Night Lover Read online

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know. Just…restless. Do you ever feel you’re on the verge of something, but you can’t figure out what it is?”

  Her nervous breath caused me to hold my own. “Yeah, and I think I know what you need. You need a change. Adventure.”

  “Right. I’ll stick with my ice cream.”

  “Hear me out. Sonata is hosting a large music festival at a local manor house this summer. The troupe is looking for a new soprano for the season. Our soprano soloist has to be in New York for other commitments.” She inhaled and exhaled. “I want you to audition.”

  “For your group? In England?” I put down my melting confection.

  “You’d be perfect. I’ve already told the admin team about you and they’re interested. I’ve shown them a couple of your older recital recordings, the ones we did together in school. Just think. We could work together all summer and it might even lead to future gigs. It would be so much fun. And the highlight of our festival, hold onto your panties, is Mozart’s Requiem.”

  My jaw dropped. No freaking way. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Dead serious.”

  Okay, Requiem might be a famous piece, but it wasn’t performed every day. To get another kick at the can so soon seemed impossible. And yet I already tasted it, so much so I no longer tasted my ice cream. To sing my Requiem, as a soloist, across the pond, with my friend’s troupe… I didn’t think I could conceive of a more mind-blowing opportunity. “But don’t they want to hire someone local?”

  “Well, I’ve sort of been talking you up a lot. You’re wasted in Anthony’s group, babe. I know how unhappy you are. Besides, summertime is a dead time for performances in Toronto. Here’s an opportunity to continue singing all summer for huge audiences. Please say you’ll do it. You just need to send an audition tape. I’ll make sure the right people see it.”

  The right people. I stamped down the excited quivers in my belly, knowing it was still a long shot. It had always been my dream to perform in the U.K., and to see Lizzy again after so long would be incredible.

  It sounded too good to be true. I’d have to forfeit my job with Anthony. He’d give my chorus position to someone else. I’d never get it back.

  I could almost visualize the imaginary scale in my mind, as I weighed the pros and cons. In life, I’d never been much for leaps of faith. I preferred to stay on the ground where things were familiar. Safe.

  Only where had safe gotten me?

  Maybe Lizzy was right. Maybe I did need some adventure. I knew I needed to sing this piece like I needed to breathe oxygen and I might never get another chance. “Okay, I’ll prepare a tape. I’ll audition.”

  Her squeal just about broke the phone with its crazed reverberations.

  “It’s just an audition, Liz. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Oh, we’ll make it happen. I’ve already convinced the powers that be you’re the ideal soprano for the job. I have a big mouth.”

  “Thanks. You’re a good friend and I love your big mouth.” I smiled, my eyes misting, wishing I could hug her. “Speaking of powers that be, who’s the conductor? Frank Adams?”

  Her squeals came to an abrupt halt. “Um, actually, no. Frank recently moved on. They’re, uh, in the midst of hiring someone new.”

  “You never said. Who is it?”

  I could almost hear the loud crank of her wheels turning. “Um…”

  “Lizzy, who is it? The right conductor makes all the difference in the world.”

  “Oh, I know.” She paused. “Shit. Gotta go, babe! Just realized I need to do something. Listen, I’ll confirm the conductor as soon as he’s hired, okay? I don’t want to spill the beans prematurely. You just put together the tape. Sing something from Requiem. Smooches!”

  The dial tone rang before I could ever smooch her back. I hung up and stared at my empty bowl of ice cream.

  Why was she so cagey about the conductor? I headed to my desk and fired up my laptop, searching out the website for Sonata. Sure enough, the only announcement declared they were currently in the midst of finalizing an exciting addition to the troupe, in the form of a new conductor. No info at all.

  Ah hell, Lizzy probably already knew who it was. She had ways of discovering information. I always thought she’d make an admirable spy. She likely didn’t want to tell me for fear of scaring me off. No doubt, the man was another old curmudgeon who treated his singers no better than slaves in a Roman villa.

  No matter. I knew my curmudgeons. I’d be prepared.

