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She was afraid to ask the question, but asked anyway. “Why were you trying to reach me?”
He turned, folded his arms and leveled his eyes at hers. “To tell you I have no intention of learning how to read. Not now, not ever.”
Her stomach plummeted, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His tone was indignant, the words decisive and not to be challenged. But he didn’t know she never gave up on her students and she wasn’t going to start now. Especially when she had so much at stake.
Still, contract aside, he had to want to learn how to read or else there would be little chance for success. She had to convince him to continue with the lessons, to believe he could do this.
A sudden burst of energy rocked her body. She set aside the contract and smoothed her skirt.
“I’m sorry Tommy didn’t communicate with you.” She kept her voice calm, chose her words more carefully. “You have every right to be upset.”
Alex flopped down on the far end of the couch, leaned back and slung his arm over his eyes.
She swiveled her legs to face him. He turned his head and gave her a pointed stare.
“I can tell you this. I don’t need a tutor,” he retorted, his voice razor-sharp as he jabbed his thumb into his chest. “Even if I did, I should be the one doing the hiring.”
Her face burned with anger. Although she knew he was simply blowing off steam, completely understandable in this unusual situation, she had to look away to maintain her composure.
Alex tapped her arm and it pulsated with heat, sending her heart rate to the moon. She turned, hoping her reaction to his touch didn’t show in her eyes.
“Look, Miss Williams,” he said, his voice several notches softer. Her last name got lost in a yawn. “As you can see, I’m exhausted from my trip. I’m sorry about the inconvenience, but there’s no deal. I can’t do this.”
She unfolded her arms at her sides. “If it’s my qualifications you’re worried about, I can assure you th—”
“You don’t get it, do you?” He leaped from the couch, his voice thundering off the walls. “I should fire Tommy for pulling this stunt, but I can’t blame him. He was just trying to protect me.”
Her eyes paced with him as he walked in front of the huge marble fireplace until he stopped and leaned his elbow on the mantle.
She got up and took a few tentative steps toward him. “Protect you? From what?”
“My record company! While I was in Europe, they set up a book tour of elementary schools in Harlem. But they…” His voice trailed off and something seemed to deflate within him.
“Don’t know you can’t read,” she finished.
“Bingo.”
Their eyes locked, and now that Cara was standing closer to him, she saw his were hazel, the irises speckled with bits of green. She was momentarily mesmerized by their unusual hue and the intense shame color couldn’t hide.
So that’s why he’s so angry. Although he would probably never admit it, she could see in his eyes he was afraid. She had to tread lightly, or she’d lose him to that fear.
Alex parted his lips like he was going to say something else, but instead he stalked away.
She trailed after him. “Well, it is kind of a cool way to introduce your music to a younger audience,” she offered. “I know if I was a kid, I’d be excited to see you in person.”
A few feet away, he swung around and stared at her like she had two heads. “It’s a waste of time! Kids are listening to hip-hop and rap, not jazz. Armstrong, Coltrane, Miles and Ellington—they’ve never heard of them. If it ain’t sampled or doesn’t have enough bass to blow their eardrums out, they’re not into it.”
His eyes shifted to the overflowing wastebasket, then back to her.
“When does the tour start?”
“Week from today,” Alex grumbled. “Tommy’s trying to get it pushed back.”
Cara ran her hand through her curls before walking over to where he stood at the window. “Learning to read is very difficult for anyone, especially for adults. It’s not something you want to attempt on your own.”
He whirled around and pointed at her. “I told you I’m not interested. I’ve gotten along fine my whole life and nobody’s gonna change that. I’ll handle this book tour fiasco in my own way, in my own time, not anyone else’s.”
He turned and jabbed the windowsill with his knuckles, as if to emphasize that the matter was closed. Still, even his taut arms and the harsh finality of his words rang hollow.
Both of them knew there was no escape from what lay ahead.
He put his forehead against the windowpane. “Tommy is the only one besides my mom who knows about…that I can’t…” His voice ebbed away and he shook his head. “He’s been with me for years, through everything, almost since the beginning of my career.”
