The Piano Man Project (8 page)

‘You think so?’ Nell said, exposing the vulnerability beneath her excitement.

‘Er, hello?’ Tash said. ‘He’ll be like a schoolboy who found his dad’s dirty mag!’

‘I very much doubt Simon’s dad ever bought a dirty mag,’ Nell said.

‘Having met his parents at your wedding, I think you’re probably right there,’ Tash laughed. ‘It’s a miracle they ever had a child at all. I can imagine it now. “Sylvia! On your back in the bedroom at ninteen hundred hours precisely for intercourse!”’

Tash threw a wink and a sharp military salute at Nell, who shook her head in gentle rebuke.

‘They’re an established army family, Tash, they can’t help being straight-laced. They’re really very nice when you get to know them.’

Given his upbringing, Simon could hardly be blamed for his
safety first
default setting, and the idea of him wandering around the store looking at vibrators had made Nell brave enough to buy underwear she’d never usually contemplate.

‘I really should go,’ she said, tucking the lace back into its bag along with the vibrator.

‘You really should,’ Honey smiled.

‘The on switch is on the base,’ Tash said, tapping the side of her nose. ‘Just so you know.’

Nell rolled her eyes and got to her feet. ‘Jealousy is a terrible thing, Tash,’ she laughed, leaning down to kiss both of her friends on the cheek. ‘Adios, amigos.’

‘You know you have to give us a progress report next time you see us, yes?’ Tash said.

‘Not a chance,’ Nell grinned, swinging her bag over her shoulder and skipping out of the door.

Honey left her flat just before eight o’clock on Friday evening, lingering for a second outside her door to look at Hal’s closed one. Each day she’d picked up something for him, food or the occasional bottle of whisky, each thing a legitimate reason to tap on his door. He hadn’t progressed beyond opening the door for a couple of minutes at the end of their conversation to take in whatever she had for him. He’d grouched at her yesterday about treating him like her pet project, all because she’d refused to bring any more alcohol so soon. She’d shot back that he really ought to think about being more polite seeing as she was only being neighbourly, and that if he’d rather she butt out then she wouldn’t bother again. He’d muttered sweary things and closed the door in her face, leaving her standing in the hallway still holding the shopping she’d bought him in her hand. ‘I’ll eat these my bloody self then!’ she’d yelled at him, and he’d yelled, ‘I just hope they don’t need cooking!’ back as she’d stomped across the hallway.

Hal really was an angry man a lot of the time, but it was the every now and then that he wasn’t angry that kept her coming back to his door. She was willing to bet he hadn’t left the house at all since his arrival a week or so back, and she was almost as certain that no one had been to visit him. Why was that? How had he wound up here, arriving out of nowhere looking like he was hiding away from the world? There was something about Hal that didn’t quite add up, and Honey was intrigued enough to want to know more. Intrigued, and drawn to him in a way that had nothing to do with a desire to help out a neighbour in need and everything to do with the way clothes clung to his body, the rich, easy depth of his voice and the warmth of his fingers when they brushed over hers. He was borderline rude ninety per cent of the time, but the other ten per cent was worth waiting for.

The carpet in The Cock Inn felt decidedly sticky underfoot as Honey stood at the bar twenty minutes later. She was a little early, and so far anyone resembling a synthesiser player called Deano had yet to materialise. Alone and trying to look nonchalant in the way only someone desperately hoping their date turns up can, Honey ordered a large glass of wine and perched herself on a stool, barfly-style. She was halfway down the slightly-too-warm chardonnay when the door opened and a guy came in on his own, his eyes slowly scanning the place and coming to rest on Honey. If she were to be picky then his shirt was slightly too Hawaiian and his hair far too blond for Honey’s usual taste, but hey ho … she smiled and raised her glass gamely in his direction as he sauntered over.

‘You must be Deano,’ she said, realising that he was incredibly tall as she slid off her high stool and eyeballed his palm tree-covered chest. Tipping her neck back, she looked up as he looked down and found herself suddenly nose to nose with him.

‘And you must be Honeysuckle, my favourite flower.’

‘Is it really?’

He looked disconcerted. ‘I’ve been practising that line for the last ten minutes.’

‘Sorry,’ she said, and she meant it. She’d become accustomed to verbal rallying with Hal, and it wasn’t fair to Deano to expect him to fall into the same mould. ‘Shall we grab a table?’ The pub was filling up with Friday night drinkers and pre-clubbers as she headed over to a small table in the corner. Deano joined her a couple of minutes later with drinks in his hand.

