Killing Me Softly, page 7
‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
Lexi grasped her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking and endeavoured to sound natural. ‘No, it’s okay. You just startled me. I didn’t hear you come in.’
The amusement on his face was disarming. ‘You wouldn’t have noticed if the ceiling fell around you.’ He sat beside her at the piano and ran his hands along the keys. ‘I know that feeling myself.’
She coughed, edged away from him. ‘I didn’t expect anyone to be up this late.’
‘No-one else is. Just me.’
His eyes were vibrant blue in the semi-dark room. She could feel his gaze like a touch as it skimmed over her face, came back to her eyes, remained there. How could it feel as if he were drinking her in? She cleared her throat, shifted, tore her gaze away. ‘I like to come down here at this time of the night. I like the quiet. I can work without being disturbed.’
He laughed at her gentle barb, the sound sliding up and down her spine. She stood up abruptly. ‘How come you’re up at this hour?’ She sounded defiant, almost annoyed, but she couldn’t help it. He’d thrown her with his presence.
‘Same as you. I often work at this time of night. Can’t sleep, so I might as well do something productive. If I stay in bed I get angry with myself and start to worry about all sorts of things.’
He looked up at her with those searching eyes. Crossing her arms, she stepped back, chin rising. But before she could think of something to say, he turned to the piano, his long fingers picking out a tune.
No, not a tune - the basic melody of what she’d just written!
He turned to the music in front of him and began to play in earnest. The music soared around her, filling up the small studio with the resounding tones of the piano.
She wanted him to stop. Listening to him play her music created an intimacy she wasn’t ready for. She was reminded of that old song, ‘Killing me Softly’. He played her deepest thoughts and feelings, everything laid bare. She should stop him. He already looked at her with a gaze that pierced too deep. And yet, she couldn’t stop him. Under his fingers, her music sang to her in a way it never had before. The feelings of loss and loneliness were there, but they didn’t overwhelm. Within the refrain, she also heard a resilience and strength she’d never acknowledged. The music said, ‘keep going, show no fear’.
That was what she’d done. That was who she was. His interpretation brought out that strength.
The final notes tumbled to an end, vibrating with a deep resonance from within the polished mahogany piano case.
As she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trying not to feel the music within her chest, around her heart, Daemon turned to her.
‘That was beautiful. What do you call it?’
Lexi pulled the sheets off the stand, thrusting them into the music folder she kept on a shelf beside the piano. The sheets rustled as her hands fumbled with the folder. She bit her lip. ‘Nothing. I might not even keep it.’
He stood up and took the folder from her trembling hands, slotting it smoothly on the shelf among the other folders and books of music. ‘You have to. That music is you. You can’t throw all that away.’
‘I’ll do what I want.’
Daemon watched as she edged away from him again. She vibrated with tension, her emotions so close to the edge. One small push and she would snap. He’d noticed it the first time they’d met. She kept herself so tightly constrained, he wondered how she could get through the day without succumbing to exhaustion. Now he knew. She poured everything into her music, and he’d unwittingly encroached on that private space.
‘You know, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. I pour myself into my music, too. The only difference between us is that the public get to hear it, so I’m kind of an open book. But I find that’s cathartic.’
‘Well, bully for you,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not the exhibitionist you are. My music is extremely private and personal. I don’t share with anyone.’
‘Thank you for sharing with me then. I’m flattered.’
‘Don’t be. It wasn’t intentional.’ She turned to walk away but he reached out and grabbed her arm. She visibly flinched. ‘Let go of me.’
He let go, surprised by her reaction. ‘I’m sorry I made you angry. I just wanted you to know how much your music touched me. I knew you were a talented producer, but I had no idea you were such a talented composer.’
She looked up into his eyes, a puzzled frown on her brow. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘“Thank you” is the usual response.’
She blushed. ‘Thank you.’
His smile echoed back at him in the slight upward twitch of her lips. He got the feeling she didn’t smile or laugh very much. He would bet it had something to do with whatever had happened to her sister.
