Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (33 page)

"Want to stop for a drink?" he asked when another slow song came on.

She didn't really want to. She wanted his hands on her, and this time he could let them wander wherever he wanted.
 

But she nodded. Maybe she needed something chilled to cool her off. Though it wasn't the dancing that had heated her up.

A few people clapped as they walked toward the bar. Not letting go of her hand, Max bowed and gave a jaunty wave. He signaled Sean, who came over with a conspiratorial smile. She was about to ask what was going on when Sean pulled out a bottle of champagne from somewhere in the back. "Specialty of the house," he said as he popped the cork.

"I never knew you served pink champagne, Sean," she said, studying Max as she accepted her drink.

"I'm testing the market," he said with a wink as he handed Max a glass. "I have a feeling it's about to become real popular. Cheers, guys."

Max faced her, holding his glass up. "To movement and melody."

"Movement and melody." Holding his gaze, she clinked her glass to his and then sipped. It went down cold and effervescent, the happiest bubbles she'd ever had.

Max leaned in. "Are you having fun?" he asked softly.

She kissed him on his lips, humming at the taste of the wine on his lips. "I could be having more fun."

His eyelids lowered, looking at her like he wanted to eat her up. "I don't have sex on the first date. I'm not that type of guy."

"But we've already had sex," she said so only he could hear. "And I hate to break it to you, but I'm not sure this is technically our first date."

He shook his head. "Those other times weren't official."

"What makes a date official?"

His brows furrowed as he thought about it. "Kissing, definitely."

She glanced at his lips. "We kissed the other times. Remember that night on my living room floor? Come to think of it, you wouldn't have sex with me that night either. Maybe dates are overrated."

Running a finger down her jaw, his expression sobered. "Maybe your other dates just haven't given you the respect you deserve."
 

Respect—she wasn't sure what that felt like. Charles had certainly never respected her. What did it say about her that she hadn't demanded that of him?

"Hey." Max tipped her chin up. "Whatever those thoughts are, stop them. Tonight is all about making you happy."

She swallowed, suddenly feeling so emotional. "I'm pretty happy."

"You don't look it." He frowned. "I need to ask Sean to fast forward my playlist to Pitbull, don't I?"

She blinked. "You even gave him a playlist?"

"Of course." He looked at her like she was insane. "You don't leave music to amateurs. Besides, this night was too important."

"Why?" she asked, looking him in the eye.

He touched her hair and said, "Because you're too special to treat casually."

Her heart began to pound, from terror rather than excitement. The last thing she needed was a complication in her life. She was done with anything problematic. Falling in love with a man whose life was in Los Angeles was the very definition of complicated.

As if sensing the shift in her, he tugged on her hand. "Let's dance."

Grateful for the change of topic, she followed him back out to their open space, but the fear of what he'd intimated stayed with her. So did the longing for another dream that couldn't possibly manifest into reality.

Chapter 8

His date with Eleanor last night had been one of the best dates of his life, probably second to the night they'd sat on her living room floor, talking and kissing. And then there was the night he'd held her hand as they lay on the grass and looked at stars.
 

Being with Eleanor was a lot of special moments strung together.

Max sat on his park bench in the center of town, next to the big oak tree, and took a deep breath. He'd wanted more than anything to take Eleanor home with him last night and keep her in his bed all night long, but he'd been conscious of Lily. He didn't want to set that sort of example for the teenager, and he knew Eleanor certainly didn't want to either.

He liked the kid. Since Lily had been grounded she hadn't met him here, and he missed their on-the-bench conversations. Not that he'd ever admit it.

Smiling, he took a sip of the cappuccino he bought at Tiptop and set out the paper and pencil he'd brought along. He closed his eyes and listened.

First, he heard man's symphony: cars zipping by, horns honking, and people talking. He focused and went deeper, isolating nature's music of birds and wind. The rustle of tree leaves joined in.

Then, softly, the way it always happened, it morphed into a new song, a gentle melody that rose out of air and gained strength the more he encouraged it.

He began to write down the notes as the seductive strain came to him. "A lot of strings," he mumbled as he wrote everything.
 

He recognized the music belonging to the symphony he'd inadvertently begun to compose inspired by Eleanor. It was all that was coming to him at the moment.

Not that he minded. It was the best music he'd ever composed.
 

This piece held all the passion and longing he'd felt last night. It held the hunger he felt to touch her and the ache when she wasn't in his arms.

He wrote the last bits of the song down and, sitting back against the bench, pulled his phone out to text her.
You busy?

Her reply was instantaneous.
Looking at a dance space. Why?

He felt an immediate letdown. Shaking his head at himself, he replied,
Thought of coming over.

There was a long pause before she answered him.
I'll come to your place in 20.

Because he knew he'd only pace restlessly if he went home to wait, he called his dad.

"How's your music, son?" his dad asked, not wasting any time getting to what was most important.

"I turned in the movie score." He let out a breath because he could hear his mom telling him to breathe. "I haven't heard back from Cohen yet, but it's the best I could make it."

