Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (28 page)

When he got to the end of all he'd composed, he let the music trail off. "That's all I have so far."

Her eyes were huge in her face. "That was amazing."

He nodded. Because she was amazing.

"That's going to win an Academy Award for Best Movie Composition, for sure," she said.

"That wasn't the score." He took her hand. "That was the beginning of the symphony I started last week. It's the best thing I've written so far in my life."

"I believe it. It made me catch my breath," she admitted.

"Want to know what I named it?"

"What?"

"It's called 'Eleanor.'" He ran a finger down her cheek to her chin, lifting it. "It's the music I hear when you walk into a room. It's the music I hear when I touch your skin. You inspired this in me."

Her eyes widened even more. He'd expected to see pleasure or something happy and flattered in her gaze, but what he saw was fear.

He didn't mean to scare her. He took her hand. "Eleanor—"

"Max, I didn't do anything except get you a tutu," she said, shaking her head.
 

"You did so much more." He lowered his head until his mouth hovered over hers, his fingers speared in her hair. "And now I'm going to help you. Let me, Eleanor."

The moment before their lips met, he wondered if Liam had been right, and if he hadn't fallen in love.

Dancing on a Moonbeam

Part 3

For Kati.

You had every reason to lose faith in people and love, but you still smile and laugh and hold hope in your heart. That’s courage.
 

You're going to find moonbeams—I know it.

I love you.

And for you.

Hold out for dancing and moonbeams and love, too.
 

It’s yours—I believe it.

Chapter 1

I'm going to help you. Let me, Eleanor.

Eleanor stopped stretching, just sitting immobile on the living room floor. Max's words had haunted her the rest of the day, all night, and since she'd woken up this morning.

His music had haunted her too, the beautiful melody full of longing and desire that he'd named after her.
 
So had the way he'd looked at her, as if no other woman existed.
 

She should have been putty in his hands. Instead she'd felt such a deep sense of panic that she'd ended their kiss and made excuses about needing to return to Lily.

In short, she ran away.

"Coward," she mumbled, bending over her leg to touch her toes. It was already less effort than it had been last week, but her flexibility was still pathetic compared to when she'd been a prima ballerina.
 

Of course, she'd been much younger. At forty-one, her perspective was different.

Which was why she hadn't been able to stay at Max's. Whatever they had going on—she couldn't call it a relationship, really—didn't work from any angle. She was a divorcee with a sixteen-year-old daughter and lived in Bedford Falls. He was a famous composer for film and lived in Los Angeles. She didn't know who she was going to be if she ever grew up. Max knew exactly what he wanted: a long-term collaboration with Duggan Richter.
 

Eleanor didn't know much about Hollywood, but she knew Richter was one of the hottest directors around. She also knew that Max was really good at what he did. The music he'd named after her would make anyone a believer.

That music had pierced her to the core.

The doorbell rang.
 

She stilled. It had to be Max.
 

Or her ex-mother-in-law. The woman had been bent on keeping Eleanor from opening her dance studio. Only Barbara had finally won, so she had no reason to come around anymore.

Getting off the floor, she peeked around the corner to the window in the front, both relieved and nervous to see that it was Max.

What could he want? More kisses?

She wished. She wanted them bad, preferably naked and in bed.

Sighing, she went to open the door for him.

"I haven't heard from you all day," he said as he bent to kiss her. It was a soft kiss, one that should have comforted more than anything.
 

But it agitated her, in a tear-your-clothes-off-and-do-something-foolish kind of way. In a throw-caution-to-the-wind-and-give-your-heart-away kind of way. Not that any of
that
was going to happen. She'd been foolish when she'd agreed to leave dancing for Charles; she wasn't going to be foolish over a man ever again.

Max didn't push it, as if he sensed her reticence. He simply studied her, faint concern lining his expression. "I texted you earlier," he said.

"I haven't looked at my phone." Which was true, because she'd purposefully silenced it and ignored looking at her messages.
 

He smiled. "You're avoiding me."

She widened her eyes. "Me?"

"I scared you yesterday, didn't I?" He tipped his head. "Think I can come in?"

"Oh. Yes." She stepped aside to let him in. She inhaled the clean scent of him, fresh soap and some sort of delicious aftershave, as she closed the door.

"What's that music?" he asked as he walked into her living room.

"My friend Anya, who you met at the bar—"

"Anya Rusokova, the prima ballerina," he said, nodding.

"Yes." Of course he'd remember Anya so well: the woman was beautiful, talented, and famous—just the type of woman Max should be with. She shook off a flare of jealousy. "Anya sent me the music to listen to. She wants to use it for her next show."