‘Look, Alexia, I think we got off on the wrong foot. We’re going to be working together and I’d prefer for us to get along. Can we start over?’
She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze piercing, as if searching for a hidden agenda. He kept his expression even and friendly.
After a long, tense moment, she nodded. ‘Agreed.’
‘Great. Why don’t we have a coffee and talk about our plans for the album?’
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to wait until Craig and Phil are here too?’
‘They always leave the details to Nigel and me,’ he answered, walking out of the studio, knowing she’d have to follow.
As she entered the kitchen behind him, he turned. ‘Tea or coffee?’ He walked over, put on the kettle and started searching through the cupboards but didn’t miss her surprised expression. He knew she probably thought he was incapable of getting anything for himself, let alone for someone else – musicians often behaved like unyielding egotists. He’d have to disabuse her of that notion. He opened the pantry and grabbed a jar of biscuits labelled ‘Bev’s Favourites’. ‘Would you like some biscuits to go with your . . .?’
The pause lasted for a long four seconds before she snapped out of her confusion and said, ‘Tea. And yes please.’
Behind them the kettle started whistling. He set out the cups while she got the milk. A few moments later they were sitting on the sofas with their drinks. He took a biscuit off the plate and bit, mumbling in pleasure at the burst of flavour. ‘Bev should sell these.’
‘She does.’
He looked at her in surprise.
‘She sells them at the local market and craft fair every second Sunday. People come from miles away to buy them. The grocer in Fellhaven – the local village – also sells them when Bev has time to make a large batch.’
‘I’m surprised she hasn’t gone into business.’
‘She doesn’t want to. It’s just a hobby.’
‘Well I’m happy to help her indulge her hobby.’
‘As are we all.’ She sipped her tea, hands wrapped around the hot mug, watching him as if he were some curious animal she’d never seen before.
He sat back, ankle over knee, arm lying casually along the back of the sofa, and had to suppress a smile as her gaze darted down to his chest, flitted across his arm to pause on the hand holding his mug. Even though this was her studio, he felt more at home than she looked. She fidgeted, leaning back into the soft cushions of the sofa, as if trying out his pose, and crossed then uncrossed her legs before completely rearranging herself by tucking her feet under her.
‘What does your tattoo mean?’ she asked, gesturing to the one on his wrist.
‘It’s Celtic for Brotherhood of the Sidhe. We all have one. A kind of blood oath.’
‘Oh?’ She sipped her tea, shifted again.
To hide his smile, he pursed his lips, blowing on his coffee before taking a sip.
As the steam rose upward in an enticing curl, she shivered. Wetting her lips with her tongue, her gaze darted away. ‘How are you settling in?’
‘Good. Great. Everything’s very comfortable. As good as home, actually.’ He sat forward, leaning his arms on his thighs as he spoke. ‘The boys are relieved they won’t be travelling for a while and I know Melissa is treating the place like home; you know, eat a home-cooked meal, do the domestic goddess thing. She’s in nesting mode at the moment, being pregnant and all.’
‘How far along is she?’
‘Only four months and she’s not even showing or been sick or anything. If it wasn’t for Phil treating her as if she were porcelain, you wouldn’t be able to tell.’ He chuckled. ‘They had a fight this afternoon because when she saw the stables, she said she wanted to go for a ride and he wouldn’t have it. I’ve never seen Phil look so fierce. He’s usually the easygoing one. But I bet Lis will get her way.’
‘I look forward to meeting them both.’ She swallowed hard and looked away. ‘Now, we should talk about work.’
Daemon wanted to protest. He’d answered her questions, given her information about himself and the band and before he could ask her anything personal, she’d pulled her business persona over her like a cloak. It was maddening.
He itched to know more about her, and not from Nigel. Why couldn’t she open up to him, even a little? She’d probably read all about him by now, especially lately. But even if Darla hadn’t spilled his secrets to the press, Alexia would have heard his triumphs and failures in his music. Any gaps left had probably been filled in by Billy and Craig.
