DirtyInterludes Read online

  The music ended with several offbeat notes that made him frown. Bridget opened the door, looking flushed and self-satisfied. Damn. He imagined she’d look like that after a good, long fucking. Tendrils of hair had come free from her bun and caressed her neck. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

  Max grinned at her owlish attempt to appear innocent. “I’m sure you are. Moving those speakers through the house? I thought you’d be a bit more inventive. What with me being a classless imbecile and all.”

  “You don’t have to be smart when all you do is have intercourse and play dirty tricks.”

  He tapped his nose. “You got me pegged. It’s all I do. Fuck people.”

  She winced. “Don’t use that word.”

  Max felt instantly contrite, but he covered it with a sneer. “Offended your sensibilities, have I? Do you find everything offensive?”

  “No. Just everything you do.”

  Leaning against the doorframe, he chucked her under the chin. “You really shouldn’t complain so much. If you’re honest with yourself, I’d say you desperately want that orgasm.”

  “How dare you? You know nothing about me.”

  “Why else would you choose to play the cello? I haven’t seen you play it but I bet you look hot. Your legs spread and that beast of a thing between your thighs.”

  Her nose scrunched. “Trust you to make something beautiful become lewd.”

  “Sex is a beautiful thing. You should try it some time.”

  Someone giggled behind the door and Max’s eyes narrowed. “Have you got people here?”

  “None of your business.”

  Max shoved the door open and stared, mouth agape, at the mini orchestra in her living room, on her stairs and he’d bet in her room. Holy hell, he’d give it to her. He was impressed. “Wow, that’s—”

  Bridget shuffled around him, her arms akimbo. “You have no right to storm into my house.”

  “I thought you’d just planted some speakers, but to involve your friends in our little war is…unexpected.”

  “I’m not so petty as to be drawn into your games. We’re practicing.”

  Max laughed, enjoying her little passive-aggressive act. “Babe, you’re playing. But I’ll tell you what, the next time you want to hold an impromptu symphony, I’ll buy a ticket.”

  He tipped his head at one of the women and gave her a wink when she snickered. Sauntering back to the door he paused, hand on the frame. “By the way, nice try. But you’ll have to try harder than that.”

  Bridget almost hurled her bow at the door the moment it shut.

  “Is that him?”

  Bridget glanced at Stephanie and the oboe on her lap. “Yes.”

  “Wow, you didn’t say he was hot.”

  “Irrelevant. He has taken to making my life a living hell.”

  “He is welcome to come live next to me and make my life hell then.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. Sure, Max was good to look at, but that was all. What would she want with someone who had absolutely no substance? “You can have him.”

  Alex, the principal violinist, leaned against the stair banister and overlooked the tiny version of the orchestra squashed into her living room. “I don’t think he was too impressed with your attempt to upset him.”

  Biting back a snide remark, she thumbed the end of her bow. “I haven’t ever had to retaliate before. What do you suggest I do?”

  Alex’s lips tipped upward. “Play dirty.”

  Alex was a tall Dutch man with gentle blue eyes. What did he know about playing dirty?

  “I have three brothers. I think I have some ideas,” he said as though reading her thoughts.

  “All right, I’m listening.”

  Chapter Three

  Cello music vibrated on the air. Seamlessly her fingers massaged the notes, lip tucked between her teeth. The curve of the cello pressed against the underside of her breast. She pulled the bow over the strings, swaying to the gentle cadence. Head dipped, her lips parted as the notes smoothed out into a mournfully yearning melody. Her fingers glided over each chord progression, drawing out the sensual play. Fingers stiffened and eased over each change, her bow thrusting back and forth. Cool air caressed the back of her thighs and her nether region tingled. Bridget’s eyes snapped open as she panted, the cello music dying in an abrupt anti-climax.

  She trembled. From the music, but also something else. Desire. Max’s reference to her cello had defiled her. Fingers clenched around the neck of the cello, she blew out a cleansing breath. She knew Edgar’s music was sensual and beautiful, but she never felt the eroticism of it. In her mind she felt it as unrequited love, but now it felt like a play about sex. The way a man would tease a woman. Please her with every stroke of his hands. Touch her in ways that would bring her to climax.

