Cross My Heart: A Contemporary Romance Novel Read online

  Because he had to.

  Chapter Eleven

  The days slipped past too quickly. Jenna wished she could hang on to each moment, the days filled with music and teaching and the nights filled with Michael. She started resenting the need for sleep, staying awake one night to watch him sleep, instead—the way he’d watched her their first night together.

  But no matter how hard she tried to slow the passing of time, the last day arrived anyway. Summer camp was over, and Claire was flying in tomorrow morning. As thrilled as Jenna was that Michael’s daughter was coming back, she couldn’t help but feel an ache of regret that her time with him would soon be over.

  It was early afternoon and she was sitting on her patio with a book. After getting half a dozen new songs sketched out in the last ten days, she actually needed a break from music.

  But she didn’t need a break from Michael. The truth was, she wasn’t ready for things between them to end.

  Their plan had been to get their desire for each other out of their systems. To let the fire between them burn out.

  In her case, at least, the plan was a miserable failure. Not only was she more attracted to him than ever, but she’d discovered more pleasure in his company than she’d ever felt with anyone.

  After that first day, they’d fallen into the habit of working together in the evenings when Michael was home—he on the computer and she on the guitar. There was something effortlessly harmonious about pursuing their separate projects in each other’s company. Her creativity seemed to flow more freely when he was around, as though his quiet presence stimulated her. And he’d told her once that he always seemed to get twice as much done at her place, even though he never lasted more than a couple of hours before scooping her up and carrying her off to bed.

  She loved their time in bed, too—not just the sex, although that was incredible, but also the hours they spent talking. She was still amazed at how easily they talked to each other, considering how unlike they were in so many ways. But behind the differences in their childhoods and temperaments and careers, there was a deeper affinity that made those differences seem to fit together, like puzzle pieces. She loved putting half-formed ideas in front of him and letting his clear-headed, scientific mind go to work on them...and he seemed equally stimulated by her more intuitive, non-linear approach.

  When she thought about all the ways she enjoyed being with him, about the different layers of intimacy that had opened up between them, it was hard to think about being just friends again.

  But Claire was coming back. She wouldn’t feel right seeing Michael secretly, without telling his daughter—and she wouldn’t feel right telling Claire about their relationship, either, knowing that she was leaving so soon.

  Unless, of course, she stayed.

  It wasn’t the first time that thought had occurred to her. But every time she got to that point, she reminded herself that parts of her nature would always pull her away from Iowa—and Michael.

  The band was starting to talk seriously about getting back together. She’d spoken with her director friend about the possibility, and he’d been open to the idea of her working on the movie remotely, travelling to L.A. once a month or so. As she’d told Michael, it seemed like a dozen different roads were opening up in front of her.

  The only problem was, she couldn’t go down them all.

  She wondered what it had been like in the past, when people’s choices—women’s especially—were so much more limited. Had she lived in those times, she would have longed for more freedom...for the wealth of opportunities that presented themselves to her now.

  She kept half-expecting Michael to bring up the future himself, but he never did. It occurred to her suddenly that he might not feel as torn as she did. Maybe now that he’d had some time to think about it, he was glad things between them were only temporary.

  Or maybe he was planning to say something tonight, their last night together before Claire came home.

  Familiar panic seized her at the thought, and she realized that as much as she’d been thinking about a possible future with Michael, there was no way she was ready to talk to him about it.

  She’d been staring at the same page for at least ten minutes. Now she set the book aside with an impatient sigh, looking up to see the mailman pulling away from the curb. She rose to her feet and walked across the lawn to the mailbox, glad for a chance to stretch her legs. Maybe she’d go for another run today, even though she’d done her five miles that morning.

  Bills, her copy of Rolling Stone...and an elegant, cream-colored envelope with no stamp in the corner, and nothing but her name written in clear script across the front.

  Miss Jenna Landry

  Bemused, she walked back to the patio and sat down before opening the envelope and pulling out the single sheet of stationary.

  The pleasure of your company is requested this evening at seven o’clock, for dinner and entertainment.

  The entertainment is a secret. Don’t even try to wheedle it out of me.

  Formal attire is required. Bonus points if you wear red, and extra bonus points if it’s low-cut.

  If you’re wondering about the occasion, it’s to celebrate the end of an incredible two weeks—and the beginning of what I hope will be a life-long friendship.

  Michael

  She read it again and again. After a minute she took a deep breath and held the invitation to her heart.

  Now she knew why he hadn’t said anything about the future. It was because they’d agreed not to, and he was respecting those boundaries. He was respecting her. He’d loved their time together as much as she had, and he wanted to keep her in his life.

  And he wasn’t going to put any pressure on her.

  A wave of energy went through her and she jumped to her feet. Nothing she had in her closet was good enough for tonight. She was going shopping, and she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she found a dress Michael would see in his dreams for years.

  ***

  When she opened her door to him that night, she knew she’d picked the right one.