So, wasn’t it only fair he found out about her? Quid pro quo and all that.
And why was he questioning himself about this? Was this guilt about going behind her back? He shrugged off the nasty thought, ignored the bitter aftertaste. If cosy middle-of-the-night discussions with her did this to him, he’d better avoid them in the future.
‘ . . . in my experience that’s always the case. Is that all right by you?’
He had no idea what she’d said. ‘That sounds fine to me.’
‘Good. So the mornings will be for personal time and we’ll work in the afternoons and into the evenings. I insist on having good breaks. No one does their best work when they’re overworked and tired. If I say it’s time for a break then that’s what we do.’ She looked at him as if expecting him to argue.
Daemon smiled slowly. ‘You’re the boss.’
She sat back and looked at him, and he could see uncertainty flicker in her eyes. ‘That’s right. I am. I’m glad you agree.’
Even though he’d asked to start over and had determined not to antagonise her again, the devil seemed to have taken over him suddenly. Frustration riding him, he tipped his head, gaze taking a slow, precise wander down then back up her body before settling on her face, just as she had done to him before.
‘Now, is there anything else you need from me?’ She bit her lip.
She couldn’t possibly know how sexy she looked. Or maybe she did. The thought made him want to rile her even more. ‘Not right now. Maybe later.’
She stood, her face flushing. ‘I’m not one of your groupies, Daemon. If you try to treat me like one, our working relationship will come to a short, sharp end.’
She marched off but he couldn’t make himself stop her, even though he knew he should to apologise.
God! What was wrong with him that he had to act like a completely irrational dick around her?
No. It wasn’t him. Alexia was the problem here. He still couldn’t figure her out.
She was full of contradictions. Her movements weren’t seductive, yet there was something in her manner that drew a man’s eye. Sober and serious seemed to be her main demeanour, yet in the right company he was sure she had a wicked sense of humour. She was secretive about anything personal, and yet her music was unfailingly honest and open. And boy, had she hated the fact he’d seen that part of her! Almost as if she was afraid he could hurt her just by knowing a little of what she held inside.
He had never met someone who could shut down and withdraw as quickly as she could.
Musicians were usually far more emotional.
She was a mystery. He shook his head. He didn’t like it.
Thank Christ Nigel had called this morning and told him he’d found out some interesting things about Alexia and her sister. He hadn’t wanted to elaborate over the phone but said he’d come out on the weekend with Lyall. The only problem was, Daemon didn’t know if he could wait. He’d barely slept in the past two weeks, worrying over it. He’d hoped Nigel would come up with the goods before they started work.
The weekend couldn’t come fast enough.
Yawning, he looked at the clock and realised he’d been up nearly the entire night. He rose from the couch, washed up their mugs and headed out of the studio. It was still dark, but a faint glow peeped over the hills in the distance. A bird chirruped, greeting the coming day.
Daemon stood at the door of the studio and watched night’s shadow lift its dark hand from the land. He could see outlines of trees and fences, the pastures dotted with horses, long-haired cattle and sheep. The sun rose in the sky, a pink glow sending distorted shadows across the land. A bird flew from the eaves of the studio and out over the main house. Following its passage, his eyes settled on a lone figure standing on the flat rooftop of the castle-like structure, leaning against a crenel. Even though he couldn’t see much more than her outline, he knew it was Alexia.
He moved forward, staying in the shadow of the building behind him.
As the sun climbed higher, her features were touched by the golden glow. She wiped her face. Was she crying? Had he made her cry? She stood, her face bathed a golden orange by the sunrise.
She looked so alone. Just like him.
He curled his fingers into his palm at the thought. As the pink faded into a yellow glow and light blue tinged the sky, she turned and walked away.
Daemon stared at the place she’d been, a hot burn building inside.
