“Want something?” he asked.
I let out a laugh. His unintentional innuendo didn’t slip by me. “You mean to drink, right?” He bit his lower lip, thought a minute, then turned a light shade of pink. “You kind of set yourself up for that one,” I told him, feeling a little more relaxed now that we’d shared a laugh.
He buried his head in his hands for a minute.
“I’ll take a drink, sure.”
He rose and dug into his front pocket for his wallet, his eyes on me. I couldn’t read his expression, and a knot formed in my heart. Was he offering me a drink to be nice, figuring I’d know better and say no? Was he offering so we could get this nasty deed over with? Maybe he was pissed that I’d made something of the innuendo.
I looked out the window while he ordered, the knot in my heart pulling tight. Part of me wanted to get this over with. Another part of me was reaching out for any last bit of him I could get. His scent, which was all but drowned in the smell of brewed coffee, his face, the sweet kindness in his eyes.
He came back with a caramel cappuccino for me and a hot chocolate for him. The light whiff of his cologne infused me with courage when he sat. As he lifted his drink to his lips and I watched, I realized I couldn’t give him up.
“I need to tell you something,” I said. His expression was patient. “Yesterday… I realized some things. Not to sound stupid or anything, but, all this time I thought… well… I wanted us, you know, to be more than friends.
I liked that you weren’t like the guys I know. That was a really big plus for me. I thought we’d click, and we did. But when you kissed me I knew how different we really are. How wrong it was.”
His eyes darkened. I thought disappointment passed over his face. He looked away for a moment, holding his cup between both palms. “I disagree.”
“You… you do?”
“Yes. What was wrong about it?”
I blinked. “You mean besides the teacher-student thing?”
“That’s not what this is about anymore, Eden. Come on.” He leaned forward, the same electric passion flickering in his eyes I’d seen countless times when he conducted us.
“What’s really bothering you?”
“I’m serious.”
“Everything was fine before I kissed you,” he almost hissed. “What changed?”
I leaned toward him. “I don’t know… everything.”
“That’s bull and you know it.” Anger flashed in his eyes.
It dawned on me then that he wasn’t there to dump me.
The fire in his eyes was for me. It stirred me deep down and I wanted to kiss him again, right there at that table—in public—for the world to see.
I sighed and sat back, relieved that we could work this out. But I couldn’t dislodge the guilt I felt. This revelation didn’t change anything. He was still James, pure and sweet.
And I was Eden.
“Look,” he said, “if you don’t want to see me anymore, just say so. But don’t take me back to high school with all its games and crap, okay?”
“You said you didn’t date in high school,” I quipped.
He smiled, looking relieved for the first time that night.
“I still knew what was going on. And I’ve had girls dump me before. Do you think I’m some monk?”
“After that kiss? Hardly.”
“I see.” His grin was playful. Mine was as well. “So, is this about the kiss?”
“Maybe… a little.”
“Was there something wrong with it?”
“No. No. Don’t ask, please don’t ask.”
“You’re blushing.” He looked totally pleased that I was on the spot. “Okay, I won’t ask.”
“Thank you.” I took a big gulp of my drink and cringed when it burned all the way down.
He reached across the table. “You okay?”
“You make me mess up.”
“Me?”
I couldn’t stop smiling. “Yeah, you.”
We both sipped in silence for a while. I listened to the jazz music overhead. He glanced at his watch, then looked at me with eyes bright. “Hey, I want to take you somewhere.” He stood.
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise.” He reached for my hand. I looked at his long, beautiful fingers and my heart fluttered.
He pulled his car into the parking lot of All Saints Church. I must have looked surprised. He smiled, pleased that he’d caught me off guard. He came around the car, opened my door, and again extended his hand.
“Church?” I asked. I thought about the irony of my guilt and his efforts to keep us together and us winding up at church. “But there’s no one here.”
“Exactly.” His eyes glittered.
Everything inside of me hummed. He led me to a side door, pulled keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
He kept hold of my hand once we were inside. The door shut behind me and pitched us into black.
“I know this place blindfolded. Hold on.” I followed, clutching his hand tight. We took a few steps and then the lights blinked on. He grinned at me.
“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble?”
“It’s a church, how can we get in trouble?”
“I don’t know. Why do you have a key?”
“Because I teach here.”
I looked around at the dark halls, shivering because it was weird being in a church without people. I expected to feel warm, welcomed, like I had when I’d wandered in that night it had been raining. Now, the cavernous building merely felt old and empty. “Do any priests live here?”
