Rhapsody (20 page)

He put out his hand, and Vera took it in
hers. "It's a pleasure," Misha said, flashing his most winning
smile. "I've heard so much about you."

Vera nodded, a smile on her perfect lips.
"And I've heard a great deal about you, Misha."

Her voice, he thought, was also perfect. Not
too little girl, but soft, cultured, with the slightest drawl. He
supposed it was a boarding school voice.

"I hope you've only heard glowing reports,"
he said with a wink.

"In fact, that's all they've been," Vera
said. "Glowing." There was a hint of amusement in her voice. "But
now that I've finally seen you, I don't know that I trust my
sources."

Misha laughed. "And why's that?"

"You're surely a little too good-looking not
to've been up to a little mischief making," she replied.

Sonia laughed lightly. "I think I'll leave
you two alone, if that's okay," she said. "I have to see about
Dmitri."

"That's fine, Mrs. Levin," Vera said.

"Yes, Mama," Misha said. "You'd better go see
what Dad's up to."

"I'll see you again before leaving, Vera,"
Sonia said, and then she turned and was gone.

Vera looked at Misha. "I hope I didn't offend
your mother," she said without conviction. "I mean about the
mischief making."

"I don't think so," Misha said. "She's not a
woman who is easily offended."

"I wouldn't think so," Vera said. "I mean,
with all you've been through over the years."

"I guess it does tend to ... to harden one,"
Misha said.

"Ummm . .." Vera looked up at him with what
Misha thought was surely a challenging expression.

"So are you in town from school?" he asked,
trying to make conversation. For the first time in his life he felt
uncomfortable in a woman's presence. He sensed that Vera Bunim was
not only beautiful but also extremely intelligent, insightful, and
worldly-wise. She was not, he was certain, a woman to toy with.

"Yes," she said. "I just finished studying at
the Courthault."

"So you're in town for a while?" Misha
asked.

"I'm going to be here all summer," Vera
replied. "Well, here and out in the Hamptons." She looked at him
again, riveting him with those icy blue eyes. "What about you?"

"Yes," Misha said. "I'll be here for the
summer at least. Then I'll probably start going on tour in the
fall. Winter at the latest."

"Oh," she said playfully. "So you're finally
going to let the world hear you?"

"Yes," Misha said. "It's time."

"I enjoyed your concert, by the way," Vera
said. "Immensely. It really was a brilliant performance."

"Thanks," Misha said. "I appreciate that
coming from you."

"Oh?" she said. "Why? I mean, coming from
me?"

"Because I'm sure that you have very
discriminating taste, for one thing," Misha said. "And since your
family has helped us so much—"

"Please," Vera interjected, "let's don't
bring that up. They were able to do it, and you deserved it. Case
closed. Okay?"

"Okay," Misha said. He was somewhat surprised
that she would want to sweep her family's patronage under the rug,
but he also was relieved. "Case closed."

"Oh, God," Vera said. "Here comes that old
dragon, Annabelle Lawrence. Let's make a run for it, shall we?"

"Sure," Misha said, laughing.

"Follow me," Vera said, and she turned on her
heel, rushing toward a door that led into a hallway. Misha followed
in her wake, enchanted and a little mystified by this
angelic-looking creature, who he was somehow certain was anything
but an angel.

In the hallway Vera turned to him. "Why don't
we go upstairs and talk? Is that okay?"

"Sure," he said, intrigued more than ever,
and beginning to feel a slight stirring in his loins.

She led him to a small elevator, exquisitely
paneled in mahogany, and they ascended in it to the apartment's
third floor. He followed her down a hallway to a door, which Vera
opened, and he went in after her.

The room was obviously her private domain,
with pale gray French boiserie-paneled walls, a huge, draped canopy
bed, an Aubusson rug with pale creams, pinks, greens, and raspberry
in it, a massive carved marble fireplace mantel, and French doors
leading out to a terrace.

"Let's go outside," she said, leading the
way.