She gazed at the muscular expanse of his bare back and a sense of protectiveness winnowed through her. She wanted to wrap her arms around his trim waist and pull him away from his fears. She had to make him believe in himself, and in her.
She approached him, placed her hand on his arm, hating herself for what she was about to say. His skin felt warm and the muscle underneath tensed as he turned to look at her. “It sounds like he really cares about you, and helps you out a lot. But what if, God forbid, something happens to Tommy. What then?”
His shoulders slumped in reply and she knew she’d hit a nerve. Then his eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes filled with pain, bore into hers.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and splintered her heart. “This can’t get out. If it does, it’ll destroy my career.”
As a high-profile musician and one of the hottest bachelors in Harlem, she knew the media would have a field day if they learned he was illiterate.
“No one will know. I promise,” she assured him, keeping her voice light in spite of the emotions churning within her. “I live a very quiet, boring life and I’d like it to stay that way.”
“I don’t think anything about you would qualify as boring.”
She bit her lower lip with pleasure, although she was unsure whether he meant it as a compliment.
“Tommy told me about the big money I’m going to give to you.”
She shook her head. “You mean donate. None of it is going to me personally. It’s going to fund Beacon House.”
He gave her a curious stare, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter because you’re both nuts. There’s no way I can learn how to read in one weekend,” he insisted.
She nodded. “You’re right. You won’t be able to read War and Peace, but I promise you’ll be able to read a simple children’s book by Monday.”
Alex shoved his hands into his jeans, revealing a thin line of hair at the base of his abdomen that Cara longed to trace to its final destination.
He sounded doubtful. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
She looked him in the eye. “Of course you do,” she asserted. “You can quit, but look at your options. If you do the tour, your record company is happy and no one knows a thing. If you don’t do the tour, it’ll be a PR nightmare. I’m willing to bet they already sent out the press release, right?”
“Yes. My publicist was overjoyed. At least one of us is happy.”
“So, what reason could you possibly give for backing out now?”
He smoothed his hand over his perfectly round, bald head and gave a sigh of resignation. “I guess the dog ate my homework wouldn’t fly, would it?”
She grinned. “It’s going to be okay. I promise,” she said, reassuring him. “If you don’t want to continue with the reading lessons after the tour, you don’t have to. But regardless, your secret will be safe.”
And so will mine.
Alex stared at her a moment, and Cara knew he was debating whether to trust her or not. She had to figure out a way to make him feel at ease with her…and soon.
Slipping his hands out of his pockets, he pushed away from the window with his shoulder. “I’m going to take a quick shower and finish packing before my limo arrives.”
Panic sluiced through her veins. Tommy had told her Alex’s schedule was clear for the weekend. They needed to spend as much time as possible on the lessons and not be disturbed. “Limo? What limo?”
“The one taking us to my home in the Catskill Mountains.”
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “But I thought I was going to be teaching you here, in Harlem.”
He shook his head. “I’d already planned to spend a long weekend in the mountains. I’m supposed to be relaxing, remember? I’m not changing those plans for anybody. Is that a problem?”
The reality of his words hit full force and a shudder of excitement went through her.
Alone with Alex in the Catskills. Where there were no taxis, no takeout and no escape? She was already a hot mess about being with him in his Harlem town house.
She wasn’t scared of him, just unused to being alone with a man she was attracted to for an extended period of time. Her dates were few and far between, and most of them never made it as far as her bed. Devoted to her work, the words sex and social life were missing from her personal dictionary.
There’s really no need to worry, she told herself. Alex was her student. She was his teacher. The lines were clearly drawn. Remembering how he’d looked at her at the front door, she, like most women, knew when a man was attracted to her.
And Alex Dovington most certainly was not.
The same could not be said for her.
It was difficult not to stare at him as he stood there, maddeningly out of reach, body cut and chiseled to perfection like a Renaissance statue. The man was off the hook, and off-limits, yet her eyes yearned to do what her lips could not—devour him.
His shoulders moved forward, snapping her back to reality.
“Sorry. I lost my train of thought for a second. That’ll be fine. I just need to run home and pack. I should be back in a couple of hours.”
He nodded, and she kept her eyes on him as he walked out. After he left, she grabbed her purse and dug for cab fare.