“No.” He kept hold of my hand as we wound along a narrow hall lit by ancient overhead lights. Dismal, beaten-looking, it was clear this part of the church was not for anyone’s use but the clergy.
I’d never seen the veins of a church before. Cold. Dead.
The sight kind of disappointed me. I guess I figured if a church belonged to God, you’d feel the heartbeat in every room—not just in the chapel.
He continued leading me along, passing old black and white photos of past ministers, their names engraved on plaques underneath their pictures. James pushed through an ornate, carved wooden door and we were in the chapel, near the pulpit.
A large light switch was on the wall and he flicked on a few lights, just enough to light the spot where the piano sat.
“Is this where you teach the kids? Here in the chapel?”
He nodded. With a gentle tug he led me to the piano.
It was a full grand in pearly white. After he’d pulled a lone chair up next to the piano, he took my shoulders in his hands and lowered me into the chair, his eyes locked with mine. Without saying anything, he sat down at the keys. I watched him extend his long fingers over the ivories. The moment his hands pressed down, he closed his eyes and that sweet, melancholy tune I had heard him play when I’d first seen him alone in the classroom floated into the empty air around us, filling the chapel.
In my head I envisioned dark, stormy clouds battling in the sky, the rich melody tumbling over lower octaves. Then his fingers tickled the upper keys as if a ray of sun or some other light finally broke through the storm. The tinkling tune skittered down the keys, while the lower keys played out the ferocious battle, both tunes in minor tones headed for a collision.
His face twisted in pain, as if the song was taking him along, shredding his spirit, the torturous drama unfolding underneath his hands. I sat transfixed. My heart pounded.
I wanted to reach out to him but at the same time was in awe of the music pouring out of his heart. I couldn’t move.
When the two melodies met, my breath stopped. He held the tune with a dramatic plunge of his hands against the keys, sending the last notes ringing off the arched ceiling of the chapel in a final, frightening chord that held no promise, no hope, only an unforgettable echo as if the walls wept at the pending silence.
He looked at me.
The final chords whispered off the walls. Neither of us spoke. My palms
were sweating, my heart thrummed.
I couldn’t understand what I saw on his face. Uncertainty swirled in the air. Talking would be irreverent somehow.
Disrespectful. I wasn’t sure if he was waiting for me to say something.
“That was amazing,” I said.
“When you first heard it, I was struggling with how to finish it,” his voice was coarse. “I couldn’t… an ending eluded me. Then I met you.”
A low ache started inside me. The dramatic tune had wound around my heart and was now lodged in my soul.
I’d just witnessed what the powerful song had done to him— the way it had taken hold and twisted him inside out, exposing everything inside of him. What would happen now?
He stood. His eyes were stormy, fastened on mine.
I was frozen to the chair, not sure what to do, what to expect.
He reached out and gently framed my face with his hands, his eyes intense. My heart drummed with fear and excitement.
“Eden,” he whispered my name like a reverent prayer and I stood. Our bodies brushed. He pressed against me, lowering his mouth to mine, his warm lips fluttering like his fingers had fluttered over the keys.
“Put your arms around me,” he whispered against my lips. I obeyed.
Then he turned me, and I felt the cold body of the baby grand at my back. He continued kissing me, his hands slowly sliding from my cheeks to my neck. One arm slid behind me, the other caressed the side of my face. The urgent drive of his lips against mine forced me into an arch. The cool body of the instrument at my back and the muscled heat of him along my stomach and chest bounced an electrical volt rushing for release.
He tore his mouth from mine and his warm lips grazed my chin, down my neck. The rush of fire blazing under my skin was unbearable. I squeezed him against me. A soft groan escaped his throat and suddenly his eyes met mine.
I was half lying back on the piano, a dull ache in my lower back from the awkward position. I hadn’t noticed it, caught up in the feel of him. He stood erect and brought me upright, keeping a hold of me, his arms wrapped tight around my body.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. A voracious whirl hummed inside of me, but now that he’d stopped, I was reminded of where we were.
“I want to play you…” He pressed his forehead to mine, closing his eyes. “I want to play your body like an instrument.”
A shudder slid through me. I urged his lips to mine and his eyes opened. I pressed my mouth against his so hard I had no other thought but to dissolve into him. I tasted hunger, need, but seconds later his hands wrapped around my arms and he gently tugged my arms down to my sides.
I felt like I had just gotten on a rollercoaster ride that had jolted to premature stop. His dazed look met mine.
“As much as I want you,” his low voice stirred me more, “I can’t. Not here.”