Misha stepped out onto a lushly planted
terrace. Set under its enormous trees, surrounded by flowers and
shrubbery, were a table with a large umbrella, chairs, and chaise
longues, and under a canvas awning extending from the building were
sofas, more chairs, and a drinks cart.

Misha walked to the parapet and looked out
over the park. The city's lights twinkled magically in the
distance, like diamonds in the dark. He could see Central Park
South, his street, to the southwest, and straight ahead, the
majestic towers of Central Park West.

She came up beside him. "It's beautiful from
here, isn't it?" she said.

"Yes," Misha said, looking at her, standing
there so closely beside him. The wind, which seemed much more
powerful up here than down on the street, was whipping loose
strands of her hair about her face, only enhancing her breathtaking
beauty.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked. "A glass
of wine? Some more champagne?"

"You have some here?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I sometimes have a
glass while I dress for evenings out." She went to the drinks cart
and expertly pulled a silver-topped cork—in the shape of a tricorn
hat, he noticed—from a bottle of already opened champagne. Filling
two flutes with the golden liquid, she brought them over to the
parapet and handed him one.

"Cheers," she said, touching his glass with
hers. "I'm glad I've finally met the great Misha Levin."

"Cheers," Misha echoed, returning her gaze.
"And I'm glad to have finally met the beautiful Vera Bunim."

She smiled, and they took sips of their
champagne.

"It's odd," she said, "that our families have
such a history, but we've never even met before. Isn't it?"

"Yes," Misha said. "I didn't know what to
expect. I had no idea you were so ...well, so beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, meaning it. "I knew
you were enormously talented, and I'd heard you were very
good-looking."

She paused, looking out over the city, and
took another sip of her champagne. Then she gazed up into his eyes
again. "But I didn't know that you would be quite as handsome and
...
virile
-looking as you are."

Misha felt that powerful and unmistakable
stirring in his loins once again. Somehow or other, he thought,
Vera Bunim knows exactly what buttons to push.

"What did you expect?" he asked, cocking an
eyebrow questioningly. "A pale, skinny nerd who never sees the
out-of-doors? Somebody gay?"

"No," Vera said, "although there are some
nerdy pianists like you say and some gay ones, too. Quite virile-
looking gay ones at that. It's just that you're so obviously, so
definitely ...well . . ."

"Hetero?" he supplied.

"Yes," she said. "At least I think so."

"What if I weren't?" he asked.

"I would still be extremely attracted to
you," Vera said with surprising bluntness. "But I wouldn't bother
pursuing you, knowing that it would be a waste of time."

"You're a practical lady, I see," Misha
said.

"Yes," Vera said softly, "actually I am. A
very practical woman. When I see something I want, I usually don't
hesitate to go after it."

"A woman as beautiful as you are, with all
your money," Misha said, "could have anything in the world she
wants."

"Not necessarily," Vera said, looking back
out over the park. "I'm not going to play the poor little rich
girl, because I'm lucky as hell and I know it. But sometimes girls
who have my looks and my money don't get what they want."

"I have a feeling that you will," Misha
said.

She turned her intense gaze back on him. "Do
you mean that?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, shifting closer to her at the
parapet, brushing against the softness of her chiffon gown. He was
so close to her that her heavenly scent—flowery and sweet, but not
cloying—was intoxicating. He set down his flute of champagne and
slid an arm around her pale creamy shoulders, drawing her to
him.

Vera shivered at his touch, a thrill rushing
through her that she had never experienced before. It was a
sensation that she had somehow felt certain—had known in her very
being—that this man would arouse in her. She put down her champagne
and looked up at his dark face.

Misha looked down at her longingly, her
response to him stirring the heat within him. He took her in his
arms and began to kiss her tenderly, inhaling the sweetness of her
femininity, savoring her delicate lips, then exploring her
receptive mouth.

Vera gave herself up to him, lost in his
embrace, anxious to know this man. She felt his swollen manhood
pressing against her, and shivered again, almost gasping aloud.

