There were so many ways she wanted to find a rhythm with him – only a few of them musical.
“Okay.”
She allowed herself one glance, one moment to meet his eyes, and she instantly regretted it. He smiled, a cocky little twist of his lips like he knew how he was tangling her up in knots with each glance in her direction, and the air between them hummed. Min caught herself looking at his mouth, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth without even realizing she was doing it. His lips parted with a sharp exhalation – was he really affected by her eyes on him?
“Thank you for the book,” she said, forcing herself to look away.
He made a sound of acknowledgment, somewhere between a hum and a grunt. His fingers fluttered at his side, as if they were itching to act on their own, and then he turned and strode away. He grabbed his score and baton off the music stand as he passed, then flicked the baton in the air just once before disappearing through the door, calling back over his shoulder, “Tomorrow. 4:30. Don’t be late.”
∞∞∞
What was he doing?
Liam had promised himself – promised Noah – that he wouldn’t do anything to put himself or Min in a compromising position, yet there he was, waiting for her to come to a private coaching at a time when most of the building would be empty. The last classes for the day ended by 4pm and it was too early in the semester for evening rehearsals. By the time she arrived at his office at 4:30, they would likely be the only ones left in that part of the building. Not to mention that he'd scheduled this coaching after giving her a birthday gift and flirting with her – because there was nothing compromising about that at all.Idiot.
At 4:28, Min appeared in his doorway. His eyes swept her body, head to toe and back again. Min ran her palms over her thighs, smoothing the tight denim, before pulling her hands into the sleeves of her cardigan. The silk and lace camisole she wore beneath the thin sweater peeked out at him, daring him to remember the last time he’d seen her in that shirt.At least she wore a bra this time. His shoulders tightened as he met her eyes and she shrank a little.Dammit. He didn’t want her to shrink from him, but he couldn’t help the way his entire body tensed at the memory of their night in the garden.
Liam beckoned her into his office with a raise of his eyebrow and she scurried inside, carefully closing the door behind her. Min had been in his office a hundred times, but it felt like the first time. She stayed by the door, nervously playing with the sleeves of her sweater, as her eyes scanned the room. He did his own sweep of the space, cataloguing the things she must be seeing: the piece of painter’s tape disabling the motion sensor on the overhead light, a series of lamps placed throughout the room. The plush throw rug in the center of the room that concealed most of the dark grey carpet covering every floor in this wing. The collection of empty Starbucks cups that always filled his waste basket. The photo in the corner of his desk of his mother wearing an apron, her face dusted in flour as she kneaded a mound of dough.
He retrieved a bottle of water from the mini fridge stashed under his desk, downing half of it in one gulp. He offered her a bottle of her own, but she declined, her breath coming faster than normal. Her eyes kept darting over his body as she shifted on her feet, her thighs squeezing together.Christ. This was an awful idea.
“TheHoffmann,yes?” he said, his voice more growl than speech. He rifled through the stack of scores on his desk as he worked to calm his racing pulse. “I’m not concerned about the notes, Min. You just need to get the rhythm down.”
He rolled up his shirt sleeves as he talked before arranging the score on the top of his upright piano. He could feel her eyes on him, but he wouldn’t let himself look at her. The blood rushed in his ears as though he were underwater, and he forced himself to focus on the notes on the page in front of him.
“It sits in a weird place -,” she began.
He held up his hand, silencing her, and shook his head, his eyes still buried in the score.
“You’re not letting it go yet. That’s all.” He glanced up and smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. “You need to feel freer with it and the notes will be there.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and synced it with the Bluetooth speaker sitting on top of the upright piano. “You just need to find the pulse.”
The ensemble began playing from the speaker. Once she knew the piece better, he’d coach with an accompanist. But for now, he wanted her to hear all the parts, every note that made this piece so glorious and so right for her. He leaned against his desk, his arms folded across his chest, his long legs crossed at the ankles, watching her. Waiting. Min took her place at the music stand in the center of the room, obediently facing the full-length mirror on the opposite wall.
“Tap along,” he commanded.
Her right hand rose to the music stand and her fingers drummed along with the recording, her eyes scanning the score.
“Good. Now subdivide.” Her fingers tapped more quickly, finding the heartbeat of the piece. “Now, with your other hand, tap the phrase.”
She looked up at him, horror on her face as her fingers stilled. She struggled with complex rhythms – he’d read all about it in the notes from her juries last year. But she could do this. He knew she could. And he would be the one to show her. He shouldn’t like that idea so much – the idea that he could help her overcome this hurdle. That was a professor’s job, but his interest was not academic. He didn’t just want to help her become a better musician; he wanted to be a part of her music making.
He waited for her to comply, one eyebrow arched in challenge.Don’t back down, contessa,he silently implored her. The woman he’d met at the opera wouldn’t back down from a challenge.
Min took a deep breath and returned to her tapping, her eyes narrowed in concentration as they tracked the notes in the score, her lips screwed up to the side. After a few measures of her stumbling, he softened both his voice and his stance.
“Keep the pulse on the music stand,” he said, his voice low and kind, “but try tapping the phrase over your heart.” He placed two fingers on his chest, just below his collarbone, and tapped to demonstrate.
She moved her own hand to her chest, just below her collarbone, and tried tapping again. She grunted in frustration when she missed the next entrance.
He was on his feet and approaching her before he was even aware he’d moved. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “We’ll get it. Try again.”
Min shook out her shoulders and tossed her head from side to side, her hair swinging loosely around her shoulders as she shook off the frustration. He suppressed the groan that caught in his throat as he imagined wrapping that hair around his fist.
As she started to tap again, he moved behind her. “Like this,” he murmured as he reached his arm around her shoulder and placed his right hand over hers where it lay against her collarbone, tapping the phrase onto her fingers.
Slowly their tapping synced. The more it did, the closer their bodies moved, until his front was pressed to her back. His whole being responded to being surrounded by the botanical scent of her hair and the heat of her body. And then she sang.
“That’s it,” he said, smiling, high off the rush of helping her find the rhythm. “I’ve got you. Let go, contessa.”
