Dangerous Control Page 5

  Now New Year’s was a couple days away, but I wasn’t feeling very festive. I no longer fantasized about swooning in Milo’s arms as we rang in the New Year as a couple. We weren’t a couple, and we never would be. We were just friends.

  Blue stirred, nudging me with one narrow paw, letting me know the other member of our pack was home. He somehow knew the moment Milo stepped on the elevator down in the lobby. “Thanks, bud,” I said, scratching one of his ears. “How do I look? Slovenly? Maybe I should at least brush my teeth.”

  I’d been officially living at Milo’s house for a week, and I wasn’t a great roommate. I slept weird hours, ate all the Christmas cookies his mother brought us, and stole his dog’s affections so he’d keep me warm in bed. Well, Milo wasn’t going to do it, although he made sure to check in with me a few times a day. How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do? Is the bed comfortable?

  If the bed wasn’t comfortable, I wouldn’t have stayed curled up in it for fifteen hours at a stretch. It was a luxurious, king size bed in a minimal but beautiful guest room, with fluffy blue blankets and sheets. The ivory carpet cradled my feet in softness when I managed to haul myself out from under the covers. The whole room was like a den of coziness, and I was so grateful for it. I needed it to keep everything at bay, from the loss of all my worldly possessions, to Milo’s rejection of me as anything but a friend. One was more life-altering than the other, but both really sucked.

  I was dressed, at least. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, and felt more presentable. Blue’s yawn and the soft, rumpled sheets beckoned me back to the bed, and I picked out a book from the nightstand so it would look like I did more than sleep. When Milo knocked, I pretended to be engrossed in a JFK biography as I invited him in.

  “Hi, Alice,” he said. “How are you doing?”

  I peered at him over the book. He was in a dark gray sweater that accentuated his biceps, and jeans that accentuated…every­thing. He was holding a couple of department store bags.

  “I’m good.” I tried not to breathe differently as he moved closer. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, as it often was when he returned from his violin studio. His luthier’s studio. That was the official name for a violinmaker, not that he had it on his business cards. Everyone knew what the Fierro family did. “How was your day?” I asked, trying to be a good roomie.

  “Fine. Have you eaten anything? Are you hungry?”

  “No, I’m good. Blue might be hungry,” I said, patting his head.

  “I’ll feed him.” He looked at me a moment. “Have you watched any television? Seen any updates on the news?”

  “No. I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about it.”

  He rubbed his forehead, then brushed back a lock of escaped hair. “I saw a story about the…” His face looked pained every time he talked about it. “The explosion. The investigators discovered it was a problem with the restaurant downstairs. They’d set up a bypass gas line to the fryer or something, some illegal line that wasn’t up to code. The guy responsible…”

  His voice trailed off. I knew that the owner of the restaurant had died, along with many of my neighbors. I hadn’t known any of them, because I hadn’t lived there long enough to forge friendships, but they’d been people, perhaps just waking up and stretching, having morning sex, or brewing a nice cup of coffee. Then bang, gone. The whole tragedy seemed unreal, like a nightmare.

  What if I had been there? How would it have felt to die that way? Would I have suffered?

  He touched my cheek, drawing me from the darkness. “Don’t think about it,” he said. “Don’t dwell on what might have been.”

  “It’s hard not to.”

  The touch of his fingertips was gone, leaving too much room for cold. He lifted a couple shopping bags and placed them on the bed beside me. “I picked these up for you today. Nothing fancy.”

  “You don’t have to keep buying me clothes.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  I took the bags, ashamed that I hadn’t gone out myself, or ordered something online by now. “At least let me pay you back.”

  “Not necessary.”

  I sat in the window seat to look through the pretty things he’d bought me: more warm sweaters and tops, and an upscale brand of jeans, along with delicate blouses and dark slacks I could wear to work. They were all in my favorite colors, price tags removed. I was already taking up space in his house and eating his food, and now he was buying designer clothes for me. I needed to crawl out of my misery hole and get back to life. “Thank you so much,” I said. “You’re too generous.”