  She’d gone with something deceptively simple, a tea-length cocktail dress with spaghetti straps and a deeply scooped neckline. It was made of ruby red silk and clung softly to her waist, where it flared out to create a floating hemline that swirled around her when she walked.

  Her legs were bare, and she stood tall in red stilettos. She wore her hair up, something she didn’t do often, gathering the black curls into a knot tied with a red satin ribbon.

  The only jewelry she wore was a pair of ruby earrings that had belonged to her grandmother. The only makeup she wore was mascara and lipstick—lipstick that matched her dress exactly.

  “Wow,” was all Michael said, but the look in his eyes was worth the small fortune she’d spent downtown today.

  He was looking incredibly good himself, in a charcoal gray suit with a crisp white shirt and dark blue tie.

  She grinned at him. “So, do I get my bonus points?”

  “Yeah. You do.”

  He handed her a bouquet of red roses, and she bent her head to breathe in the scent. “Oh, Michael, they’re beautiful. Come in while I put them in water,” she said, but he shook his head.

  “Not a chance. If I go in there with you we’re not coming out for at least an hour, and we have reservations at Ambrosia.”

  “Do we really? I’ve never eaten there, and I’ve always wanted to.”

  “Then I’m definitely waiting for you out here.”

  She put the flowers in water but set aside one perfect rose, snipping off most of the stem and sliding it behind her ear.

  Michael touched it gently when she came back. “Rose Red,” he said softly, and she looked at him quizzically. “Snow White’s sister,” he explained. “Did you know that Snow White was actually a blonde?”

  “No, I didn’t know that. How in the world do you know that?”

  He put his hand on the small of her back as they walked to his car, which he’d
parked in her driveway. “I used to read fairy tales to Claire when she was little. There was one called Snow White and Rose Red, no relation to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It was about two sisters. Snow White was blonde and sweet and shy, and liked to stay indoors. Rose Red had dark hair and preferred to play outdoors, and was much more boisterous. Claire liked Snow White, because they were both blonde. I always preferred Rose Red.”

  She smiled at him. “I never would have pegged you as a fan of fairy tales. You’re a man of many surprises, Dr. Stone. Speaking of surprises...”

  “I told you, no wheedling,” he reminded her as he opened the passenger side door.

  She waited until he was sitting beside her, ready to turn the key in the ignition, before she leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “Pretty please?”

  He turned his head to look at her. “Evil temptress,” he whispered back, his eyes gleaming with equal parts amusement and desire.

  “Just give me a hint,” she asked as he turned on the engine and pulled into the street. “Movie? Play? Dancing? What?”

  “No hints.”

  He held out all the way into the city, even though she tried a few wheedling techniques that probably wouldn’t have met with the approval of a motor vehicle safety commission. By the time they got to the restaurant she’d gained no information about the evening’s entertainment, but had revved Michael’s engines to the point where, after the valet had driven off with his car, he pulled her into the alley beside the restaurant and kissed her senseless.

  He tucked the rose back into place when he was done, and offered his arm in a courtly gesture. “Milady?”

  She was still patting her hair into place, her face warm and glowing. “You’re lucky I’m wearing smear-proof lipstick,” she told him primly, and he grinned at her. “You have to give me a hint after that,” she added.

  “No hints,” he said again, escorting her into the beautiful restaurant.

  “What if I—”

  “If you finish that sentence, you won’t get dinner. I think I remember you saying something about being hungry?”

  They were inside the restaurant now, being led to a corner table, and the scents around her were delectable.

  “You win,” she said.

  It was a perfect meal. Delicious food, incredible wine, and great conversation in a lovely, romantic setting. Jenna gave a little sigh of contentment as they left the restaurant, pausing under the red awning to wait for the valet to bring the car around.

  But Michael took her hand and started to walk down the sidewalk instead.

  “Aren’t we taking the car?”

  “Nope.”

  She looked at him, but his expression gave nothing away. “Okay. Wherever we’re going is within walking distance. Hmm. I can’t think of any—”

  He stopped just three buildings down from the restaurant, and Jenna looked up to see a beautiful old church.

  She looked at him with her eyebrows raised. “Okay, you’ve managed to surprise me. Out of all the places I thought you might take me tonight, church wasn’t even in the top fifty.”

  He was grinning at her. “We chose this place because of the acoustics.”

  “The acoustics? And what do you mean, ‘we’?”

  He tugged on her hand. “Come on.”

  He led her inside, and she gasped.

  It was fairyland. Candles flickered along the main aisle, leading them to two empty chairs at the front of the nave, where a group of classical musicians were tuning their instruments.

  One of the violinists looked up when they came in. “Michael! I was wondering if you’d be on time. And this must be Jenna.”

  “Hello, Sally. It’s wonderful to see you again. And yes, this is Jenna.”

  “Lovely to meet you, dear. I’m Sally Vale.”

  “I—it’s lovely to meet you, too.”

  Jenna stared at the woman, whose silver hair fell past her shoulders. “That’s Sally Vale,” she whispered urgently to Michael.

