4. The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled… #2
“Is this real life? Yes, always!”
He stood. Damn, I kept forgetting how tall he was.
“I know I invited you for drinks, but I wanted to give you this part of the tour first. I do not allow liquids around my instruments ever since one dumbass ruined my vintage Martin with his cheap beer.”
“Will I hear his beating heart under the floorboards if I listen carefully?”
“No, I bricked him into the cellar.” Rafael’s quick literary references thrilled my bookworm heart. “If you want wine, I will open it now so it may breathe.”
“Wine is great! Red, please. And I don’t blame you. My dad used to call me ‘Grace’ as a joke. Everything I own has a coffee stain on it somewhere.”
He took the tea glasses and disappeared, returning momentarily to lead me down a flight of stairs to a large, brightly lit room loaded with musical instruments.
An unusually tall Steinway, festooned with microphones, dominated a corner beside the windows.
Stringed instruments of all kinds hung from pegs on the wall or rested in stands.
“You play the violin?” It seemed way too small for him.
“Strings are like Romance languages.”
A ridiculous idea crawled out of my brain. “Can you play ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’?”
“The Devil had a full band and spent more time on an electric guitar than the fiddle,” he scoffed.
A disassembled drum kit took up another corner. There was what looked like a fancy xylophone, a selection of woodwinds, and a few horns. The more I looked, the more variety I found.
Rafael sat on the piano bench, flipped open the fallboard, and settled in at the tall piano.
“This is incomplete, but your book inspired me. I have been hearing strains of this melody in my head for half my life, and I never knew where it belonged until we met. You will have to imagine percussion and strings for depth.”
I swayed on my feet. “My book? The book I wrote? That book?”
“You are a silly creature.” He played a bass chord progression, ending at middle C. “Specifically, the scene where Epiphany discovers she had a piece of the dragon’s soul embedded within her all along.”
Rafael closed his eyes, and his long fingers spidered across the keys.
A rising run of chords set the baseline, overlaid with plaintive treble in a questioning cadence.
That was the sample he’d sent me! The chords grew in confidence: Epiphany’s dawning realization.
Tension, increasing tempo. The rhythm became staccato: her panic.
A swell of chords led upward into the climax, holding me at the brink of heightened emotion.
They spiraled gently downward and brought me to rest.
His hands stilled, and he opened his eyes.
I furiously wiped at the embarrassment of tears pouring down my cheeks. “That was incredible. It was perfect.”
Rafael grimaced. “Not perfect; but getting there.” He relented at my starry-eyed awe. “Glad you like it.”
“I loved it, are you kidding? You absolutely nailed the mood I was going for.” I sniffled out the words. “I’m blown away. This is the coolest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Rafael closed the fallboard and rested his elbow on it.
“There is something special about you, Elaine. It has been a long time since I last invited anyone here, and it often takes years for me to extend an invitation at all.” He shook his head, bemused.
“I almost invited you the night we met. Still trying to understand it.”
My face heated. “Can I give you a hug for that song?”
He approached and took a knee. It put us almost eye-to-eye. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his hair. It was softer than it looked and incredibly thick. A subtle scent tickled my nose; earthy and spiced, not unlike the dragon’s blood resin incense I’d loved in college.
Rafael tensed at first. Then he hugged me back, squeezing the air from my lungs. Like being caught in a steel vice, only warm. And I loved it.
“You smell nice,” I murmured. “I don’t like most cologne because it’s too strong and gives me a headache, but yours is perfect.”
“It is hair oil.” This close to him, his deep voice vibrated in my chest.
My knees buckled, but I managed not to swoon like an idiot in his arms. “Well, your hair is gorgeous.” I bit my lower lip. “Can I?”
Rafael tugged the tie out of his hair. It spilled like blood over his broad shoulders; still falling just past mid-back.
I captured a curling lock, rotating it in my hand to catch the light.
Such an unusual, almost unnatural, deep red; like a floss of garnet and ruby.
The only other person I’d ever met with a similar shade was a girl from northern Italy I’d shared a grade with in high school.
She’d been a Botticelli painting come to life.
Rafael belonged equally in the Renaissance.
“I’ve always liked long hair on men, but many guys don’t take care of it like you do.” I beamed at him. “Of course, most guys don’t have such beautiful hair. Or so much of it.”
He shrugged. “I have worn it long all my life.”
I tugged experimentally on the lock, testing its coil tension. “Do you have ears under all that mane?”
