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Emmanuel’s career as a classical pianist is picking up, and he is ready to leave his teaching days behind. But a generous offer makes him reconsider, and he agrees to one last teaching gig. One look at his new student, the daughter of a wealthy French expat, and the pianist is lost, irresistibly drawn to the seductive young woman.
She, intrigued by her exotic and passionate new tutor, actively pursues him until he gives in, and they find themselves in the midst of a torrid romance.
But someone is dead set on preventing those two to get together…
An unconventional portrait of love and lust, a meditation on ethics, obsession and expectations, and a journey of self-discovery, Nocturne is a psychological erotic suspense, and contains mature elements. Nocturne is also a musical novel–original music composed especially to complement the story.
Sitting at the piano for the second half of the concert, Emmanuel sought Alex in the audience. There she was in the third row, smiling at him.
She leaned towards the guy sitting next to her, and exchanged a few words with him. The guy was thin, had a pointed nose and dirty blond hair. Emmanuel wondered who he was. Boyfriend, probably. Lucky bastard.
The quartet was on fire tonight. Emmanuel had given each musician a cadenza. A cadenza was the classical equivalent of a solo. The four musicians rocked their parts. The first violin did his trademark pizzicato, the viola her brooding lower register complaint, the second violin his usual multi strings spectacle, and the cellist, his good natured, rich sounds. And Emmanuel was the heart, keeping them all alive and kicking with his omnipresent piano.
After the concert, a few people hung around to talk with the musicians. Alex was amongst them, along with the blond guy who stood a few inches behind her. Filled with after concert euphoria, Emmanuel hugged Alex tightly, realizing halfway through that it might not be the most appropriate thing to do what with being her teacher. He shrugged it off and kissed both her cheeks. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for the tickets. My brother had to stay in London an extra day. He apologizes.” Alex’s sweet voice grazed Emmanuel’s ears, making him shiver as if she’d actually nibbled on his earlobe.
Emmanuel couldn’t care less Alex’s brother hadn’t made it. Alex had, which was why he had offered the tickets in the first place. “You’re here, it’s all that matters. I wanted you to hear a live cello. Did you like it?”
Alex stroked his forearm in a tender gesture, nodding.
“My piano didn’t bore you to death, then?”
Her hand slid up his arm to squeeze his triceps and she smiled, slowly shaking her head. Lord that girl could speak without uttering a single word. Her eyes were exceptionally vivid tonight. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t even back up when she leaned forward oh so slightly. In fact, he found himself leaning forward as well, and a strong urge to touch her, to kiss her, possessed him.
The excited and bubbly laugh coming from Alex’s escort snapped Emmanuel out of it. “Are you kidding? That was epic!”
“Glad you enjoyed. I’m Manny.” Emmanuel offered his hand to the escort, who shook it and introduced himself as Blake, the blush on his cheeks quickly spreading to his neck and ears.
Shane, the cellist, shouted from somewhere behind Emmanuel. “Yo, Manny, pictures!”
“Right. I should go.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Cross,” Alex said.
“At 2. Tighten up the Haydn. It was sloppy last week. Slow it down if you must.”
“Yes, Mr. Cross.”
“And keep your spine pulled up.”
“And my fingers curled as if I was holding a ball as fragile as an egg. I know.”
“It’s not good enough to know it. Apply it, yeah?”
“Yes, Mr. Cross.”
His hand took on a life of its own, and reached over to gently stroke her cheek. Her deference towards him did strange things to his insides. Pleasurable things. Warm, tingly, satisfying yet yearning things. Forbidden.
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About the Author
Scheherazade is a melomaniac and amateur flutist with a predilection for synthpop, Muse, Beethoven, and Greg Lake. Blackflag’s “Slip It In” will forever hold a special place in her heart.
Her favorite movies usually include one of the following: a creature on a rampage; a machine on a mission who simply won’t stop until its target is dead; or an old fashioned, refined psychopath with a plan.
She won’t hesitate in picking up anything written by Patrick Senecal or Poppet, and she will inevitably fall in love with every new character LH Cosway introduces her to. Anne Rice, Stephen King and Albert Camus are always welcomed in her home.
Scheherazade recently moved back to her hometown of Montreal after spending 4 years in Boston, and 2 in Brittany. She is extremely camera shy, but can talk your ear off about her latest story, or this rock band from Turkey she just discovered.