admit. After a time Shane turns on the tap and lets in some fresh water before
he washes every part of me clean. I’m too shaken by my own emotions to stay and
do the same for him, so I climb out of the bath once he’s rinsed my hair and
wrap up in a towel. I need distance.

But I don’t
want
it.

In his bedroom, I
gather my clothes and start to get dressed. I’ve just finished when I hear my
phone ringing in my bag. Pulling it out, I see it’s Ben calling and hit the
“answer” button.

“Hey, Ben, how are
you?”

“Heya, honey, I’m as
good as gold. And you?”

I cough. “As well as
can be expected.”

“Have you fucked that
sexy beast of a man yet?” he questions blatantly. Typical Ben. I swear he
doesn’t get embarrassed about anything.

“That’s none of your
business, you nosy bitch,” I respond with a laugh, and he makes a delighted
sound of surprise.

“Oh, my God, you have!
Spill the beans — what’s he like?”

“Uh, I can’t really
talk right now,” I hedge just as Shane walks into the room, a navy towel
wrapped low around his waist. My eyes travel over his abs before I focus back
on the phone call.

“Ah, you’re with him as
we speak, aren’t you?” he says, all hushed intrigue.

“I might be. Listen,
I’ll call you back later.”

“Yes, you fucking will,
biatch. But wait, I have to ask you something. A friend of Clark’s has a
holiday home in Kerry, and we’re driving down to stay there next weekend. It’s
a long weekend, so we can chillax, have a little mini break from life. You
know, the usual. Lara’s mum’s going to take care of Mia for a few days, so
she’s coming, too. What do you think?”

“Well, it sounds great,
but I’ll have to check the rota at work. If I have shifts, I can probably get
someone to cover for me.”

“
Excellente!
Would you like to bring the sexy beast along as well?” Ben asks hopefully.

My eyes shift to Shane.
He’s put on some boxer briefs and is rubbing his hair dry with a towel. “I’ll
ask him. See what he thinks.”

“Cool. Talk to you
later, babes,” says Ben, making a smacking kissy noise with his lips.

I hang up the phone and
turn to find Shane watching me.

“So, what do you have
to ask me?” he says with a grin.

I narrow my eyes,
trying not to grin back. “How did you know I was talking about you?”

He shrugs. “Lucky
guess.”

I search for my
hairbrush in my bag and quickly fill him in on Ben’s offer. He tells me he
doesn’t have any shows that weekend, as there’s a traditional Irish group
playing a string of concerts, so he’s all in. I feel slightly breathless at the
idea of spending an entire weekend with Shane in the same house. If we do this,
we’d definitely be breaking one of my rules.

I vaguely remember
wanting to do away with all the rules last night, but the memory makes me too
nervous to keep thinking about it. I start to comb my hair, preparing to style
it into a braid, and Shane sits back down in the chair he’d been in when I woke
up this morning. He’s dressed now in a T-shirt and lounge pants. He picks up
his violin and bow, and starts to play another song.

I recognise this one as
well, and finally I figure out where I know them from. Both pieces are on the
Bohemia Quartet record I have. The one that lulls me to sleep most nights. I
can’t believe it took me this long to recognise the music. It sounds a little
different when it’s just the violin and not the whole quartet. There’s
something vital about the stripped-down version, like a person singing
a
capella
.

I’ve always thought
that if there was one instrument that’s most like a human voice, it would be
the violin.

I want to ask him who
he wrote the album for. It’s called
Songs for Her
. I looked up who the
composer was and discovered Shane’s name. He continues to play as I take out
some mascara and lip gloss, applying a little before putting both away again.
Oh, hell, if you don’t ask, you won’t receive, so I might as well ask.

“I have that album, you
know,” I admit somewhat shyly.

He pauses playing and
glances at me. “You do?”

“Yeah. I actually
downloaded it that first night you walked me home. I was curious.”

A pleased expression
comes over him. “And have you listened to it?”

I give him a sheepish
look and sigh. “Too many times, Shane.”

“Really?”

I nod and turn back to
the mirror, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. Then I speak up. “I
know you wrote all the songs, but who are they for?”

He gets a faraway look
in his eye and turns to stare out the window. “The answer to that question is a
little weird, actually. I wrote them for a girl I never met.”

“Huh?”

“I was in my late teens
and had just started playing with the quartet. Our manager had gotten us a
couple of gigs over in the States, and I was packing up all my stuff, preparing
for the long stint away. There’d been this story in the news for ages, about a
girl who’d gone missing. I can’t even remember her name, but I was watching the
news when her body had been found buried close to the Dublin Mountains.”

I’m hardly breathing as
I listen to him speak. My heart is pounding. I can’t function enough to form
words as he continues, “People had been talking about the girl for weeks. It
was a huge deal for someone to disappear back then, probably because the
population was smaller. She was blonde. She actually looked a lot like you,
Jade, which is why I was so struck by you when we first met and you took off
your wig. You had all this pale blonde hair, just like she did.”

Finally I find my
voice, but it’s barely a whisper, “So you wrote the album for her? The missing
girl?”

Shane shakes his head.
“No. When her body was found, it was all over the television stations.
Reporters were trying to get an interview with her family. There was a clip of
her mother talking to one of them, and her sister was there. At one point the
camera focused in on the sister, and I couldn’t look away. She wasn’t talking,
just crying silently beside her mum. She had all this crazy purple hair and a
tonne of eyeliner on, so it was all running down her face like a mask of
sadness. I’d never seen someone in so much pain as that girl. It made me want
to cry for her, made me feel so much, like I’d lost something as big as she
had.”

He stops speaking, and
I can’t move. I just keep staring into the mirror at my own face, watching as
tears slowly begin to fill my eyes.

“That night I composed
so much new music I felt like my hand might fall off. It was all for her. In
the morning I had to fly out, but I continued composing the songs over the next
few weeks. Up until then the quartet had only ever recorded covers.
Songs
for Her
was our first and only original album, and our most popular one,
too. I was so busy travelling to ever find out if they caught the person who
killed the girl. In a way I didn’t want to know. Even if they found her
murderer, there’s no happy ending to a story like that.”

My eyes meet his
through the mirror. “No, there isn’t,” I reply, no tone to my voice at all.

I can’t get my head
around what’s happening. First the painting he’d had of me, and now this. Is
this like some fucked-up version of serendipity or just a complete and total
coincidence? A consequence of living in a tiny city where lives can become so
strangely intertwined? I stand up and straighten out my clothes, picking up my
bag and throwing it over my shoulder. I might not have wanted distance before,
but I do now.

“I have to go,” I say,
not looking directly at him.

He seems to be lost in
thought, running his fingers over the body of his violin, like he’s trying
really hard to remember the lost girl’s name. He glances up at me then, about
to protest me leaving, but then he sees the look on my face and falls silent.