  As I readied myself for bed, I began mentally planning the audition tape. I already had the perfect passages in mind. I’d contact my accompanist tomorrow and set up a few sessions to practice and record. I was in good voice and I knew I could do this.

  Excited, I tumbled into bed and pulled up the covers, my mind whirring. I decided I needed to think of something else if I ever planned to get any sleep. I closed my eyes, clutched the edge of my bedspread, and lay still.

  Deep breaths. Stay calm. Rest.

  Despite my intention to quiet my brain, my mind drifted immediately to him.

  Finn Mackenzie.

  Damn. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, visualizing my college boyfriend. The gorgeous young man who’d loved me and left me eight years ago. The one I still thought about every night as I fell asleep, even as I sought to forget him. Christ, why did he have to pop into my head now?

  Who was I kidding? He still invaded my head space on a far-too-regular basis.

  Perhaps it was because we’d studied Mozart’s music together. In a sense, the two men were inextricably linked in my subconscious. Finn had helped me perfect the arias from the composer’s operas so I always had audition pieces at the ready. He’d helped nurture me as a singer, always giving me honest feedback. Hell, I owed a few of my vocal tricks to him.

  His voice still lingered in the recesses of my brain. Lark. My Lark.

  When my life had begun to crumble, I’d already lost Finn. The tragic timing amplified my sense of bereavement, rendering him larger than life. Somehow his memory held a sacred spot inside me and I paid homage to it. I ventured to this place whenever I felt overwhelmed by life, and his imagined arms welcomed me still.

  Even though I knew it did me no good.

  Only as I slipped between the sheets, I wasn’t thinking of his musical prowess, or how Monty Python sketches made him explode with laughter. I thought of how he used to touch me. No one had ever touched me with the same sense of wonder. Even in the beds of other men, Finn’s memory always seemed to intrude.

  As if on cue, the scab on my heart cracked open once again. It had been eight long years, and the scab still hadn’t quite healed. How could it? That time in my life had proven my darkest, and not just because of Finn’s departure.

  Another horrible memory flew to mind, one I’d trained to stay far away. I could never think of Finn without thinking of them, lying in their caskets…

  I squeezed my eyes shut against the onslaught of pain and concentrated on Finn instead. Allowing myself to picture his face, his mop of light brown hair and scholarly glasses. I reached between my legs, into my panties, trying in vain to relieve the ever-present ache.

  I used to pray I’d one day be able to forget him and all the associated memories, but I’d forgotten how to pray. I’d refused myself the quiet consolation of prayer years ago. Instead, as I’d been doing for so long, I surrendered to the numbing darkness that seemed to surround my life. I gave in to pleasure and temptation, my only distractions. Easing my fingers between swollen lips, I gasped, overwhelmed by strange yearning.

  Lizzy was right. I’d been alone too long, and somewhere during that time, I’d become lonely. Maudlin. It’s why I couldn’t forget him.

  I hadn’t allowed anyone else in.

  Well, I would now. I welcomed a new life and new challenges in England. I wanted Mozart’s music to pour out of me. And as I touched myself in the blackened cocoon of my bedroom, I decided I nee
ded even more. A lover. Someone to soothe my aches and help me block out the pain. Something to help me forget everything that ever hurt me.

  “Yes,” I said on a shattered breath, circling my clit with a finger, seeking a distant release. “A new life. A new love. I want it all. Please.”

  »»•««

  That night, I dreamed of him for the second time. Once again, my dream lover came to me. Although I still couldn’t make out his face, I felt his yearning. Felt it in his hot touch and whispered words. His fingers and mouth drove me to new heights, making me believe I’d taken flight. He touched me there and my world cycloned. Spinning, sputtering wonder wrenched me apart and dashed me to the ground. And, just as before, I awoke uncomfortable and wet between my legs. So much so, I cursed myself because I would likely have to change my sheets.

  Only this moisture was concentrated between my thighs. This was what he did to me. And I wanted more.