  “I know.” He gestured for her to take one of the seats, and then sat himself.

  “She plays violin for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “What’s she doing here? And how do you know her?”

  “Her son’s an old friend. We went to college together. I’ve known the family for years. When I happened to mention the fact that I was looking for a few classical musicians, Sally kindly offered to—”

  “Sally Vale is one of the most famous violinists in the world.”

  “Yep. You should check out the other one, too.”

  She’d only had eyes for Sally, her gaze riveted on the graceful hands tuning her instrument. But now she looked at the others, and when she noticed the violinist who’d just sat down, she grabbed Michael’s hand. “My God. Is that Anthony de la Vega?”

  “I believe it is.”

  “Did you go to college with his son, too?”

  “No, but I operated on his wife a few years ago. I must have done a decent job because he seemed to think he owed me a favor.”

  She couldn’t say anything else. All she could do was sit and stare at the two violinists and the musicians around them, waiting with breathless anticipation.

  There must have been an invisible cue, because all at once the tuning stopped, and every bow was at the ready.

  Sally gave a quiet nod, and the music began.

  It was Bach’s Concerto for Two Violins.

  The music danced around her, through her, the notes spilling into the beautiful church like raindrops, light and soft and sparkling, each one more rare and precious than diamonds.

  Jenna had listened to glorious music before but never like this. Never had she been so pierced and exalted, the music taking her mind and heart, body and soul.

  When they played the largo ma non tanto, it was almost too much beauty. There was an ache in her throat, an ache in her heart, and she found herself fumbling for Michael’s hand. He squeezed her fingers in a warm, strong grip, and somehow he seemed to anchor her, steady her, so that the soaring music couldn’t carry her too far away. She closed her eyes and let it shimmer through her veins, knowing all the time that Michael was there with her.

  When the concerto was over they played another piece by Bach, and then another. When they finished Jenna stood up with Michael beside her, clapping and calling out “Bravo!” and “Brava!” while the musicians took their bows.

  “We’re glad you enjoyed it,” Sally said with a grin, coming over to shake Jenna’s hand. “It’s always a pleasure to play for a true aficionado. Now, if you don’t mind, we have a date downtown with a pool table and several pitchers of beer. I’d ask you to join us, but I suspect this gentleman has other plans for you.”

  She winked at them, and then Michael was tugging her away, back down the aisle and out of the church.

  Once they were on the sidewalk she turned to look at him. “Michael.”

  He looked down at her, his head tilted to the side. “Yeah?”

  She swallowed. “That’s the most incredible thing anyone’s ever done for me. I never...I...”

  Words failed her. She laced her hands behind his head and pulled him to her for a kiss.

  When the kiss was over he cleared his throat. “I only did it for ulterior motives. I’m trying to get you into bed.”

  “Mission accomplished.” They looked at each other, smiling, before continuing down the sidewalk hand in hand.

  When they got back to the restaurant the valet brought the car around, and in another minute they were driving out of the city again.

  “Would you open the windows?” Jenna asked suddenly. “It’s such a perfect summer night. I want to feel the wind.”

  He opened all four windows and the moon roof, too, and Jenna closed her eyes and let the cool air rush over her.

  Michael reached for her hand. They drove the rest of the way like that, in a silence as rich and harmonious as the Bach had been.

  When they got home
, they made love for hours. Michael touched her like she was precious, looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world. They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other, and the knowledge that it was their last night made them both reluctant to spend a minute sleeping.

  “What are you doing?” he asked once, as she lay in the cradle of his arms.

  Jenna realized she was chording against the hand that held hers, her fingers pressing lightly against his skin. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I was thinking about the music, seeing if I could remember how to play it. I actually started out as a violinist, you know. When I was a little girl.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. But I gave it up when I realized I’d never be more than competent.”

  “Being a competent violinist isn’t anything to sneeze at.”

  “No, but it would have broken my heart. Bach deserves to be played like...well, like we heard tonight. I was twelve when I quit, and for a year I didn’t play music at all. Then I got my first guitar.”

  “And you knew you’d be more than a competent guitarist?”

  “No, it wasn’t that. It was more like...it didn’t matter if I was just competent, or even less than competent. I just had to play it. You know?”

  “I know. I love watching you play. When you hold your guitar, it’s like it’s a part of you. I’ve seen surgeons hold their instruments that way.”

  “That almost makes me want to observe you doing surgery.”

  He grinned at her. “It wouldn’t be like watching a musician perform.”

  “Probably not,” she agreed. “On the other hand, music has never actually saved anyone’s life. So far as I know, anyway.”

  A little later Jenna was lying on her stomach with her head pillowed on her arms, fighting the urge to close her eyes. Michael was lying beside her, stroking her back softly.

  “Why did you get this tattoo?” he asked suddenly, tracing the notes with a fingertip. “Out of all the music in the world, why do you love this particular concerto so much?”

  She turned on her side to face him. “Why do you love it?”