An amused huff. “The cartilage is not so pretty after all these years of fighting.” He pulled his hair back.
“I thought you were joking about that! They don’t look bad at all, though.” I’d expected full-on cauliflower ears, but they were only a little nebulous around the edges. Maybe no one was tall enough to punch him in the head.
“There is also this, courtesy of a knife fight when I was a teenager.” Rafael turned his head. The left ear had a crescent slice taken out of the auricle, bringing it to a sharp point at the top.
Every time I think this man can’t get any more attractive… “Can I touch it?”
Rafael inclined his head toward me.
I traced the pointed outline of his ear. “Honestly, I’m jealous. I’ve always wanted pointy ears.”
“That makes perfect sense for you, but I doubt you would enjoy the other souvenirs from that fight. Most are faded away now, but I do have this.” He tilted his chin toward me.
A very faint line ran vertically from the left edge of his mouth down to the bottom of his chin.
I never would have noticed if he hadn’t pointed it out, but it only added to his fathomless mystique.
“Cuts at the corners of the mouth bleed like hell and are a bitch to heal. I am lucky that scar is as small as it is.”
With his free hand, Rafael brushed my hair back from my face, running his fingers through it. “Do you always dye it bright colors?”
I forced myself not to drift away at his touch. “Ever since college, yeah. I need to redo it.”
“What color is next?”
Curiosity overtook me. “You have an artist’s eye. What do you suggest?” Most men had a weird aversion to unnatural colors, but Rafael had taken offense to being ‘most men’. If he said something like brunette or blonde, I’d be disappointed.
He plucked at the strap of my dress. “This blue is lovely on you. Perhaps that or a royal purple? Do not go blonde.”
Huh. “Bad breakup with a blonde?”
A shadow crossed his face. “I have a negative association with a woman with dark roots and bleached hair.”
“If you were anyone else, I’d tell you to fuck off for issuing a command instead of making a suggestion. But I appreciate your honesty.” I shouldn’t have given him a pass for controlling behavior, but I was too fascinated. And maybe a little stupid thanks to his arms around me.
Rafael frowned. “Hmm, yes. Allow me to pay for your next hair color as an apology.”
“No, vivids are too expensive! It might be $600 or more. I’ve just been doing it myself.” I hadn’t paid for a pro color session in years because the price kept skyrocketing. My poor hair was a little fried thanks to my home brews.
“Would you have it professionally colored if money were no object?” Rafael challenged.
“Well, yes…”
His brows lofted. “‘Money-money’, you said. Let me treat you. Please. To assuage my honor.”
Damn, he’d cornered me.
“Ok fine! I’ll go with blue and purple, in that case. Sometimes right after I dye it fresh, I forget how bright my hair is and wonder why people are staring at me.”
Rafael huffed in amusement. “Perhaps they stare because you are beautiful, and the hair color serves as a banner announcement.”
I sputtered, gazing into his piercing eyes. He did not blink. His hands hadn’t drifted anywhere inappropriate, and he hadn’t tested my physical boundaries at all. Was it respect or something else? Sad that my experience with men had trained me to think that way.
There were a few little cues though—his attention to certain things and that comment about intimidating straight men. Enough to ping my pattern recognition.
“You really aren’t like most guys.” I chewed my lip. “I kinda wondered if you might be gay.” Fuck, I did not mean to say that out loud.
A nervous grin split Rafael’s face. “Somewhat right, you could say. I am bisexual.”
Relief washed over me. “Oh, that’s wonderful! No wonder you have nice hair and clothes and a cool house.” Goddammit, how many times was my foot going to shove its way into my mouth? I’d be giving myself pedicures with my tongue at this rate. No, ugh, that was an awful mental image.
But he laughed. The sound reverberated in my ribcage; scratching an itch deep in my brain. I wanted to smash myself against him and beg for more.
“That might be the best response to my sexuality I have ever received.”
“Sorry, just thought I’d add an extra layer of awkward. Really though, I’m relieved you’re not a straight man.”
“So am I. Can you imagine all the terrible songs I would write about cheating because I am just a stupid, weak man, so please, baby, take me back?” He made a gagging noise. “Not that bi people cannot also be cheating dirtbags, but at least we have flair.”
I lost it. I laughed so hard my stomach cramped and the tears came back. Rafael laughed too; a rumble in his chest that made my nerves tingle.