Dark Notes(113)

Okaaay. I nod.

He searches my face. “Do you want to go to Leopold?”

“Of course.” I raise my eyebrows. “What else would I do with my life?”

“Anything you want.” He kisses me, his voice a silken tempo of notes. “What does Ivory Westbrook want?”

Well, that’s easy. “I want to play piano, with you at center stage beside me.”

He grins, evidently liking that answer. “How will you get there?”

Hmmm. Is this a trick question? I’ve always believed rigorous training, persistence, and prestige will help me reach my dream. Isn’t Leopold the best way to obtain those things?

I purse my lips. “I don’t know.”

He reaches for something above my head and hands me…an airline ticket? “Let’s find out.”





Saturday morning, we don’t fly out of New Orleans. I drive Ivory an hour and a half away to catch a plane from Baton Rouge. A city where I know no one. But as we walk through the airport—not touching—I’m suspicious as f*ck of every person who casts their eyes in our direction. Do they know me? Are they affiliated with Le Moyne? I could explain our trip as business travel for the school, but that doesn’t stop my skin from crawling with paranoia.

When we step off the plane at our destination, I finally let myself relax.

Ivory sits beside me in the limo, her eyes darting everywhere, her expression a mesmerizing depiction of wonderment. The wide grin, sparkling eyes, and bouncing hyperactivity has been ongoing since I gave her the first-class ticket last night. She’s never been out of New Orleans. Never been on an airplane or in a limo or hotel.

I’ll show her every corner of the world if it keeps that smile on her face.

It’s been two months since Schubert died, and her happiness hasn’t fully snapped back. Until now. Fuck if that doesn’t make all my earlier nervousness worth it.

For the first time since we left Baton Rouge, I touch her, not as a teacher but as the man who loves her. In the privacy of the limo, I wrap an arm around her lower back and pull her against my side. Resting my lips against her temple, I stroke the crease of her thigh and hip.

She sighs, her body melting in my hold. “A limo, Emeric. It’s…unnecessary, but wow.” She leans forward, gaze locked on the side window and jaw hanging open as she takes in the surrounding glass metropolis of skyscrapers. “I can’t believe I’m in New York.”

I capture a strand of her hair and pull. “Can’t?”

She slides me a sexy grin, twists in the seat, and throws a leg across my lap, straddling me chest to chest.

With her hands on my face, she touches her smile to mine. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

I would bend her over my lap and spank her perfect ass, but we’re five minutes away from our first stop. So instead, I pinch her nipple through the dress and hang on.

She grips my wrist and tries to jerk back, but the movement tightens my fingers and elongates the pebble of flesh.

Grabbing my necktie, she yanks hard. That only brings our lips closer together. I take advantage, kissing her greedily while squeezing the hell out of her nipple.

Her body bucks, a devious curve of flesh wrapped in black silk, as she exhales heavy huffs. “I’ll never say can’t again. Just please…my boob!”

Blood rushes to my cock, making it rise.

I release her. “Good girl.”

She rubs her breast. “So mean.”

I spy the smile pushing through her pout. “You love it.”

She slides off my lap but stays close, leaning across my thighs to peer out my window. “Are we going to Leopold first?”

Familiar streets and sights pass by. We’re a block away.

She thinks we’re dressed up for a fancy dinner reservation and that the purpose of the trip is to open her eyes to Leopold campus life.

What she doesn’t know is that I brought her here to open doors.

When the limo stops, she looks at the front of the building and gasps. Her elbow swings an inch from my face in her scramble across my lap to exit on the side closest to the shiny front doors.

I meet the driver’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “We’ll be a couple hours.”

As I join her on the sidewalk, the brisk wind chills the back of my neck. But I barely feel it in the warmth of her blinding smile as she takes in the campus where I spent five years of my life, earning my undergrad and master’s.

“Holy shit.” She hooks an arm around mine, hugging tightly. “This is really happening. I’m really here.”

As much as I loathe our secrecy, I force the warning tone past my lips. “Miss Westbrook.”

“Shit.” She drops her arm, steps an appropriate distance away, and stares straight ahead. “Sorry.” The corner of her mouth twitches. “Mr. Marceaux.”

Smart ass. “Follow me.” I lead her inside and through the halls.

I haven’t been here since I graduated four years ago. Nostalgia pulls at me, but I don’t take the time to look around. We have an appointment.

She walks quickly to keep up with my long strides, her heels clicking against the cement floor. “You’re not a very good tour guide. Slow down.”

“We’ll explore later.” I stop at a closed door in Richter Hall and shift to face her.