  The tips of her fingers were sensitive from working the notes. She shook them out, trying to expel the tension inside. She gathered her composure, bow steady on the strings, and started again, this time her own composition. Something that’d been floating in her head for the last couple of days. The chords sang and she kept her focus on her bedroom wall. The bow slid along the strings, a cadence filling the room. As she moved through the opus, her unerring gaze settled on the bed. She imagined Max in there. Touching her in ways she’d secretly imagined.

  Her breathing became unsteady. Her nipples peaked as the smooth wood brushed over them. Teasing her. Fingers raced over the notes. Ignoring the pulse of need, she plucked the strings and rocked back in silence, in her head listening to the imaginary orchestra behind her.

  She eased her bow along the strings again. The cello caressed her thigh, reminding her of a man’s touch. Conjuring Max, with his knowing eyes and “I’ll make you scream with pleasure” body. Secretly she wanted that. She wanted him to touch her in ways she’d only dreamed. To kiss his dragon tattoo and taste his skin. Trail her fingers over his abs and grab his backside while he made love to her. Unconsciously her legs parted farther, the cool air touching the edge of her moist panties.

  She arched into the phantom caress. His hot palm cupping her breast and teasing her nipples. Every stroke set her on fire.

  She dropped a note, the dissonant sound thrusting her from her fantasy.

  Blinking, she held back a whimper caught between despair and dismay. She ached with the need for release. The fabric of the loose skirt brushed along her upper thigh. Her nerves were on high alert as they sent a hot wave of awareness through to her womb. The bow fell to the floor, but she didn’t care. She sought out the place where she ached, touching herself through the cotton. With nimble fingers she found her clitoris and circled it, sending the first arcs of delight through her. A gasp caught in a whimper burst from her. Like the strings on her cello, she manipulated each movement to give her ecstasy. The pad of her finger pressed over the bundle of nerves and she rocked it back and forth. Pleasure exploded in little allegros. Expressive. Joyful. Beautiful. The smell of honey, wax and musk infused her senses. Her hand fisted over the fingerboard, the strings biting into her palm. Knees tightened around the body of her cello as she masturbated.

  She flung her head back as her sensitive nipple raked along the upper bout of her cello. Thrusting aside her panties, she circled her clit once, twice, before pushing two fingers into her vagina. A decadent thrill ran through her and pinged like strings plucked on the cello. Eyes squeezed shut, she pumped her fingers slowly, finding that sweet spot deep inside her. Her body vibrated with bliss and she rocked into her touch. The discordant twang of strings and a broken sound of her restlessness cut through the air. The heel of her palm pressed against the crown of her sex and rubbed the hood.

  A concerto of glorious pleasure rose in waves and she teased herself to acute awareness. Every slide of her fingers deep inside her made her mewl with delight. Rotund balls of decadent need rose with each stroke of her palm against her clit. She pulled the cello toward herself, wanting to feel the hard, cool edges against her hot skin. Her free hand skated alo
ng the strings in an unconscious glissando. She wanted to scream. Wanted to come apart with Max showing her what type of orgasm he could give her. Damn him. She thrust harder, his name a song in her head. Her canal quivered as tingles raced along her skin. Desperate for that release, she circled her palm against her pussy as her fingers rocked to and fro over the G-spot hidden deep inside. She mindlessly opened her legs a fraction as an orgasm coiled, ready to come apart. Her thighs gripped her cello as she exploded in a crescendo of wonder and she cried out, bowing into her cello.

  Forehead pressed against the side of the cello’s fingerboard, she panted. Easing her fingers from her wet vagina, she twitched as need shot through her. Moving the cello aside, she stood and rested the instrument on the chair. Picking up her bow, she tried to ignore the way her fingers trembled. In her en suite she stared at her flushed face and experienced a spike of embarrassment. Washing her hands, she tried to forget how sexual she felt while she played. How she’d become someone completely different all because of the taunts of one man.

