In the Rain (9 page)

"So
I guess it's safe to say you aren't seeing anyone," I said, rolling onto
my side so I could curl up against him.

He
stroked my hair, then kissed me on the forehead. "I'm looking right at
her."

I
lifted my head off his shoulder. "I..."

What
the hell could I say? I'd spent the past month trying to forget the last
relationship I'd been in, but that didn't
mean I was ready for a new one. There were still unresolved feelings—ones such
as my submission and how my mind went blank in Thayre's basement. Things I'd
subconsciously programmed myself to do, and the very same things I wanted to
forget. To escape.

"It's
okay," Thayre said, his voice as even as
before. "I went too fast."

"No,
it's not something you did. This, you...it's wonderful. I'd be lying if I said
I didn't feel the same way, it's just that—"

"Complications.
I get it."

I
sighed. "It's some crap from my past I have to work through first."

"Anything
I can do to help?" He propped his head up on an elbow.

"I
wish I knew. Truly."

"Well,
you let me know, okay?"

I
nodded and settled beside him. "The ink on your back, mind if I see it?"

"Not
at all." He sat up so I could look at the markings, then, pointing to the
one on his left side, he said, "Got this one in college. It's—"

"Angie,"
I breathed, tracing the neck of his beloved violin.

"I
guess it's better than getting a tattoo of my ex." He laughed. "Though
it was something that came up from time to time." He pointed to the second
design, of the logo I'd seen on the t-shirt he'd offered me the other night. "You
could say my music is my biggest love." He lay down and held out an arm so
I could rest my head on his chest.

"I
take it your ex wasn't too happy competing with a musical instrument."

"Hardly.
And it wasn't just the
violin either. She met me after I got uber serious about my music, but I guess
she figured it was a phase. Like she could fix me or something. I tried to make
it work, but when she gave me the ultimatum of her or my music, you see how that went."

"I
should've done the same thing."

He
furrowed his brow. "Is that why
you couldn't find your violin?"

"Something
like that.
I kept it, but I seem to have either misplaced it, or he got rid of it while I
wasn't looking. Apparently I sounded like a thousand drowning cats when I
played. His exact words."

"The
hell? He clearly has poor taste in music then."

"Can't
argue with that.
He refused to call what I played music, but he loved screamo."

"We
sure know how to pick em, don't we?"

"Sometimes
I wish dating was as easy as finding a good violin."

"If
only we
were so lucky. Then again, given how many instruments I have, I'd have a harem
by now."

I
laughed. "I hadn't thought about that."

He
got quiet then, and his eyes grew distant. With our need to touch one another
out of the way, there wasn't much else to talk about. It's hard to say how much
time had passed since our first kiss in his studio, but I was sure it hadn't
been nearly as long as I thought.
Good things never are.

"Have
you considered the possibility of playing with us?" Thayre asked, resting
an arm behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. "I wasn't lying when I
said you were the best available, and I could really use a first violinist, Ms.
Childhood Prodigy."

"Wouldn't
that make
things weird between us?" I sat up so I could see his face.

He
shrugged. "I don't think it would. If you think about it, logically, we
shared our passion of music first, and we'll always have that.
It can't be snuffed out. You may bury it for a while, but it always comes back.
Either when you're listening to the radio or find you have a song stuck in your
head at work. Music never leaves you."

"Problem
is, you can still leave your music."

"True,
but look where it got you." He shifted his weight and sat up beside me. "Please,
Moyra, I could really use someone like you."

"And
if we can't keep things professional? Besides, isn't it up to your manager to
find a new violinist?"

"I
am the manager, as well as the conductor and the producer." He grinned. "What?
I like multi-tasking."

"What
about your label?"

"Bought
and owned by yours truly."

"Okay,
but what about the other musicians you have? Isn't there a waiting list?"

"There
is, but not for the violin." He cupped his hands around my own. "Trust
me on this, you're the best chance we've got, and once they hear you—"

"So
that's
why you recorded me?" I set my hands in my lap and hoped the sudden
movement didn't undo whatever happened here tonight.

Sitting
up straighter now, he looked right at me. "Of course not. I told you, I
did it so you could hear yourself play, and so I'd still have a copy in case
you decided it wasn't for you. Jesus, Moyra, I only want
to help."

"You
probably should've thought of that before
taking me to bed with you." I snapped my mouth shut, but it was too late.

I
wanted to be angry. To argue mixing professional and personal lives was wrong.
Thing is, I wanted one as much as the other. Hell, Thayre could've invited me
along to do sound checks and it would've been worlds better than keeping my job
at Kimber's.

"I'm
sorry, I just need
more time," I said, wanting nothing more than to say yes if only to
get things moving again.

Fact
of the matter was I
couldn't forget the past three years, or how I might be taking this job away
from someone else—
someone who went to school for it.
Someone who had
kept playing.
Someone who actually owns her own violin.

I
sighed, and my shoulders dropped. "Even if I wanted to take you up on your
offer, I don't have an instrument."

"Not
as much of a problem as you'd think." He held up a hand. "No, I
wouldn't get it for you because, yes, that would
be favoritism. But, I could get it for you and deduct the cost from your first
pay."

A
violin against royalties?
I guess it made sense, but— "What
if I don't enjoy the music? You'd be out a player, not to mention a violin."

"True,
but believe me when I say that won't
happen. Right now I can tell the music we play and what you did earlier this evening
are so similar, you'll feel as though you're playing for yourself."

"Only
I'm not. I'd be playing for others. For the orchestra. For you."

He
bobbed his head. "You make it sound as if I'm offering you a job that's
worse than the one you've got now. You already told me how you feel about
working for that jerk. If you had a choice that was as beneficial moneywise
you'd take it." He took my hands in his own when I didn't pull away. "I'm
offering you the job you want." 

