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When her body calmed, she rocked her head forward and gave him a lazy grin. “That felt good.”
He grinned back at her. “It did.” He pulled her forward to lay her head on his chest and ran his fingers up and down her back. “I enjoyed that a lot.”
“Mmm... Me, too.”
His cock softened and fell from her body, but he didn’t move. She wondered if he was going to stay the night, but didn’t have the energy to ask.
Eleven
Mark closed his eyes,willing the orchestral opening notes of Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto to come to mind so he could practice. He didn’t have rehearsal today and was enjoying a quiet morning of personal practice at his three-story townhouse in the center of Washington, DC. He’d left Abby a little while ago after she’d elicited a promise from Mark for lunch in a few days.
The concerto was ingrained into his mind and soul, but he couldn’t focus today and it was pissing him off.
He kept finding himself staring out the window and thinking about big brown eyes.
What the hell was wrong with him? He’d seen plenty of beautiful brown eyes throughout his career. Why did these keep haunting him?
Abby hadn’t done anything to help it last night. They’d had a great time together, had fantastic sex, but after, Mark had stared at the ceiling wondering about the woman in the metro station.
He plucked at the violin strings as his mind wandered. What had the woman been thinking while she listened to him play? What had she been feeling? It looked like she’d been as lost in the melody as he’d been.
People liked music. Many people liked classical music. Few were moved enough by a piece to lose themselves in it.
He felt it every time he played. Every time he drew the bow across the strings, part of his soul traveled down his arm and out of his fingers into the ears of his listeners.
So few ever accepted his gift so fully as that woman had.
He had to find her. He had to talk to her.
There were over half a million people in DC, not to mention the surrounding areas of Virginia and Maryland. How the hell was he supposed to locate a woman he’d never spoken to?
He should stake out the station and—
You’re pathetic, Mark.
Mark Pierce stake out a train station in the hopes of seeing some random woman again? What if she’d been a tourist?
He shook his head at himself. Enough daydreaming. He had a concerto to rehearse. He closed his eyes and listened for the orchestra in his mind once more, determined to get through the stupid piece.
Okay, it wasn’t a stupid piece. It was beautiful.
He wondered what that woman would think of it. Would it bring out the passion in her eyes if he—
“Argh!” Mark dropped the violin from his shoulder and shook it. What the hell was wrong with him?
No matter how many times he asked himself, he still didn’t have an answer. He carefully placed the violin on the couch and searched through his phone for his orchestral practice recordings. Maybe actuallyhearingthe music would help him concentrate. He located the correct file, connected his phone to his stereo system using Bluetooth, and soon the orchestra was playing in his living room.
After the first twenty-six agonizing minutes, the challenging third movement1finally caught his entire attention. His whole body engaged with the music. Hair flopped over his forehead, sweat dripped down his temples, his bow danced across the strings, his left-hand fingers flew faster than his bow.
He finished with a flourish and lifted his bow above his head.
He’d managed to put the woman out of his mind for a grand total of nine minutes and forty-one seconds—the length of the third movement.
More than he’d done all morning.
It was a small accomplishment. But an accomplishment nonetheless.
He frowned at his violin as he packed it gently into its case. He needed a distraction. Maybe he needed to burn off some energy. Because, apparently, the hours he’d spent fucking Abby last night hadn’t done it.