‘I guessed at white wine?’ he said, placing a glass down next to her almost-empty one.

‘Good guess,’ she smiled. He was actually quite attractive in a Germanic way, all strong boned and blond. She needed to relax and try to enjoy his company.

‘So, Honeysuckle. What brings a nice girl like you to a place like this?’

‘A blind date with an organist called Deano?’ she supplied with a smile, hoping he’d relax and drop the one-liners soon.

‘Synthesiser, actually,’ he said, looking affronted.

‘What sort of songs do you synthesise?’ she said, knowing even as she said it that it was a ridiculous question.

He frowned. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

Shit. This wasn’t going well so far. ‘Look, I’m really sorry. That was a stupid question. Truth is, this is my first blind date, and I’m kind of nervous. Can we start again?’

His Hawaiian-shirted shoulders slumped. ‘I’m nervous too. You’re my first date since Selina.’

‘Selina?’ she said, already guessing that she must be the ex Tash had referred to.

‘My fiancée. Or ex-fiancée if you want to be picky, which if you were her you no doubt would, seeing as she broke it off.’

Honey cleared her throat as he picked up his beer and necked half of it. She watched him and couldn’t help but notice that he had quite stubby fingers for such a tall synthesiser player. She also couldn’t help but notice the hurt in his grey eyes, and she knew without a doubt that Deano was too hung up on Selina to be the man who would make her body and soul sing louder than Aretha Franklin in the bathtub.

‘I think it’s probably best if we agree not to talk about our exes on a first date,’ she smiled, swallowing a mouthful of wine.

Deano nodded. ‘Too true. Women. Who needs ’em?’

Honey opened her eyes wide. As things not to say on a first date, that was pretty much up there at the top.

‘Present company excepted, and all that,’ he laughed, recovering himself not quite in time.

‘So what do you do, Deano, besides synthesise?’ Honey asked, helping him out of the hole he’d dug for himself.

‘I work in accounts,’ he said, with a casual shrug. ‘Bit dull, but a good crowd.’ His face dropped. ‘Except Selina works there so I’ll probably have to, I don’t know, resign or something.’

Selina again.
He didn’t even seem to realise he’d said it.

‘As long as it pays the bills,’ Honey said, unsure how to develop a conversation around anything as deathly as accounting. ‘You must be good with numbers then?’ she ventured.

‘Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six are my favourites,’ Deano grinned and outlined an hourglass in the air with his hands, then dropped them slowly as if he’d belatedly realised that his best accountant joke was inappropriate for the occasion. ‘Er, sorry.’

Honey pulled her glass towards her, sneaking a glance at her watch at the same time. She wasn’t certain how much longer she could sit and make lad-chat about Deano’s no doubt perfectly curved ex without throwing the wine down the front of his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

It was just after eleven when Honey turned the front door key and let herself into the lobby. She hadn’t stayed at The Cock for last orders, because the more Deano drank the more morose he’d become about Selina, she of the apparently willowy skier’s legs and perfect rack. Honey had left him searching the jukebox for anything by Take That – he’d told her at least four times that they were Selina’s favourite and that she had a crush on Gary Barlow, who Deano would quite like to punch.

She tried to close the front door quietly out of consideration for Hal, although given their last encounter it was anyone’s guess why he deserved her consideration. As she tiptoed across the lobby, his door swung open.

‘Jesus, were you waiting up for me? You’re worse than my dad used to be,’ she said, letting him have both her annoyance in general at an evening wasted and her annoyance at him in particular for being so rude yesterday.

‘I heard you come in. Most people would’ve, given the racket you were making trying to get your key in the door. Are you pissed?’

‘Phhfft. Pissed off, more like. I was quiet and you know it. You were waiting for me.’

He leaned his shoulder against the wall, and the movement hitched the bottom of his t-shirt away from the waistband of his battered jeans. Honey noted the smooth line of skin exposed by the move, and the fine central line of hair that dipped into the denim. How was it that this man had her more aware of his body in two minutes than Deano had managed in two hours?

‘So, how was your date?’ he said, crossing his arms across his chest.

Honey slung her purse and keys into the glow of the lamp on the hall table, then kicked off her high heels as she moved towards him. Her mind was too relaxed with wine to stay angry.