Chapter 6
He watched from the shadows as Daemon turned away. He’d almost been caught out when Daemon had come out of the studio. What the hell was the Irish bastard doing in there in the middle of the night? Did the man never sleep?
But in the end, almost being caught had worked in his favour. He’d seen her! And she was becoming just as fragile as he’d hoped.
Lyndon had told him the Lord was on his side and Lyndon never lied. This was proof. The whore would soon be his.
Turning away, he began to smile. He couldn’t wait.
Chapter 7
The alarm rang shrilly in the quiet room. Lexi groaned, reached out to hit the off button. Opening bleary eyes she stared at the clock face. Six-thirty. Time to get up. She rubbed at her aching head, then slumped back on the pillow. She’d been working stupid hours over the last few days since the band arrived in an attempt to stop the dreams. Exhaustion usually worked.
And it had. Kind of.
The nightmares had lessened but had been replaced with a different kind of dream. All featuring an annoying Irishman. She wasn’t quite sure what was worse – to be haunted by violent dreams of what she’d felt of Cat’s trauma or to lose control of herself time and time again to Daemon in her dreams.
Closing her eyes against the dawn light filtering in through the curtains, she thought maybe she just needed a few more minutes of shut-eye. Surely five minutes more wouldn’t hurt? She burrowed into the comforting warmth of her bed with a little sigh. Darkness folded over her as consciousness slipped away. She floated for a moment, a lovely sense of serenity and peace covering her like a warm blanket – or a lover’s caress.
A lover’s caress . . .
BEEP . . . BEEP . . . BEEP.
Lexi rolled over with a groan as she slammed her hand against the alarm clock. Breathing heavily, she fell back on to her pillows. She felt so . . . so . . . unfulfilled? No, that wasn’t quite right. She felt empty, her body full of unwanted flutters and twitchy nerves. She wanted . . .
Daemon?
No! She didn’t want him. That was just something her mind had conjured up because of how he’d made her feel when he played her music.
Damn him! Damn her stupid mind, making something of nothing, making her all hot and bothered and feeling the way she’d not felt since she was a teenager with a stupid crush on Matthew Wilson.
Punching her pillow, she rolled over and opened her eyes. It took a moment to register the slant of sun on the end of her bed that hadn’t been there before. She peered at her alarm clock.
‘Eight o’clock! Shit!’ The alarm must have malfunctioned. She could have sworn she’d only pressed the ‘sleep’ function, which should have given her another fifteen minutes not two hours.
She pushed the covers back, scrambling out of bed. She’d promised Billy some time off this morning so he could drive into Newcastle. She was surprised he hadn’t come up to check on her.
But then again, maybe he had, and saw her sleeping and left her to it.
If that was the case, she’d read him the riot act. She wouldn’t let him kill himself trying to be everything to everyone.
That was her job.
Fifteen minutes later, having pulled on clothes, brushed her hair and teeth, and grabbed an apple and a piece of toast for breakfast – only succumbing to this because of Bev’s complaints about her not taking care of herself – she was about to run out when Bev said, ‘Take a jacket. It’s cold out and Karl thinks another storm is coming. There might even be snow.’
Lexi laughed. ‘There’s always another storm coming. It’s why I love it here.’ But she turned and grabbed a jacket from the hall stand before running outside toward the walled garden where Bev said Billy and Cat were taking a walk.
The scent of Bev’s roses drifted on the air; despite the recent unpredictable weather, they were blooming, announcing the coming spring. Taking a deep breath, the delicious perfume comforting her soul, she headed down between the rows of apple and plum trees in the small orchard between the house and the walled garden. As she walked, she couldn’t help but admire the hardiness of these fruit trees. The winter had been harsh and yet their spindly branches, like hands reaching up to the sky, were newly covered with spring green leaves and the tiny buds of blossoms about to burst into bloom. Picking a half-opened bud, holding it to her nose, she entered the garden through a mossy gate in the grey, pockmarked wall and soon heard Billy’s voice.
