Read Online Boston Avant-Garde 2 - Crescendo by Maitland Kaitlin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maitland Kaitlin
Tags: Contemporain
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of the wood. She brushed her fingertips over the smooth, maple surface. The violin was as familiar to her as the face she saw in the mirror each morning. The only unique thing about it was the unusually bright color.
She closed her eyes and lifted it to her chin. The violin was the last reminder of a time when she still believed in silly things like loyalty and true love. Her grandfather had given it to her as a gift, but it had been stored in her father’s study with the rest of his most prized possessions. Breaking into the flimsy display case hadn’t been difficult. She’d been leaving home for good. She’d had no intention of leaving her grandfather’s gift behind.
Drawing her bow across the strings, she wondered if her father was still angry about that night. If he cared anymore, it was most likely the instrument he missed the most. The violin dated back to 1707. An Italian nobleman had commissioned Antonio Stradivari to make it for his favorite daughter. When she died of fever only a few months later, he’d called the violin “The Pretty Girl” in memory of her. It was one of only 650 original Stradivarius instruments still in circulation. Leslie’s father would never recoup the investment on his daughter. But he might feel entitled to compensation for the three and a half million her grandfather had spent on La Bella Ragazza.
Joshua didn’t like classical music. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect the discipline it took to master a hundred-year-old piece of music. He’d just never been moved by music he’d always considered prissy.
Until he’d heard Leslie.
Music filled the hallway between the elevator and their front door. Blood rushed through his veins, lifting the hair on the back of his neck. He fumbled for his keys with shaking fingers, finally managing to open the door. Half a dozen paces away, Leslie played in a patch of sunlight.
He groaned, but the guttural sound was lost in her melody. Arousal swept him like a storm. His cock pushed painfully against his slacks, hard as iron and longing to end his self-imposed denial. He wanted this woman with every fiber of his being.
She stood on the hardwood floor with her bare feet braced slightly apart, her back straight, and her head tilted against the instrument. Her hair trailed over her shoulder in a silken curtain. Her breasts moved in concert with each stroke of the bow. He longed to take them each in his hands and taste their sweetness.
Her eyes were closed, her face utterly at peace. He was struck by the overwhelming urge to prolong that feeling for her, to protect her. Was this what Seth had sensed? Was this the reason he believed the three of them could somehow forge a relationship from the scattered pieces of their lives?
Arching her back, she played a long, vibrating note that jolted Joshua to the core of his very soul. She sustained the tone for a moment, finally bringing it to a close and lowering the instrument.
Seth shouldered his way through the door. “Don’t stop. I love that piece. It’s Vivaldi, right?”
Leslie spun around; a pretty blush colored her cheekbones. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the door. I guess I didn’t think you guys would be home this early.” She fiddled with her bow before setting both it and the violin aside.
Something snapped inside Joshua. It was the way Seth looked at her—as if his whole world was complete the moment she was in it. Joshua had no right to hinder whatever feelings his best friend had for this woman.
In fact, the two of them looked as if they were resisting the urge to attack each other. An unexpected jab of jealousy caught him by surprise. He’d never been jealous of Seth before. Never. Jealousy had no place in their lives. What was it about Leslie that shook his equilibrium?
Seth reached out and snagged her hand. Pulling her into his arms, he pressed a kiss to her temple. Joshua was intrigued by her bewildered expression. She was stiff at first, but it didn’t last.
She closed her eyes and lifted it to her chin. The violin was the last reminder of a time when she still believed in silly things like loyalty and true love. Her grandfather had given it to her as a gift, but it had been stored in her father’s study with the rest of his most prized possessions. Breaking into the flimsy display case hadn’t been difficult. She’d been leaving home for good. She’d had no intention of leaving her grandfather’s gift behind.
Drawing her bow across the strings, she wondered if her father was still angry about that night. If he cared anymore, it was most likely the instrument he missed the most. The violin dated back to 1707. An Italian nobleman had commissioned Antonio Stradivari to make it for his favorite daughter. When she died of fever only a few months later, he’d called the violin “The Pretty Girl” in memory of her. It was one of only 650 original Stradivarius instruments still in circulation. Leslie’s father would never recoup the investment on his daughter. But he might feel entitled to compensation for the three and a half million her grandfather had spent on La Bella Ragazza.
Joshua didn’t like classical music. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect the discipline it took to master a hundred-year-old piece of music. He’d just never been moved by music he’d always considered prissy.
Until he’d heard Leslie.
Music filled the hallway between the elevator and their front door. Blood rushed through his veins, lifting the hair on the back of his neck. He fumbled for his keys with shaking fingers, finally managing to open the door. Half a dozen paces away, Leslie played in a patch of sunlight.
He groaned, but the guttural sound was lost in her melody. Arousal swept him like a storm. His cock pushed painfully against his slacks, hard as iron and longing to end his self-imposed denial. He wanted this woman with every fiber of his being.
She stood on the hardwood floor with her bare feet braced slightly apart, her back straight, and her head tilted against the instrument. Her hair trailed over her shoulder in a silken curtain. Her breasts moved in concert with each stroke of the bow. He longed to take them each in his hands and taste their sweetness.
Her eyes were closed, her face utterly at peace. He was struck by the overwhelming urge to prolong that feeling for her, to protect her. Was this what Seth had sensed? Was this the reason he believed the three of them could somehow forge a relationship from the scattered pieces of their lives?
Arching her back, she played a long, vibrating note that jolted Joshua to the core of his very soul. She sustained the tone for a moment, finally bringing it to a close and lowering the instrument.
Seth shouldered his way through the door. “Don’t stop. I love that piece. It’s Vivaldi, right?”
Leslie spun around; a pretty blush colored her cheekbones. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the door. I guess I didn’t think you guys would be home this early.” She fiddled with her bow before setting both it and the violin aside.
Something snapped inside Joshua. It was the way Seth looked at her—as if his whole world was complete the moment she was in it. Joshua had no right to hinder whatever feelings his best friend had for this woman.
In fact, the two of them looked as if they were resisting the urge to attack each other. An unexpected jab of jealousy caught him by surprise. He’d never been jealous of Seth before. Never. Jealousy had no place in their lives. What was it about Leslie that shook his equilibrium?
Seth reached out and snagged her hand. Pulling her into his arms, he pressed a kiss to her temple. Joshua was intrigued by her bewildered expression. She was stiff at first, but it didn’t last.
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