He faced her. "And she wanted your opinion on it?"
 

She shrugged. "Kind of."

"What does that mean?"

"Did you come here to interrogate me about the music I'm listening to?" she asked, crossing her arms and holding on tight.
 

"No, I came here to seduce you. The music just distracted me." He strode up to her and wound his arms around her waist, forcing her to open up. "Sorry if you feel like I'm interrogating you about the music. Occupational hazard. It's a nice piece. I can see her dancing to it."
 

So could Eleanor, and it made her feel depressed.
 

Max lifted her chin. "There's more to this than you're saying. Did Anya ask you to perform in her show?"

Her burst of laughter was spontaneous. "God, no. She'd never even consider that. I haven't danced professionally in twenty years."

"She must want your help somehow."
 

Eleanor sighed. "You aren't going to drop this until I tell you, are you?"

"Nope," he said cheerfully.

"She wants me to choreograph the show."

Max blinked, obviously surprised. "That's amazing. When do you start?"

"Never." She went to turn the music off. "I turned it down."

"It's the answer to everything you wanted," he said when she faced him again. "You'll get to be creative and dance, and it's what you're passionate about. Why would you turn it down?"

"I've never choreographed a big performance." Just the thought of it made her stomach clench with nerves. She could barely remember the dance steps—how would she ever string a bunch of them into something the Joffrey Ballet would put on?
 

"Anya must think you're more than capable if she asked you."

Eleanor hugged herself. "Anya is remembering someone who doesn't exist any longer."

The corner of his mouth lifted in wry amusement. "I have a feeling Anya is far from delusional. If she asked you, she believes you can do it. She also strikes me as the sort of woman who won't take no for an answer."

"That part is definitely true." Eleanor frowned. "I'm going to be too busy to choreograph this for her. I'm opening a dance studio, remember?"

His brow furrowed. "I thought your studio out back was shut down permanently."

"It was, but I talked to a real estate person about renting a studio space in town." She wasn't going to let Charles or Barbara or anyone stop her from going back to dance, in any capacity. She had to do
something
; teaching was the most logical.

Max looked puzzled by that but before she could ask why, he pulled her into his arms. "Want me to change the subject?"

"Yes." She ran her hands up his chest. "You said you came here to seduce me."

"I did." He smiled as he lowered his mouth to hers. "Lily's at school?"

She nodded. "She'll be home at three, because she's still grounded."

"That gives me enough time," he murmured against her lips. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the couch. "I might even be able to seduce you twice."

"Only twice?" she said, straddling his lap when he sat down.

"I was planning to take my time." He took her hair tie off and tossed it on the side table, shaking her hair loose. "Better."

She closed her eyes, sighing as his fingers brushed out her hair. There was a gentle reverence to the motion, as if every stroke was an admission of affection.

Her heart warmed to it, unwinding, feeling less tight than it had all day.

"Eleanor," he whispered.

She opened her eyes.

In his, there was awe and desire and something else—something fathomless and profound. He gazed at her like there was nothing else in the world he wanted to look at.

It should have made her feel tingly and good, but instead the panic she'd felt yesterday when he'd played the song he'd composed for her rose into her throat, and she felt like she was going to choke.

"Kiss me," he said, his fingers twined in her hair.

She did, wanting to, but also wanting the distraction of the physical affection. Hopefully his hands and tongue would draw her attention away from the unruly feelings in her heart.

Because she'd just gotten a divorce. It was too soon to fall in love again.

Chapter 2

If it hadn't been Saturday, Max would have climbed out of bed, brushed his teeth, and gone next door to ask Eleanor if she wanted to play.

But it
was
Saturday, and Eleanor's teenaged daughter was evidently still grounded and would, therefore, be underfoot. He wouldn't be able to act on his desires.

He had a lot of desires where Eleanor was concerned, and he had the feeling he hadn't figured them all out yet.

Instead of staying at home and mooning over his neighbor—technically his buddy Liam's neighbor, since this was Liam's house and Max was just using it for a working retreat—Max decided to walk to town.

In Los Angeles, where he lived, no one ever walked. As he strode down the street, he realized how much he liked this. No wonder his mom always encouraged them to go for a walk when they needed to clear their heads.

Not that he needed to clear his head, per se.
 

Although he did have things to think about. Like what he'd do if Eli Cohen, movie producer and all-around ass, didn't like the movie score Max had composed and just turned in.

Cohen had threatened to replace him with another composer if Max couldn't deliver what he wanted. Max figured there was a fifty-fifty chance Cohen would reject the music anyway.