  A few weeks passed and I continued with the round of concerts and rehearsals that bookended the various segments of my daily life. I worked hard, albeit with a distracted air. I couldn’t stop thinking of the job with Sonata in England. After pouring out my heart and soul in my audition tape and forwarding it, I’d tried not to think of possible outcomes, but it was impossible not to speculate. Did they like my work? Did they want to go in another direction?

  I just thanked my stars I had Lizzy lobbying for me. She assured me Sonata was looking for just my type, but it didn’t guarantee me the job. Lots of singers were just my type. I had to be prepared for every eventuality.

  All the while, my sleeps grew more restless. It seemed every time I closed my eyes, I had the same dreams. Dreams laced with a subtle sensuality, haunted by a man whose face I could not see, but whose touch illuminated all the dark spaces inside me. He caressed me and kissed me and whispered in my ear. He called my name, his voice filled with brutal, musical need. Every morning found me in a pool of my own lusty desire.

  Just to be safe, I visited the doctor and endured the pleasure of a full pelvic exam, but all the tests came back negative. No yeast infections. No urinary tract infections. Once the doctor gave me a clean bill of health, I gave up wondering what ailed me, and in a way, I just didn’t want to know.

  Unwilling to confront the symptoms of my nocturnal sex fests, I tried as hard as I could to put them out of my head. There had to be some sort of explanation. I’d had sexy dreams before and had always woken up feeling good afterward. Just never lubricated. Was this a result of being hard up?

  It had clearly been too long since I’d allowed a man to take me home. Perhaps I needed to call up one of my singer buddies for a booty call.

  The very idea made me laugh. As if I’d know what to do with a booty call.

  At rehearsal one night, I mulled over my man options. There was Darryl, a bassoon player from another ensemble. We’d had dinner a couple of times before I brushed him off. He might be up for a quick tussle with no strings attached. Or Clint, another singer. Both men were nice enough, with no outward personality defects. As Lizzy claimed, I’d gotten rid of them before they could get too close. Would they be willing to alleviate the crazy need inside me, and then go away?

  I had to sleep with someone, had to get it out of my system. Since my dreams started, all I could think about was the spectral man who featured in them. How I wanted to stroke his hair and wrap my arms around his broad back. How I wished I could grip his firm ass as he thrust deep inside me.

  Clarissa elbowed me. “You should listen when Anthony speaks,” she whispered. “It’s no wonder you don’t get solos with this ensemble when you don’t pay attention.”

  “Look, I’m really not in the mood,” I replied. “And Anthony wasn’t giving notes to the sopranos just then. He was speaking to the accompanist.”

  “A good singer pays attention to her conductor at all times.” She stared straight ahead, her brow arched. “I have half a mind to tell him to fire you. You bring no value to this ensemble. Frankly, I don’t see why he even hired you. You have no talent, no charisma onstage. You’re a waste of space.”

  A voice rang in my ear, the same one as that of the man who came to me at night. Are you going to allow her to talk to you like that?

  No. I’d had enough. I peered at her, noticing for the first time the tight set to her lips and the nervous twitch of her eye. “You’re jealous. You know I’m a better singer than you are, and you’re terrified Anthony has seen it now.”

  She whipped around to face me. “Honey, you’re dreaming. You sing like a cat in heat and you don’t scare me…” She yelped and made a face. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Ouch!”

  “What is it now?”

  She made a gagging noise. “You made me bite my tongue,” she accused from behind her fingers.

  “I did no such thing. I didn’t touch you.”

  “Well, someone did. I felt it.” She removed her hand from her face and I glimpsed a line of blood between her lips. As she babbled, it spilled and dripped over her chin. “Anthony!”

  As rehearsal stopped, Clarissa got up from her seat and ran from the room, looking like the victim of a fiendish dentist. The conductor chased after her. As I watched, amazed at her level of theatrics, the same male voice sounded over my shoulder.

  Impertinent hag. That will teach her to insult you.

  I looked in the direction of the voice. None of the men in the ensemble sat close enough to me to have uttered it.

  Just as I was about to dismiss the strange voice as my imagination, I heard it again. This time, in the form of a chuckle.

