Lesson in Romance. Harmony Evans
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Panic sluiced through her veins. Tommy had told her Alex’s schedule was clear for the weekend. They needed to spend as much time as possible on the lessons and not be disturbed. “Limo? What limo?”
“The one taking us to my home in the Catskill Mountains.”
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “But I thought I was going to be teaching you here, in Harlem.”
He shook his head. “I’d already planned to spend a long weekend in the mountains. I’m supposed to be relaxing, remember? I’m not changing those plans for anybody. Is that a problem?”
The reality of his words hit full force and a shudder of excitement went through her.
Alone with Alex in the Catskills. Where there were no taxis, no takeout and no escape? She was already a hot mess about being with him in his Harlem town house.
She wasn’t scared of him, just unused to being alone with a man she was attracted to for an extended period of time. Her dates were few and far between, and most of them never made it as far as her bed. Devoted to her work, the words sex and social life were missing from her personal dictionary.
There’s really no need to worry, she told herself. Alex was her student. She was his teacher. The lines were clearly drawn. Remembering how he’d looked at her at the front door, she, like most women, knew when a man was attracted to her.
And Alex Dovington most certainly was not.
The same could not be said for her.
It was difficult not to stare at him as he stood there, maddeningly out of reach, body cut and chiseled to perfection like a Renaissance statue. The man was off the hook, and off-limits, yet her eyes yearned to do what her lips could not—devour him.
His shoulders moved forward, snapping her back to reality.
“Sorry. I lost my train of thought for a second. That’ll be fine. I just need to run home and pack. I should be back in a couple of hours.”
He nodded, and she kept her eyes on him as he walked out. After he left, she grabbed her purse and dug for cab fare.
He popped his head in the room and she dropped her bag in surprise. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I was an absolute terror in school. My teachers hid behind their desks when I walked into the room. Fair warning.”
His voice was stern, but she detected a hint of a smile on his lips.
She arched an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll just have to get creative to keep you interested.”
Where did that come from?
Judging by the odd look on his face, he was just as surprised as she was.
“If you want to grab something to drink before you leave, the kitchen is at the end of the hallway. Help yourself.”
Cara waited until he went upstairs, and then drifted over to the little alcove where gold records ornamented the wall. Tucking a curl behind her ear, she gazed at the Grammy Award, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
Had she been flirting with him just now?
She almost laughed out loud. Absolutely not. When it came to devising enticing lines to attract the opposite sex, she got a big, fat F.
Passing the piano, her feet kicked something out of the way. Looking down, she saw a balled-up piece of manuscript paper that had somehow escaped burial. She glanced over her shoulder before picking it up.
Smoothing out the wrinkles with the palm of her hand, she hummed the melody. It was the tune he was playing when arrived. Smiling, she refolded the music and stuck it into her purse.
On her way to the kitchen, her smile faded when it suddenly struck her that there were no pictures of
Alex’s friends or family around, not even of his brother, Michael.
Every small room in her own apartment was filled with pictures, memories frozen in time. She cherished each one, especially the ones of her mother who died when she was nine years old.
Shouldering her purse and briefcase, Cara selected a bottle of juice from the fridge. Her mind wandered to Alex’s numerous records, the U.S. and European concert tours, the sold-out performances at jazz clubs across the country and the world. All were trophies to his artistic talent.
But where were the tributes to his personal life?
As she closed the front door, the last thing she heard was the faint sound of water spraying in the shower, reigniting her nerves. Soon the biggest challenge of her life would begin. She sank down on the stoop, leaned her head against the cold iron railing, and prayed.
Chapter 2
Alex shoved his cell phone into his duffel bag, leaned his head against the window and wished he’d never come back to New York. The gray waters of the Hudson River were dappled in the sunlight as his limo traveled north to the Catskills.
The nasal-knife voice of his publicist still rang in his ears. Word had gotten out about the tour. She was going nuts fielding calls from around the tristate area and as far away as Chicago and Los Angeles. Everyone wanted Alex Dovington to read and perform at their school. Local and national media wanted exclusive coverage and personal interviews.
What a joke.
He eased back into the leather seat and reached for the familiar green bottle. Tipping it back, he enjoyed a long swig. If they knew he couldn’t read the label of his favorite beer, or damn near anything else for that matter, they wouldn’t want him.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what would happen if people discovered his secret. He could almost see the tabloid headline:
Playboy Dummy!
Harlem’s Hottest Saxophonist Is Illiterate
The familiar anger rose within him and he gritted his teeth against it. No matter how much he’d already accomplished in his career, in some people’s minds, he would be branded as unintelligent. But he wasn’t stupid. He just couldn’t read.
True, there were some words he recognized by sight. Ones he’d picked up over the years just by living life. Women. Sex. Money. Music. Jazz. Bar. Liquor. Nightclub. Police. Beer. ATM. A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. Those were among the most important words in the world. At least in his world.
Everything else was a cloud of letters he could never see through. A jumble of puzzle pieces he could never hope to solve.
The cold beer felt like heaven raining down his throat as he took another long pull. He snuck a glance at Cara. If his teachers had looked like her back when he was in school, he definitely wouldn’t have dropped out in the ninth grade.
She sat diagonally from him, reading a newspaper, one slim leg crossed over the other. Her hair billowed out from her head and cascaded down her back in tiny spirals of brown curls spun with gold. He wondered if it felt as silky as it looked.
She lowered the paper for a moment to turn the page and Alex got another glimpse of her face, although the caramel-colored beauty of it had captured his mind the moment he opened his door and found her standing there.
His eyes roamed down the cream blouse and over the navy skirt, all buttoned-up and properly pressed. They curved down her legs, all the way to the peek-a-boo pump dangling from her left foot as it kicked out a sporadic rhythm. No stockings, he noted with pleasure.
Bare legs, one shoe half off, and the wildness of her hair stirred a crazy kind of longing within him. Hmm, he thought. Maybe she wasn’t all business, all the time.
An image popped into his mind. He pictured her lying beneath him, those gold-brown curls moving like waves over the pillows, her fingers linked with his as he plunged into her. Again and again. Gazing into those soft, almond-shaped brown eyes until they slid shut from pleasure and then—
Her shoe dropped with a