Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (24 page)

Eleanor shook her head. "Anya—"

"What are you wearing?" The woman pointed at Eleanor's shoes. "I love the red boots. Are we going dancing?"

"No."

"Yes." Anya looped her arm through Eleanor's and dragged her toward her car. "I'll drive. You navigate. We'll have a cocktail, and I'll remind you how talented you are at choreography, and then we'll live happily ever after."

She smiled. Maybe she needed to sic Anya on Charles's mother.

The entire way, Eleanor tried to convince her friend that the only bar in town wasn't going to be anything like the bars Anya went to in Manhattan. Bullheaded that Anya was, she gossiped blithely about people Eleanor had known when she was a dancer, distracting her except for when she needed directions.
 

They arrived at Mama's Crowbar, and Anya leaned in the windshield, staring at the façade.
 

Eleanor shook her head. "This isn't the type of bar you'll like, Anya."

"Why not? Do they have gin?"

She shrugged. "Probably."

"Then it's my type of bar." She got out of the car and sauntered to the entrance, not waiting for Eleanor.

Shaking her head, she hurried after her friend. When she entered, Anya was already at the bar, perched on a stool, flirting with Sean, who held her hand in his as he gazed at her adoringly.

Rolling her eyes, Eleanor walked up and took the stool next to her friend's. "Hi Sean."

"I can't believe it's taken you this long to bring your friend to meet me," he said without looking at her.

"Bad Eleanor," she replied, looking around the bar. It was later, so her dad wasn't at his usual spot. There were a few people from town that she recognized, along with a couple younger men shooting pool. At the booth in the very back, she saw Bernie, Robbie's grandfather, who'd owned the barbershop forever. She blew him a kiss when he looked up and waved at her.
 

A couple of Bernie's friends popped their heads up to grin at her, and then a younger head lifted from the top of the booth.
 

She gasped.
Max.

His eyes took her in, from the top of her head to the tip of her red cowboy boots. She'd worn her hair down, and tonight she was wearing skin-tight jeans. His bedroom gaze told her he liked what he saw.

"What are you having, Eleanor?" she heard Sean ask.

Max, hopefully later tonight. She turned to face the bartender, frowning at the fancy drink Anya had in front of her. "What did you get?"

"A martini. Very dirty, just the way I like it," she purred with a saucy wink at Sean.

"With gin instead of vodka," he told Eleanor, grinning back at Anya.

"Vodka makes me belligerent," Anya explained, taking a sip. She purred again. "Delicious."

Eleanor grinned. "I'll have what she's having."

"This is a pleasant surprise," Max said from over her shoulder.

She turned around to find him standing close. The way he looked at her, like he'd have liked nothing more than to be alone with her, made her both wary and happy at the same time. He wore a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, untucked over jeans.
 

How easy was it to tear a shirt open?

Anya whirled around on her stool, looking Max over too. Then her gaze flitted at Eleanor, and a sly smile curled her lips. "Eleanor, you're terrible. You've been holding out on me."

She sighed. "Anya, this is Max. He temporarily lives next door to me. Max, my old friend, Anya Rusakova."

"Hardly old, darling." She winked at Max, holding her hand out for adoration.

"I've seen you perform," Max said, taking her hand in his. "You were glorious."

Anya nodded. "I know."
 

Eleanor rolled her eyes. Then she separated Anya's hand from Max's.

Her friend gave her a knowing look before turning the full force of her presence on Max. "You're, of course, going to join us, Maxi. Yes?"

"No." He smiled, touching Eleanor's back. "I'm with friends tonight and don't want to ditch them."

She leaned back into his hand. Whatever it was they had going on might be temporary, but it was also nice, and she was going to enjoy every little bit of it.

"You simply
must
dance at least once with Eleanor before you rejoin your friends," Anya said with a sly glance at her. "I refuse to take no for an answer. Surely your friends won't miss you for one song."

Max looked at her. "Want to?"

Her chest filled with shivery anticipation. Want to? The thought of dancing with him brought tears of happiness to her eyes. "I haven't danced in a long time."

"It's like riding a bike, darling," Anya said, pushing her off the stool with one muscular leg.

Startled, Eleanor dropped to her feet, frowning at her so-called friend.

Who merely shooed her away and lifted her drink.

Max took her hand. "I guess we're doing this."

She let him lead her away from the bar. "There's no dance floor."

He shrugged. "We've got space."

The music suddenly turned up, and from behind the bar, Sean gave them a thumbs up.

"I revise my feelings about that guy," Max said as he drew her into his arms.

"About Sean?" She glanced at the man in question. "Sean's a nice guy."

Max turned her head back to face him. "You're supposed to focus on your dance partner. Haven't you watched 'Dirty Dancing'?"

She grinned. "Are you jealous?"

"Maybe." The corner of his mouth hitched up. "Stop distracting me. I'm having performance anxiety here. What is this music?"

She cocked her head. "Pitbull."

"Pitbull." He shook his head and then led her into a salsa that'd have put Mr. Worldwide to shame.