I
exhaled. He obviously wouldn't let this go until the dust had settled around
us.
May as well get this over with.
"Not to be rude, but I have to
ask. Feel free to ignore me. How much does a first violinist make anyway?"

"You
mean you don't know?"

I
shrugged. "When we were in school, sure. But I don't know what
your
violinists
make."

"We
may be getting too far ahead of ourselves, but let's say the pay is a lot
better than whatever you're getting now."

"How
can you be so sure? Is this per gig, or what?"

There
was that smile
again. "There's something you might not realize about
Transcendence
.
It isn't
just
 an
orchestra. Between the shows we play and the albums I burn our music to, we
make enough to keep things going. And we're still growing."

My
eyes widened. "All from playing music?" The idea of making a living
wage from something I once loved was unbelievable.

"Not
all music, no, but like I
said, we aren't any orchestra. Besides, do you think I'd be working this hard
if it didn't pay out somehow? This
is
my job."

"What
about the guys at the bar?"

"Additional
hands for stage management. The guys you saw with me the night at the bar are
Joey and Felix, both of which help setup and take down everything before and
after our shows. I cannot pay them fulltime of course, but we'd met to go over
specifics for the shows we have in a few months."

I
frowned. "Exactly how many instruments do you have?"

"Depends
on the song. Can range from a dozen to sixteen, but two of our pieces involve about
forty different instruments. And that's
not including the trance tracks I make in the studio, either. I guess I could record
various instruments to remove the additional support, but I always find that
live music is always better. While we're still on topic, stringed instruments
are only part
of what we do. There are also keyboards, horns and percussion. I have
considered a guitar as well."

"A
guitar mixed in with the strings?" I couldn't imagine.

"Oh,
like you
haven't heard of Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Ring a bell?"

"Of
course it does, but they don't have a full orchestra."

"And
neither do we—at least, not in the traditional sense. We're unique. A mutt if
sorts, stuck somewhere between music that's
orchestrated and show tunes. I don't have trance tracks lying around in my
studio for the hell of it. We mix everything together to create something more.
Something new. Like I said before, think rock and Broadway with a
hint of the classics. It's hard to explain, but that's why I have most of the
music saved in the basement. I can
show
you what I mean."

"I
may have to listen to it first. You know, before I agree to anything."

"Understood.
Just so long as I have your permission to share what you played with the rest
of the gang."

I
considered the terms of our trade for a moment. "With the lyrics?"

"Only
if you want—it's mostly the violin I want them to hear right now—until they
meet you that is."

"Now
we really are getting ahead of ourselves."

"Sweetheart,
for me, this couldn't come at a more opportune time. I need a first violinist,
and by the way you sounded earlier, you could use a break. Why not lose
yourself in your music and get paid for who you are?"

"I'd
need a few weeks—to make sure things stick."

"That
goes for the both of us. Tell you what. You let me record that song
of yours again without the lyrics, and we'll go from there."

I
nodded and settled into his arms. We stayed awake most of the night. Between
recording my track without the lyrics and listening to what Transcendence was
working on, neither of us could close our eyes without getting lost in one
melody or another. But like most
nights, sleep eventually stole me away, and when I finally woke, Thayre was
gone.

T
he
drive into work that morning
was uneventful. Half the time I hadn't realized I was driving, and thank God
for muscle memory, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten to work at all. Going
through the usual motions of the day, my thoughts were elsewhere, scattered
between my music, the amazing tracks Thayre had me listen to and everything that
had happened last night.

Long
after the embers had cooled, I couldn't help thinking he wasn't some other guy.
He was an old friend of course, but deep down, the way he acted last night pushed
me toward the same conclusion. Every time.
He's a Dom.
He had to be. And
if I recognized the traits of a Dom in him, there was a chance he'd seen the
submissive side in me.

It's
been said we can't ever truly forget who or what we are, and the same thing
goes for a couple and their dynamic. I swore to myself I'd never submit to
another man ever again, but saying and doing are two entirely different things.
If there was one thing I learned from Thayre's aggression and the way I acted
in front of him, there was no way I could ignore that part of myself for long.
Push it to the side, sure, but eventually, my submission would find its way
back.

Until
then, I was determined to bury it. Six feet under. And while I'd have no
problem keeping my submission hidden at work, the same couldn't be said for
whenever I next met with Thayre.
Keep things professional.
If he was
going to be my employer—
God, that sounded
weird—
we couldn't allow our sex, no matter how good, to
get in the way of his music.

One
relationship at a time.
Boss or Dom. One or the other.
Not
both.

I
cursed under my breath when one of the boxes of pasta poured open, dumping
dried noodles onto the stockroom floor.
For the love of God.
I returned
the box to its case and stepped into the kitchen to grab a broom.
You're
lucky you can manage your job as a waitress.
No doubt I'd have been a wreck
playing my violin in front of hundreds, possibly thousands of people.

At
least if I dropped a plate on the floor, it could be swept up and replaced. But
if I missed one note or, God forbid, if I hit a sour one, it would be a lot
more than the cost of plates on my hands. And as the first violinist, there was
no hiding my bad performance behind someone else.

I
swept the pasta into a dustpan and threw it out before stocking the shelves.
Quite
the mess you've gotten yourself into.
I could still get out. I hadn't said
yes, but would I regret it if I walked away?

I
already hated the fact I'd stopped playing to appease Bret's insane demands,
but this wasn't Bret, and it wasn't just me
playing the violin at home. What Thayre had asked of me was game changing. I
needed more time—and probably a lot more than he had to spare.