  “I just want you to be able to return my mother’s clothes.” He laughed. “It’s jarring to see you wearing them. Do you have money to…you know…get whatever else you need?”

  He meant things like bras and underwear. Of course he wouldn’t buy me those, in case I misunderstood. “Yes. God, I have money. I’m fine. I can get some things today. I’ve just been…” I covered my face to hide my blush. “I’ve been wallowing.”

  “I get it. I’d wallow too.” He glanced at Blue, who’d taken up near-permanent residence in my wallowing bed. “When do you think you might go back to work?”

  “The Thursday after New Year’s. Met Orchestra management said I could take longer, but I need to get back to it.”

  “What’s on the schedule to play?”

  I swallowed hard, trying not to think about my Grapeleaf, exploded in a thousand shards of wood and varnish. Milo’s grandmother named all Fierro’s violins up until she died a few years ago, and she’d called mine the Grapeleaf because the wood had come from the Mediterranean, and because the tone “flowed like wine.” Notable instruments all had names, like children, and were tracked by enthusiasts, as well as the companies that insured them. I’d get money for the loss of my Fierro, but it wouldn’t be the same as having it. Somewhere, Fierro registries were being altered with a note next to the Grapeleaf entry. Lost in an explosion, early 21st century.

  “I think it’s Brahms and Mozart.” Tears rose in my eyes. Stupid, that I couldn’t get over the Grapeleaf. It wasn’t like I’d lost a child. “I’ll send out some emails to my section mates. Someone will have a violin for me to borrow until…”

  Until I found a new instrument, which seemed an impossible task right now, when I couldn’t even buy new clothes.

  “I have so many violins,” Milo said. “Please, take one to use for now. Even the Strad, if you want it.”

  “Good God. I couldn’t.”

  “You have to play something. Come on. Come take a look at what I have.”

  I got out of bed to follow him to his instrument room. I’d avoided thinking about the night we’d gone in there, even though the room was just down the hall from my bedroom. I’d pushed down all the memories of him holding me, kissing me, sliding the hard outline of his cock between my legs as he groaned deep in his throat. It was too weird to think about, because he’d been so polite and distant since then.

  He ushered me into the room, leaving Blue out in the hall to wait for his dinner. Was it only a week or so ago that he’d showed me his Stradivarius? He opened other cabinets this time, took out a Cecilio and an Amati, a Guarneri, and a Knelling that looked very orange. He had a few Fierros too, and I played each one, but none of them felt like my Grapeleaf. I bowed a few notes on a Pressenda and felt more connection. Milo smiled knowingly. “Similar design, same type of wood as your Fierro,” he said. “Although it’s a bit older.”

  I played a few more notes, did a run of scales. It was a great violin. I tried to smile, tried to look happy, but he wasn’t fooled.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, his dark eyes holding my gaze. “This is just for now. If you want, we can look for another Fierro together. I have some contacts who might be willing to sell one. Or…” He looked away, then back at me again. “If you want, we can make you a new one. I mean, I can make you one from scratch. It won’t be my father’s work, like the Grapeleaf, but I can tailor it to you, to
your exact specifications.”

  I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. People waited years for a violin from Milo’s workshop, now that he’d made a name for himself. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m very serious, Alice. I’d love to do it. I’d love the challenge of making the perfect instrument for you.”

  Love to do it. Love to. I love you, even if we’re just friends. That’s what he was saying. The generosity of his offer brought tears to my eyes.

  “Don’t cry,” he said. “Seriously.” He waved a hand through the air. “This room is also dampness-controlled.”

  I laughed then, instead. “Yes, please. I’d love you to make me one.” What could be more special than a violin he made me with his own hands? I’d treasure it beyond bearing. It would be, truly, my own heart, made by the man I loved. “You’re going to make me one? Really?”

  “Yes. It’ll take a while, but if you don’t mind waiting a few months…” He touched the Pressenda. “You can play this in the meantime.”