Misha lingered at her lips for a moment
longer; then his mouth trailed to her ears and down to her neck,
devouring the taste of her, the beautiful creaminess of her. His
hands began to explore her breasts, slowly, gently, stroking them
through the almost sheer white chiffon of her bodice. They moved
down to her buttocks, pressing her against him as they both became
more feverish in their desire.

Vera drew back a moment. "Let's go over
there," she said, indicating one of the large white sofas under the
awning.

He took her hand in his and led her to the
sofa, where he took her in his arms again, then began to unzip the
back of her dress. When it slipped to the terrace, she stood before
him almost naked.

He drew in a quick breath. "You're so very
beautiful," he said. "So very beautiful and desirable." He took her
in his arms again, kissing her harder, ravenous for her body and
its secrets. He unhooked her bra and let it slip to the terrace,
then held her firm breasts in his hands, leaning down to kiss first
one, then the other.

Vera shivered anew, enthralled in the passion
that was driving them both relentlessly. She relished his tongue on
her nipples, kissing and licking, before he went down on a knee and
began to kiss her thighs, all the while sliding her panty hose down
with a hand.

When they were all the way down, Misha could
barely wait for Vera to step out of her shoes and slip the hose off
her feet. He gazed at her pale golden mound, then his mouth
inexorably found it, his tongue licking there, tasting her, adoring
her, and finally entering her most private place, exploring it in a
rapture of desire to have this woman, to know her as no other.

A quiver shot through Vera's entire body, and
she didn't think she could wait another moment to have this man
inside her. "Please," she rasped. "Oh, Misha, please . . ."

He quickly got to his feet and tore off his
jacket, then practically ripped off his tie, suspenders, and shirt.
He bent over, removing his shoes and socks, and then stood up and
undid his trousers. His tumescence sprang out as his trousers slid
to the floor. He was wearing no underwear.

Vera gasped aloud and reached out with a hand
to touch his awesome manhood, encircling it, then stroking it.
Misha jerked at her touch.

"Oh, my God," he groaned, "I've never been so
excited in my life." He eased her down onto the couch, where she
spread out ready to receive him, and he mounted her, both of them
in a frenzy of desire such as they had never before known.

He rode her mercilessly, and she responded as
she had never responded to anyone before, almost screaming as wave
after wave of ecstatic spasms rent through her, carrying her,
lifting her, to carnal heights she had only dreamed of before this
night.

Misha suddenly stopped and groaned, then
plunged in her to the hilt, unable to hold back any longer, almost
bellowing as he released himself in her, in torrent after torrent,
until his passion was spent. He collapsed atop her, hugging her to
him almost violently, never wanting to let her go now that he had
found her, already dreaming anxiously of the next time, and the
next time after that.

Vera relished the weight of his body atop
hers, the feel of him still inside her. She felt like a new and
entirely different woman, fulfilled and complete, as if some vital
missing part of the puzzle that was her being, her soul, had at
last been found and made her whole. And she was certain that this
was only the beginning, not the end.

"The Levin residence," Katya Petrovna said
into the telephone receiver in her thickly accented Russian. She
listened for a moment, then repeated the same litany she had been
using day after day.

"I'm sorry, but no one is available at the
moment. I will have to take your name and number and have someone
get back to you as soon as possible." She then began scribbling
furiously on a notepad in front of her on the desk.

"Yes, yes," she said. "Ciao."

She replaced the receiver and looked up from
the desk at Misha. Her beautiful face was tired, and her large
brown eyes were beginning to lose some of their sparkle.

"Call number twenty-nine this morning," she
said, brushing a tress of chestnut hair out of her eyes with a
long, red-lacquered fingernail. She puckered her full, sensuous
lips slightly. "It's unbelievable, this telephone. I don't have
time to take a break."

"Who was it?" Misha asked, staring at the
hint of cleavage exposed by the blouse she had unbuttoned as the
morning wore on.

"A conductor," she said. "From ...Munich."
She slid her notepad across the desk to him. "There's the
information," she said.

Misha glanced at it, then handed it back to
her, looking into her heavily made-up eyes. "Listen, why don't you
let the machine pick up for a while, Katya? Have a cup of
coffee?"