  She pressed her hands against the basin and glared at herself. She knew why. Bridget was the stereotypical band geek. And Max the bad boy. Everything about him screamed, “Come and be naughty with me.”

  Washing her face, she abandoned her practice, unable to face neither her cello, nor the feelings Max evoked. Keys in hand, she marched down the stairs and stepped outside. The house next door remained silent and she sighed with relief as she settled in her car and drove away. She pulled into the mall, in her bag a list of items she wanted for her wine-tasting get-together she planned for the cello line. A type of bonding.

  Ticking off items on her list she finally stopped into the wine shop to pick up several nice pinot noirs and dessert wines. She eyed the Riesling. The crisp apple and lime taste went well with pork dinners, but she didn’t want to cook. She preferred something that complemented fruit or cheeses. She settled on a Chardonnay and turned away only to run into another person. Her apology was swallowed by his and apprehension skittered down her spine. She knew the sound of that voice. She turned her head until she looked into Max’s mocking face. Shock ran cold inside.

  “Fancy running into you here.” He looked down at the bottle in her hand, a dark brow raised. “Chardonnay, 2008. Good year.”

  Her fingers tightened over the neck. She was convinced he was making fun of her somehow.

  “Did you choose that all on your own?”

  Yes she did, but she wasn’t about to tell him.

  Lines crinkled around his eyes. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “You like to make fun of me, don’t you?”

  Brows curved together in a perfect look of confusion. “Why would I do that?”

  She scoffed. “When haven’t you? For your information, I know a bit about wine. I host wine-tasting parties every last Sunday of a month. I do know my way around a bottle.”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure you do.”

  “I’m sure you’re much happier with beer or something equally uninteresting.”

  “Well, you haven’t had a good beer then.”

  She made a face, recalling the bitter yeast taste of her first and only beer.

  “Besides, a man can appreciate the variety in life.”

  “I’m sure you do,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain.

  “Jealous, babe?”

  “Hardly. Unlike you, I have a discerning amount of taste.”

  His hand dropped over his heart. “Ouch. I’d much rather be classless than have a stick shoved up my—”

  “Stop right there. I don’t have to stand here and listen to you insult me.”

  “Like you didn’t do the same to me?”

  Rather than respond, she cast him a “you’re a bug beneath my heel” look and stepped around him.

  “How’s the cello going?”

  Her steps faltered and his chuckle sent heat across her face. Marching to the counter, she tried to ignore his laughter and the knowledge that he had gotten to her yet again. Perhaps she would follow through with Alex’s suggestion.

  * * * * *

  Max leaned back, enjoying a cold beer, and smirked. He’d gone into the liquor store to pick up his special order of Founders Breakfast Stout, but had spotted Bridget trawling the wines and thought in a moment of charity to help her out. He shook his head at the random thought. She didn’t appear to want his company. In fact, the way her face lost color and her lips parted, he’d assumed she was embarrassed. He’d bet his bottom dollar his sexual innuendos were getting to her.

  Kicking his feet up, he flicked his stereo on with a remote and jazz rolled through the air. Settling comfortably into his lounge, he thought of new ways to tempt her. To bring that delicious flush to her face. Something hitched in his chest and he dismissed it as an air bubble, even as a voice in his head warned him of his interest in Bridget. Last night at work, Max found his concentration split between the work at hand and Bridget. He’d never thought of another woman while he was, well, fucking another. Sure, he’d thought of stuff he had to do, like future shoots or tasks he wanted to finish in the week. But to think of Bridget while boning a woman freaked him out a little.

  He mentioned it to Bryce. That was his mistake. The bastard laughed his ass off. No sympathy there. He had to sort it out on his own. It didn’t help matters when he saw her at the liquor store. Serendipity or fate laughing at him, who knew? Either way, she wasn’t happy to see him and all he thought about was her mouth. Those luscious lips that usually spat vitriol at him. He was fucked up if he wanted to kiss that sour mouth, but the fact remained he did.

