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I brought a folding chair onto the stage of the rehearsal hall because I wanted her to feel the music.

If I had taken her home and played it there, the magic would have been lost in the cramped space and limited acoustics.

She hasn’t said a word.

I finish packing my instrument back in its case, the entire time feeling Olivia’s eyes on me.

Once I’m done I motion for a stagehand to take it. He’ll carry it back to my office and lock it up.

It’s a treasured piece to me. It was given to me by one of my early music teachers. At the time I wasn’t tall enough to play it. I grew into it and its charm grew on me.

It’s not perfect by any means, but it fits me like a glove.

“Alexander?”

I turn to find Olivia on her feet. Her purse is slung over her shoulder.

She’s dressed, as any woman might be if they were coming to the symphony. She’s wearing a simple black dress, silver hoop earrings and black heels. My hands braided her hair.

I did that after our shower this morning before I took her to work.

“Yes?” I ask as I approach her.

“Is it always that beautiful?” Her hand flutters over the center of her chest. “Am I supposed to feel it in here?”

I rest my hand over hers. “If I’m playing it correctly, yes.”

“I had no idea.” Tears well in her eyes. “You’re so talented.”

I swallow, my emotions warring with each other. I want to kiss her, hold her, take her to my office and fuck her. I want all of it.

“Thank you,” I say simply.

She extends her hands, taking mine. “It’s incredible how much emotion comes through the music. You do all of that with your hands.”

I bring her hands to my lips, kissing each of her fingers. “Your hands convey your emotions too.”

She tries to tug her hands free, but I hold fast to them, resting my lips against them.

“You speak with your hands.” I smile wryly. “I don’t think you’re aware of it, but they move with your words. It’s fascinating.”

Her brow furrows, her nose scrunching up. “I don’t do that.”

I drop her hands. “You do.”

“I don’t.” Her hand swings in the air.

I stop it in place with my fingers on her wrist. “Point proven. You’re unaware of it. That’s why I love it.”

Her gaze falls to the floor. “Where to now?”

“You’re hungry.” It’s not a question. I met her here at six. Unless she ate dinner at five, she’s ready for a meal.

“Famished.” Her hand rubs her belly.

It’s another perfect example of her expressing herself without noticing it.

“I take it pizza is still off the table?”


Tags: Deborah Bladon Just This Once Erotic