  »»•««

  I stumbled down a long driveway lined with yew trees. The sort of place that would look welcoming in the daylight, it filled me with fear at night. The trees towered over me, shading me from the moon, my only source of light.

  Despite the black surroundings, I seemed to know my way down this path, although I couldn’t give it a context. When had I been here before? Had I been here before?

  The night air, so humid, made my clothes cling to my body. I looked at my outfit and it struck me as odd that I wore the ratty Toronto Music Festival T-shirt I’d gone to bed in. In my haze, I made a mental note to sleep in a nicer outfit next time. Maybe something with a little lace.

  I didn’t ponder my ensemble for long. I couldn’t. Immediately, I was hit by the scent of spice. Foreign, yet familiar, it reminded me of the after-shave my grandfather used to wear. The fragrance filled my nasal passages, surrounding me. I swallowed and almost tasted the cloying scent. With each swallow, I felt sure it might choke me.

  The air grew heavy, as did my feet. If I could have, I would have turned and fled even though I didn’t understand why. However, my feet drove me onward, as if obeying a higher power.

  I arrived at a house, the sort of place I’d seen in numerous BBC costume dramas. Unable to make out all the details, I spotted the twinkle of candles in several large windows. Without thinking, I walked toward the main door and it opened for me.

  Even in the darkness, I noticed a massive chandelier in the foyer and a curving staircase. Flying up the stairs, as if my destination had been planned, I raced toward the upper rooms. I saw no one on my travels. The house seemed empty and yet I was sure I heard a voice calling to me. Deep and honeyed and entrancing.

  Following the voice, I headed toward a room at the end of a portrait-lined hallway. Not stopping to knock, as if I belonged there, I pushed the door opened and entered.

  Bathed in candlelight, a sumptuous bedroom lay before me. A four-poster bed. A screen for dressing, like in the old days. A scrolled desk in the corner.

  The air before me waffled and wove, and before I could move, a man appeared.

  I knew him, even though I’d never seen his face.

  I recognized him as the shadow who’d haunted my dreams. The one who’d kissed me and twisted my nipples. Excitement made my teeth chatter and desire moistened my sex. I took him in from top to toe. Despite the humidity, his blond hair blew ge
ntly around his face. His generous mouth, so sensual in its contours, turned down at the corners. Pale eyes beckoned to me with an unimaginable sadness but he was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  “Salva me.”

  I knew those words, too.

  “Come to me,” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  He led me to the bed and urged me to lay, as he already had numerous times. He tore at my shirt and I clutched at him, needing him to move faster, needing release. Energy thrummed through my blood. My veins seemed to pulse with want. I spread my legs and he found a home there.

  Home.

  But before he could drive me into the customary whirlpool of longing, a piercing alarm rang in my brain. I sat up and looked about me, sure my night lover had somehow found a way into my bedroom and into my real world. To my dismay, I saw no flickering candles. The smell of spicy cologne had dissipated, and the man with the fair hair had disappeared.

  I was left alone again, gulping for air. Trying to articulate my stifled desires.

  Choking, choking, choking on my own breath for need of him.

  Even in my bed, I didn’t feel safe, didn’t feel right. It seemed wrong not to have him between my legs. As I wondered at his name, at his identity, I knew I needed to get back to him. At any cost.

  I touched my forehead. So clammy. My alarm clock continued ringing with the incessant clamor of a fire truck’s siren. I pounded the vile device, knocking it right off my bedside table.

  Yanking at my sweat-drenched T-shirt, I stumbled out of bed, aiming for the full-length mirror in the corner of my room. As new chills teased my spine, I turned on the lights and dared to peer at my reflection, afraid of what I’d see.

  When had my eyes become so hollow? When had the whites become so red? With my hair all mussed, I looked as if I’d just escaped a refugee camp.

  Then, remembering the fevered touch of the man in my dream, recalling the precise taste of his mouth, I slowly backed into the opposite corner of my bedroom. As soon as I felt the wall on my back, I allowed my body to crumple and I sank to the floor.