  Could it be? He was starting to like their little fights. He grunted a sound of disbelief. He’d been witness to more messed-up things than this. Swallowing the last of his beer, he welcomed that buzz in the back of his mind, willing the events of today to blur.

  Closing his eyes, he listened to the smooth jazz, sinking into the relaxing hum. A knock on his door brought his head up and his interest perked. Had Bridget come to complain about something? He grinned eagerly. All but leaping over his lounge, he hurried to the door and slid to a stop. Hand on the doorframe, he expelled a harsh breath and settled his agitated nerves. Bending his head from side to side to ease the tightness in his shoulders, he shook out the remaining tension and adopted an air of nonchalance as he swung the door open.

  His eagerness faded to disappointment at the stranger on his doorstep. The tall woman had on so much makeup she probably needed a paint scraper to get that stuff off. Lips red as a cherry parted in a smile. Dark hair and almond-shaped eyes indicated an Asian ethnicity. She exuded sexuality and the tight black dress didn’t hide anything. Slim, athletic frame and pert tits. A brow raised in interest. Well maybe he should hear her out.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I was told to come here and show you a good time.”

  Max rubbed the back of his head. “Look, I don’t know what you were told but I’m not interested.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t have to pay. I was hired anonymously to give you a striptease.”

  Bryce. What was he on about? With a shrug, he stepped back and she sashayed in, a waft of floral perfume hitting him in the face. His nostrils pinched as he closed the door, the cloying scent filling up any clean air left in his vicinity.

  She stood in the middle of his living room, hands on her hips. “Is it just you?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  She bit her lower lip, then pranced around the lounge, her impossibly high heels clipping on the tiles. “Do you mind if I bring in someone else?”

  Max shrugged. Two women? Why the hell not? “Sure.”

  She left the house, the door open and blowing in the cool night air. Momentary confusion gave way to impatience and he picked up his beer. He took a swig and promptly coughed at the sight of a massive dude in his doorway. What the fuck?

  Wiping the beer off his chin, he blinked at the pinch of tears. “What is he for?” he croaked.

  The woma
n patted the bear on the shoulder. “Just to watch. Don’t worry.”

  Max blinked. Kinky. Nothing new to him. “Want a beer?”

  The bald-headed monster didn’t make a sound. Just folded his guns and grunted. Max would give anything to know what he thought, but the sunglasses kinda made that hard.

  “You want to do it here?”

  Max hesitated at the reluctance pressing in his stomach. A churning that told him of his discomfort. He walked farther into the living room, determined not to let Bridget get between him and a woman again. He took her hand and kissed the top. “I’ll do it anywhere you want.”

  She smiled. “We can just do it here. Do you mind if I put on some different music?”

  Max nodded in the direction of his stereo. “Sure.”

  She sauntered over to the radio, hand fluttering in an overly feminine movement. Something wasn’t quite right here. “So where do you want me?” he asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder, an impish curve to her lips. “Just on the chair will do.”

  Max turned his head to find a chair from his dining table had been moved to the center of his living room, with the guy standing behind it. He approached the seat and tipped his chin. “Hey.”

  Silence.

  Awkward. This was gonna get interesting. He settled in the seat, trying his best not to show his unease. Sure, voyeurism was okay, but he wasn’t quite in the mood. But he certainly hoped to get into it soon. She bent over, her pert ass in the air. And what a nice ass it was. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he waited for her to set the ambience. The dude stepped into his peripheral. Damn the guy really wanted to get a good eyeful of this. Max shrugged it off. He wasn’t shy.

  Music started, blaring Britney Spears. He held back a grimace. Whatever floated the woman’s boat. She marched toward him in a model-esque sway only to stop a few feet from him. Hips swung and arms moved in a dance right from a Brittany Spears video. Now he was starting to dig that singer. The woman twisted around and bent to touch her toes. He liked that position best. Ass swaying, she shot a cheeky smile in his direction. Max winked.