He popped his head in the room and she dropped her bag in surprise. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I was an absolute terror in school. My teachers hid behind their desks when I walked into the room. Fair warning.”
His voice was stern, but she detected a hint of a smile on his lips.
She arched an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll just have to get creative to keep you interested.”
Where did that come from?
Judging by the odd look on his face, he was just as surprised as she was.
“If you want to grab something to drink before you leave, the kitchen is at the end of the hallway. Help yourself.”
Cara waited until he went upstairs, and then drifted over to the little alcove where gold records ornamented the wall. Tucking a curl behind her ear, she gazed at the Grammy Award, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
Had she been flirting with him just now?
She almost laughed out loud. Absolutely not. When it came to devising enticing lines to attract the opposite sex, she got a big, fat F.
Passing the piano, her feet kicked something out of the way. Looking down, she saw a balled-up piece of manuscript paper that had somehow escaped burial. She glanced over her shoulder before picking it up.
Smoothing out the wrinkles with the palm of her hand, she hummed the melody. It was the tune he was playing when arrived. Smiling, she refolded the music and stuck it into her purse.
On her way to the kitchen, her smile faded when it suddenly struck her that there were no pictures of
Alex’s friends or family around, not even of his brother, Michael.
Every small room in her own apartment was filled with pictures, memories frozen in time. She cherished each one, especially the ones of her mother who died when she was nine years old.
Shouldering her purse and briefcase, Cara selected a bottle of juice from the fridge. Her mind wandered to Alex’s numerous records, the U.S. and European concert tours, the sold-out performances at jazz clubs across the country and the world. All were trophies to his artistic talent.
But where were the tributes to his personal life?
As she closed the front door, the last thing she heard was the faint sound of water spraying in the shower, reigniting her nerves. Soon the biggest challenge of her life would begin. She sank down on the stoop, leaned her head against the cold iron railing, and prayed.
Chapter 2
Alex shoved his cell phone into his duffel bag, leaned his head against the window and wished he’d never come back to New York. The gray waters of the Hudson River were dappled in the sunlight as his limo traveled north to the Catskills.
The nasal-knife voice of his publicist still rang in his ears. Word had gotten out about the tour. She was going nuts fielding calls from around the tristate area and as far away as Chicago and Los Angeles. Everyone wanted Alex Dovington to read and perform at their school. Local and national media wanted exclusive coverage and personal interviews.
What a joke.
He eased back into the leather seat and reached for the familiar green bottle. Tipping it back, he enjoyed a long swig. If they knew he couldn’t read the label of his favorite beer, or damn near anything else for that matter, they wouldn’t want him.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what would happen if people discovered his secret. He could almost see the tabloid headline:
Playboy Dummy!
Harlem’s Hottest Saxophonist Is Illiterate
The familiar anger rose within him and he gritted his teeth against it. No matter how much he’d already accomplished in his career, in some people’s minds, he would be branded as unintelligent. But he wasn’t stupid. He just couldn’t read.
True, there were some words he recognized by sight. Ones he’d picked up over the years just by living life. Women. Sex. Money. Music. Jazz. Bar. Liquor. Nightclub. Police. Beer. ATM. A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. Those were among the most important words in the world. At least in his world.
Everything else was a cloud of letters he could never see through. A jumble of puzzle pieces he could never hope to solve.
The cold beer felt like heaven raining down his throat as he took another long pull. He snuck a glance at Cara. If his teachers had looked like her back when he was in school, he definitely wouldn’t have dropped out in the ninth grade.
She sat diagonally from him, reading a newspaper, one slim leg crossed over the other. Her hair billowed out from her head and cascaded down her back in tiny spirals of brown curls spun with gold. He wondered if it felt as silky as it looked.
She lowered the paper for a moment to turn the page and Alex got another glimpse of her face, although the caramel-colored beauty of it had captured his mind the moment he opened his door and found her standing there.
His eyes roamed down the cream blouse and over the navy skirt, all buttoned-up and properly pressed. They curved down her legs, all the way to the peek-a-boo pump dangling from her left foot as it kicked out a sporadic rhythm. No stockings, he noted with pleasure.