  I felt like I might choke on my emotions. My heart felt so full. “I don’t know what to say. I want to hug you. Can I hug you?”

  He gave one of his reticent, reluctant smiles, the ones that made him even more handsome. I put down the Pressenda and threw my arms around him, and there was a little bit of tension between us, but also love. I loved him, even if he wouldn’t accept romantic love from me. I adored him. It was okay if he held himself a little stiff, a bit away from me.

  He went to the kitchen and fed Blue, then put together a veggie and steak stir-fry for his dinner. All that perfection, and he could cook without breaking a sweat. I wasn’t that hungry, so I toasted some tortillas to eat with hummus.

  “That smells good,” I told him, as we sat at his kitchen counter together.

  “I have a secret recipe for the spices.”

  “Really?”

  “No.” He laughed. “It comes out of a jar. Want to try a bite?”

  “Yes, I freaking do.”

  He fed me some steak and broccoli, and a slice of green pepper, dangling them from his chopsticks so I could take them into my mouth.

  “It’s so good, Milo.” I might have lost everything, but maybe it was worth it, to have these moments with him. I hadn’t even put the claim together for the insurance. I was too damn comfortable here, which was dangerous.

  He took a few more bites of his food, swirling the vegetables and steak together in the sauce, then paused and looked over at me. “Do you have any plans for New Year’s?”

  The tortillas I’d eaten flopped around in my stomach. Don’t get excited, Alice. He doesn’t mean it in your fantasy way. “Uh, no. Not really. I was going to stay in. Stay here, if that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine.” He pushed his food around and took a breath. “But if you want, you can hang out with me and my friends.”

  “The paired-up ones? With the girlfriends who only tolerate you?”

  “Yeah. If you came with me, you could run interference. Keep the girlfriends occupied while I hang out with my buds.”

  I burst into laughter, and he smiled. Oh, that smile.

  “I’m kidding,” he said. “They’re great. Juliet and Ella. They’ve been asking to meet you, so maybe we could all hang out, drink champagne and eat canapés until the ball drops, that kind of thing.”

  He wore a guarded expression, like he didn’t want me to take this the wrong way. I wasn’t going to. I was glad to be invited, and curious to meet his friends.

  “Thanks for the invite,” I said, stealing a bit of steak from his plate and passing it under the counter to Blue. “I’d love to go.”

  Chapter Five: Milo

  I had no idea why I’d invited her to New Year’s at Fort’s house. I wasn’t known for being a masochist, but the evening had been booked and planned. My two best friends and their partners were expecting us in half an hour.

  “You don’t have to dress up,” I said, knocking on the guest room door. “They’re not fancy.”

  Well, they were kind of fancy. Fort’s father owned the Sinclair Jewelry company, and Devin’s family were part owners of Gibraltar Airlines, but my friends themselves were down to earth, for the most part. Fort and Devin were also Dominants, and members of The Gallery. In the past, I’d participated in group scenes with Ella and Juliet, with varying success.

  But God, I didn’t want Alice to know any of this.

  I could trust my friends to be discreet. They knew Alice and I were old friends, and that she was staying with me because of the Michelin building explosion.

  “I’m not getting fancy,” she said, opening the door. “Just trying to do something with my hair.”

  God help me, she’d put it up in those wraparound braids. Sometimes I went entire days forgetting Alice was from Sweden, because her English was so good, but then she’d do one of her plaited hairstyles, with gold-red braids circling her head like a Nordic fairy crown. There were always wispy hairs flying loose here and there. She’d tug at them impatiently, while I pondered what was wrong with me that I literally wanted to fuck someone’s hairstyle.

  “You look nice,” I told her. And I want to fuck your hair, damn you.

  I’d hoped that living with her would take the edge off my lust, but it hadn’t, not even a little. She was dressed in one of the outfits I’d bought her. Even though she’d finally gone out shopping for some things, she chose to wear the pink cashmere sweater and dark-washed jeans I’d picked out. With the braided updo and pale pink top, she looked charming and innocent. Good.