"You aren't able to do anything else. Have you worked on that symphony?"

He should have known his dad would ask about it. "I just wrote another movement."

"Send it to me." And then he added, "If you want to."

Max grinned. His mom was big on free will and making your own choices, even when it was a parent asking. "You know I value your critique, Dad."

"I can't wait to hear it. When do you come home?"

He looked around the little village of Bedford Falls. "I'm not sure yet. The music's going well here, so I thought I'd stay a little while longer."

"Good decision. We miss you. Especially Carmen."

"Right."

"Underneath the tattoos and that eye makeup, your sister is a sweetheart."

Max snorted.

"Yeah, I realized I was laying it on thick," his dad admitted. "I've got to get to class. Call your mother. She worries about you. I love you, son."

"I love you too, Dad," he said, smiling as he hung up.
 

He finished off his beverage and took his muffin home. Eleanor's car wasn't in the driveway yet, so he went inside and put water on for tea.

She arrived pretty close to when she'd said she would. She came around the back and knocked once on the door before walking in.

She looked wonderful, dressed in a pair of blue capris and a pastel plaid shirt. She wore flats and her hair was loose.

Her expression, though, wasn't as sunny as the rest of her. Around her eyes she looked tight, and her shoulders were hunched like she was carrying boulders on them.

He held his arms out, and she walked directly into them, resting her head on his chest.

Rubbing her back, he said, "That bad?"

"I just feel defeated." She looked up at him. "I went to look at the dance space again."

"And it's not nice?"

"It's great, actually." She sighed. "Great location, and the space is large and bright."

"Then what's the problem?" he asked, confused.

"I'm not sure I can afford it." She pulled back, frowning. "It's a pretty steep upfront cost, and then I only have enough saved to cover the first two months of rent. It puts a lot of pressure on me to make a lot of money right away."

"And building up students takes time," he added. He leaned against the counter, watching her as he thought.
 

"What?" she finally asked.
 

He shook his head. "Maybe this isn't the way it's supposed to be. Maybe you should consider Anya's offer."

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Has she recruited you for her cause?"

"No, but give me her number and I'll call her."

"Ha ha," she said, not sounding amused.

Walking up to her, he slid his arms around her. "I'm only trying to help."

"I know." She sighed and wilted against him. "I'm being pathetic. I'm sorry."

"No reason to be." He smoothed her hair, trying to comfort her. "What can I do to help?"

She looked up at him with big, lost eyes. "Kiss me."

He did—gladly. He'd planned on keeping the kiss soothing and gentle, but it flared into the need they hadn't been able to act on last night.

She arched to him, pressing her body to his. "This is not a bootie call," she said against his mouth, her hand sliding under his shirt. "I'm respecting you, and myself."

"You're respecting yourself all the way under my clothes," he pointed out, not minding in the least.

"Because I'm respecting my feelings too." Her fingers strayed to the button on his jeans to unbutton it.

"Put your legs around my waist." He hoisted her up and held her there when she clamped her thighs around him.

"Your bedroom?" she asked, kissing his neck.

"Hell, yes." He carried her the whole way, kicking the door closed behind him. Lowering her on the bed with care, he stood back and gazed at her as he pulled his shirt off.
 

She laid back and began to unbutton her shirt too. "Race you."

"Okay." He undid his jeans and stepped out of them and his boxers. "Although, either way, I think we both win."

He watched her shimmy out of her pants, lying on his bed in her underwear. It was simple pink cotton but it had to be the sexiest lingerie he'd ever seen.
 

"You want to help me?" she asked, sitting up on her elbows.

"Yes." He knelt on the bed and crawled up to straddle her. The bra was one of those that had a clasp in the front. He slipped his fingers under the plastic, unclipped it, and pushed the straps down her arms.

She sat up and let it fall off before she leaned back again.

Sitting on his heels, he took a moment to look at her. His heart thundered like the percussion section of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. She'd picked him, and that wasn't an honor he took lightly, because he knew she hadn't been intimate with anyone since the man she'd married.

"Are you just going to sit there?" she asked, sounding saucy, but he saw the note of worry in her eyes.

As though he could possibly find her wanting. "I could sit here all day and look at you. You're perfection."

She ducked her head. "I was perfection twenty years ago."

Leaning forward, he raised her chin and looked into her eyes so she'd hear the truth. "You're still perfection," he said with all the reverence in his soul. Lowering his head, he kissed her to take away the words of denial, to show her how much he meant it.
 

One arm braced next to her head, he traced the curves of her body, taking his time to explore the hardening tip of her breast.

She moaned against his mouth, her chest arching up into his touch. Her hands gripped him, trailing down his back and hesitating a moment before continuing lower.

"You have nothing to feel self-conscious about," he murmured as he caressed down to her abdomen, sliding his hand under her hip. "I couldn't imagine any curve more enticing than this or any skin softer. I could stay here lost in you for months."