‘Umm … it was … okayish?’ she said, and then corrected herself, standing close to him. ‘Actually, it was pretty shit. He wanted to talk about his ex-girlfriend’s perfect rack all night.’

Hal scrubbed a hand over the side of his face. ‘Sheesh. That’s pretty bad. She must have been an impressive girl.’

‘Yup.’ Honey pulled the artfully arranged pins from her hair and mussed it loose with her fingers, shoving the hairpins into the pocket of her denim skirt.

‘So what did you get wrong, Honeysuckle? Are you dressed like a nun or something?’

‘Piss off. I made an effort. I wore matching undies and everything, even though he was never going to find out.’

‘You mean your knickers actually say Friday?’

‘Ha bloody ha, Hal. No. I mean I tried to look nice for him and he didn’t even notice.’

She leaned against the wall, suddenly weary with the whole thing.

‘You smell good,’ Hal said quietly. ‘And I’m willing to bet you look good, too.’

Honey swallowed hard. Here he went with his ten per cent of brilliance, and here she went going jelly-kneed on him again.

‘I tried pretty hard,’ she said. ‘This skirt’s a twelve, and in a perfect world I’m a thirteen.’

She swayed a little on her feet, and for no reason other than her wine-emboldened hands insisted, she reached out and for the second time in her life, touched his jaw.

He let her, and then stepped closer and let her lift his hand and lay it against her cheek too.

If Deano had stripped her naked and screwed her on the sticky carpet of The Cock Inn he couldn’t have possibly fired off more sparks of sexual awareness than the simple touch of Hal’s palm against her face. Honey felt it right down to her bones.

‘A thirteen, huh? I didn’t know they did that size,’ he murmured, and she could feel his smile in her hand. It was a rarity, and all the more special for it.

‘They don’t, but I wish they did,’ she said, laying her other hand flat over the steady thud of his heart. She had no clue what she was doing. Instinct and chardonnay-lowered inhibitions were in charge of the situation, and she was close enough to Hal to know that whisky was involved in the equation too. He wasn’t drunk, but he certainly matched her on the scale right now.

She turned her back against the hallway wall and Hal moved with her, his body so close she could feel the heat of him.

‘Did Deano walk you home at least?’ he said. His hand was still on her jaw, and he let his thumb graze along her bottom lip, and then back again more slowly. Honey knew he must have been able to feel her holding her breath.

‘No,’ she whispered with the tiniest shake of her head, bunching the cotton of his t-shirt in her fingers to tug him nearer.

‘Not much of a gentleman, is he, our Deano. Did he kiss you goodnight?’ Honey could almost taste the late-night whisky on his breath, and wondered if he could smell the wine on hers.

‘No,’ she said again. ‘Deano didn’t kiss me, Hal.’

‘What a prick. All good first dates should end in a goodnight kiss,’ he said, and Honey closed her eyes as he lowered his head to hers and covered her lips with his own. Her arms slipped around his neck as his hand slid into her hair, cupping the side of her head as his mouth started to move, slow and warm, the hint of his tongue delicious against hers. She heard a low moan and wasn’t certain if it was hers or his, and moved her hands in his dark hair to hold him to her. Not that Hal seemed to be considering escape; his fingers moved restlessly beneath the edge of her top, scorching the skin of her back until she wanted to rip her own clothes off and feel his hands everywhere.

She was suddenly so glad that Deano wasn’t over his ex; so glad he hadn’t kissed her tonight, because then she’d have missed out on Hal kissing her breathlessly in their hallway, missed the sexiest couple of minutes of her life. He opened her lips with his own and explored her with his tongue, the hard warmth of his body pressing her into the wall as his fingertips massaged the hollow at the base of her spine. He tasted of scotch, and he felt like heaven under her hands. She learned things about him that only kisses can tell you. She learned that he’d be a skilled, considerate lover, and that he could kiss her in a way that made every inch of her body yearn to be naked against his. The man had skills that should be illegal. And then he took the kiss to a deeper level, open mouthed and so laden with pure lust when he licked inside her mouth that all she wanted was his mouth on hers all night. She pulled his t-shirt up and stroked his back, loving the way it made him groan against her lips. His skin was as smooth as silk sheets and as warm as fresh toast beneath her palms, firm and defined and utterly, utterly beautiful to touch. She wanted to touch him all over.