I was frustrated, angry. He was so beautiful and standing right in front of me, tempting me. Denying me.
A surge of something wicked pushed through me. I wrapped around him again. At that moment, I could care less that we were in a church. He’d used his poetic words to open my heart. His haunting music was a fantasy of us.
This was real. He wanted me. I kissed him again.
His lips were unresponsive. I used every seductive technique I knew in a driven effort to break him. He snagged my arms and pulled them down. “Eden, stop.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“I told you, we can’t. Not here.”
I stepped back as if he’d just slapped me. “Then where?
You won’t take me to your house because of your mother.
You won’t come to my house because of my dad. We can’t live our lives over a cup of coffee!”
His face drew tight. “We’re in a Church— my church.”
“Yes, I know that. It was you who brought me here.”
He bowed his head, his voice soft when he finally spoke. “I know. That was my fault. I’m sorry.”
His sincere apology sliced like a razor through my pride. “Don’t.” I couldn’t stand the thought that he regretted any part of what had just happened. He’d created a song for me, written the rousing notes with me in his mind. Finished a masterpiece because of me. And he’d kissed me as if his life depended on us sharing breath. He’d whispered something unspeakable to me—something I would never forget. He’d made me want that, made me willing to abandon myself to him.
I started for the door, sure there was nothing left to say, do, or hear there in the chapel. My heart hurt. My body rang like a bell that wouldn’t stop vibrating except under his gentle reassuring hands.
I felt his presence behind me, stirring the vibrating ring inside of me into another ravenous rhythm. I whirled around and slid my arms up around his neck one last time.
He had my wrists in his hands and down at my sides before I could press a kiss on his lips. He pulled back, leaving me leaning toward him, my lips parted.
I couldn’t look at him, embarrassed that I wanted him, was willing to do anything for him, and he was not willing to do the same for me.
He reached around me to open the door then stopped. Instead, he grabbed my arms again. In a flash my back was flat against the door. He had my hands in his and he held them down to my sides, his body jammed against mine.
Anger fought with desire on his face. “Is this what you want?”
My heart stammered. “I—”
“You want me to disrespect everything in my heart, including you, and take you right here? Right now? Eden, is this really what you want?”
Shocked tears filled my eyes. At the same time, my body sang under the delicious pressure of his. How could I want him—but not want to do anything that would hurt him— at the same time? “No. No. You’re right.”
He studied me, and remained pressed against me long enough to allow me to be sure. Finally, he eased back, his eyes narrowing in a way that was unsettling. “I want to make this right…” His tone was firm. “It has to be, or I won’t be able to live with myself.”
I nodded. The determination on his face was so raw I could only agree. “I know.” But what was right?
He turned off the lights, took my hand, and led me through darkness to the door.
Chapter Twenty-one
The soundtrack to the Notebook played on the short drive back to Starbucks. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us turned it off. The lonely, foreboding tune kept me on the verge of tears. I stared out the window, too ashamed to look at him, though out the corner of my eye I saw him glance over. Away from the church now, my mind went over what had happened in frustrating clarity.
He stopped me.
No guy had ever stopped me before.
He pulled his car next to mine and killed the engine.
Reaching over, he touched my shoulder. When I didn’t look at him, his gentle fingers turned my chin around so I had to face him.
“Eden.”
I wanted him to wrap around me and surround me with forgiveness for my stupidity. But I was afraid if I asked for that, he would see the request as another stab at manipulation.
“I don’t know what you’ve done in your past with other guys, but that kind of deliberate move you laid on me at the church could be dangerous for us both.”
I’d never been chastised for my moves before, let alone stopped. They’d gotten me whatever I wanted. I felt like a child getting a hand slap from a parent. “Oh, and telling me that you want to play my body like an instrument isn’t just as slick?”
His brows knit over stunned, hurt eyes. Instantly I regretted the words. The fragile line that had separated us, the line that both of us were trying to ignore, was as obvious as a naked priest now.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I didn’t mean that.”
He didn’t move. Barely blinked. Deep down I knew I’d blown it. Panic seized me. I wanted to twist back time, go back to the chapel, to the piano when he’d looked at me as if he couldn’t create another note without
me being there.
“I’m sorry,” I plead again.
He sighed, sadness and resolve creeping into his eyes.
“I am too.” We sat in the parking lot of Starbucks, the sound of traffic rushing by us. Laughter filtered through the air every time the door to the place opened. I refused to move, to make any motion that this moment was final, trying my best to hold onto it.