Eleanor looked up at Max in shock. "You dance," she said in wonder.

"And without the aid of a tutu."

She laughed.
 

"Music and movement go hand in hand. My brother Johann is really the one with the moves though." He spun her around and then led her into a cross-body step. "Nice boots, by the way. Wyatt Earp would have won the O.K. Corral in half the time if he had your red cowboy boots."

"Think so?"
 

"Definitely." He pulled her into his arms and held her pressed against him. He held her there, letting her feel the entire length of him, and then led her into a slow, sensual groove. "This is more my speed."

Humming in pleasure, she closed her eyes and let the simple joy of the moment fill her. He guided her in a rhythm that was a quarter the speed of the music but still in time. Of course he'd feel it—he was a composer.

The song ended, and she let him go reluctantly.
 

"I should get back to the guys." He gave her a crooked smile. "Thanks for the dance."

"Maybe we should try interpretive dance as inspiration for your movie score."

"Writing music isn't what dancing with you inspires me to do." He gave her a hot look that clearly said what he was stimulated about, and then led her back to Anya.

Her old friend waited until Max was gone to say, "You're holding out on me. No wonder you haven't had time to consider my offer."

Eleanor hummed noncommittally, sipping her drink.

"You aren't going to talk about him, are you?"

"Nope."

Anya chuckled. "You really are terrible."
 

Chapter 16

Usually when Max couldn't sleep, he'd sit at the piano and play a while until he felt still enough to go back to bed.

Tonight, he was too restless to even sit at the piano. While he'd been out with the guys, he'd received a phone call from Cohen. The message the producer had left was pretty much as agitating as one would expect. Cohen insisted on hearing what Max had so far.

That wasn't going to happen until Max was ready, and he was far from ready.

He heard his mom in his head.
Breathe, Amadeus.

Breathing wasn't going to help calm him down. There was only one thing he could think of that'd help, and he needed another person for that.

Only not just any person: Eleanor.

He paced back and forth in front of Liam's piano, trying not to think about all the things he could do with his beautiful next-door neighbor that'd exhaust them both into a deep sleep. He wasn't going to think about kissing her lips, or her neck, or all the way down to ground zero. He wasn't going to think of touching her soft skin, or hearing her sigh as he eased into her.
 

He definitely wasn't going to think of how warm and perfect she felt around him.

He rubbed his neck. Not thinking about that stuff wasn't working.

Stop thinking, son
, he heard his father say.
You know what to do.
 

Max wasn't entirely sure about that. Even though they'd already had sex, Eleanor wasn't someone to have a fling with. She had a teenage daughter—she couldn't just invite a guy over.

But he could invite her over to Liam's house.

No he couldn't. He shook his head. She was special, and he wasn't going to treat her like a quick fix.
 

The thing was, his time in Bedford Falls was coming to an end. Even spending every night with her, which probably wouldn't be possible given Lily, it'd still feel like it wasn't enough.

Not sure what to do, he took out his phone and called his buddy, Liam. Although he was known as a playboy, Liam had a code regarding women. He cared about the women he dated and always treated them with respect and kindness, no matter how short their relationship was.

Liam answered right away. "I was just thinking about you. How's work?"

"I'm getting there."

"You don't sound happy about it."

Max rubbed his neck. "Cohen's making threats about hiring Landot to take my place."

"That can't be good for morale." There was a rustle of paper. "Did halting the epic construction project next door help at all?"

"I've realized it wasn't the construction that was distracting me." He remembered the soft vibration of Eleanor's sighs when he kissed her, and his body strung tight, like an overly stretched violin string.
 

Liam hummed thoughtfully. "Well, it can't be your pretty neighbor, because she's married—"

"Divorced," Max corrected.

"Ah. Now it all makes sense." There were more paper sounds.
 

"What are you doing?" Max asked. "It sounds like when you used to do homework in college."

"Close. I'm reading a script. My agent and the producers think I'm perfect for the part."

"But you don't," he said, hearing the doubt in his friend's voice.

"I'm not sure. The script is really good though, and they've cast Joy Abrams for the female lead."

"And you still have some reservations."

"Let's just say I'm going to keep an open mind," Liam said. "Now tell me about your pretty neighbor."

"She's not mine," he said regretfully. And she was more than pretty, but he didn't want to point out Eleanor's virtues to Hollywood's hottest playboy.
 

"And that's the problem," his best friend concluded. "How far have you gotten with her?"

He frowned. "She's not the kind of woman you get far with."

"Do I hear the great Amadeus Ravel Massimo saying that he's interested in more than a casual affair with a woman?"

"No, you don't." He dropped onto the bench. "But if I were, what would I do? I'm leaving soon."

"Why are you putting so much pressure on yourself? Maybe you'll be ready to leave by then. Some women don't live up to the hype."

He thought about the joy on her face as he danced with her. "This one does."
 

There was silence on the other end of the line. "Max, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were in love."

"Fortunately you know better."