  No, bad. She still looked fuckable as hell to my traitorous body.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

  “I’ll get the champagne.”

  She scooped up the four bottles on the kitchen counter, hugging them to her chest. I laughed and took two of them, ignoring the perky silhouette of her breasts under her sweater. She paused on the way to the door to put on her shoes and say goodbye to Blue.

  “Get a coat,” I reminded her. “It’s cold out.” And I don’t want anyone on the street slavering over your breasts. Only me.

  When we arrived at Fort’s Blackwell penthouse, a cozy party was already in session. Fort and Juliet welcomed us in, while Devin and Ella waved from the couch.

  “You must be Alice,” said Juliet, relieving her of the champagne bottles. “Thanks for the booze, and Happy New Year.”

  “Milo bought the booze, but you’re welcome. Thanks for having me over.”

  “No problem. Any friend of Milo’s is a friend of ours. I love your hair!”

  Alice patted her glorious crown of braids, looking for wisps, probably, not realizing how beautiful she was. I could tell she was a little overwhelmed. Fort and Juliet’s apartment was a showplace, with high ceilings and wall-to-wall windows looking down on the city. The penthouse view made it the perfect place to ring in the New Year. I glanced around at the silver and gold decorations, posters, fringe, and glitter balls, while Alice accepted a “Happy New Year” tiara embellished with lights.

  “That looks good on you,” I teased. A crown to go on her crown. By the time the intros were finished, Devin and Fort were giving me looks, as if to say, this is your old family friend? You’ve fucked her though, right? Or you’re planning to? We could communicate all this through eye contact alone; that was how long we’d trolled for women together—submissive women—before they settled into their current relationships and fell in love.

  I ignored their curious glances, settling back in a recliner and digging into the chips. Alice sat at the end of the couch, filling the room Devin and Ella made for her, while Juliet and Fort took the love seat. Conversation flowed easily, as a year-in-retrospective special played on TV in the background.

  “Alice,” asked Ella, “how long have you and Milo been friends?”

  She met my eyes a moment. “Gosh. Forever. My grandfather was a pretty well-known musician in Sweden, and he hit it off with Milo’s grandfather while he was buying a Fierro violin. Wh
en our fathers both attended the European Conservatory, the families got together often enough to form a bond. We didn’t grow up together or anything, but I saw Milo at least a few times every year. Until…”

  I picked up the story. “Until I started taking lessons from her father. That was when he worked and taught in Brooklyn. We saw each other a lot then. We were what? How old?”

  “I don’t remember.” She scrunched up her nose. “Were you sixteen? Fifteen? And I was six years younger than you.”

  “You were the prodigy.”

  “You keep saying that, Milo, but you were pretty good.”

  I snorted. “Your father didn’t think so.”

  It felt strange to hash back over our friendship in front of people. The other two couples watched us with bemused looks.

  “Anyway,” said Alice, “I saw him a lot until my family moved back to Sweden. Then it was only once or twice a year, maybe summer or Christmastime.”

  “Until now,” Devin said.

  “Now she sees me all the time,” I joked, a nervous reaction to their scrutiny.

  “I was so sorry to hear that you lost everything in the Michelin fire,” Fort said. “I’m glad Milo was able to offer you a place to stay.”

  I stared at Alice, unsettled as always when I thought how close I’d come to losing her. “Blue was the one who insisted she stay,” I said. “He’s taken a shine to her. I doubt he’ll ever let her move out now.”

  Alice laughed, looking around at the others, and the conversation moved to brighter topics. I tried to be bright too, because this was a celebration of a new year and new beginnings, but I soon felt the pull of moodiness. My friends and their girlfriends were so happy together, so at ease, because they’d been aware of each other’s kinks from the start. Fort and Juliet met outside a BDSM club, and Devin and Ella had participated in a dungeon scene together before they’d even met.