You can’t teach this kind of passion…

Alex Dovington is a man with a secret. The internationally famous jazz musician never learned to read. If the world—and his legions of fans—knew, it would be a disaster. When he learns Cara Williams has been hired to teach him, he is reluctant to follow the plan. The sultry teacher will be given only three days to teach the music legend everything she knows. But the instructor becomes the student when Alex turns their mountaintop classroom into a sensual duet of passion.

Cara will do anything to keep the doors of her Harlem literacy center open. Even tutor the scandalously handsome saxophone player at his romantic weekend retreat. Alex may be schooling her in the fine art of lovemaking, but Cara has her own secret—one that could tear them apart forever.…

Her heart skipped a beat when Alex leaned into the microphone and thanked the band. His baritone voice sounded even sexier reverberating through the small room.

Cara watched in amusement as a small crowd immediately gathered around the stage. Many were women, both young and old, with cameras in their hands, primping and waiting for the perfect photo opportunity. Over the next few minutes Alex posed for every picture and signed every autograph.

If this was what it was like to be famous, she’d pass. She was glad the only notoriety she’d ever have was the full-page ad for Beacon House in the yellow pages.

Cara straightened as Alex slid into the booth next to her.

“Why didn’t you warn me about the groupies? I am seething with jealousy over here.”

He draped his arm around the back of the booth, and she unconsciously inched closer to him. “There’s no competition here.” He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger and tugged on it playfully. “You’re still my biggest fan, right?”

She lifted her eyes to his and nodded, wishing that he knew, that she had the courage to tell him, just how much of a fan she was.

He laid his hand against her cheek, and she felt his warm breath on her lips. “And I’m yours.”

Their lips melted together in quiet intensity, and everything else—their fear, their pasts and their uncertain future—disappeared.

HARMONY EVANS

writes sexy, emotional contemporary love stories for women. A former jazz/classical pianist and radio announcer, she is currently a single mom with an overactive imagination still searching for her own happily-ever-after. For more love stories that last a lifetime, visit www.harmonyevans.com or follow @harmonyannevans.

Lesson in Romance
Harmony Evans

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

What if you couldn’t read the words on this page, a letter from your child or husband, or a menu? Those are the sobering questions I asked myself one day and what drove me to write Lesson in Romance, my debut novel.

I am always crushing on hot jazz musicians, so Alex is the culmination of my dreams. Although he can’t read, the notes he plays on his saxophone and the touch of his hands speak only pleasure. His sexy looks and vulnerability are irresistible to Cara, who’s on a mission to help end illiteracy in her Harlem community. Along with the ABC’s, she’s teaching Alex how to trust and love again. The secrets and experiences they share along the way will change their lives forever.

How has the gift of love and reading affected your life? Please share your thoughts with me at harmonyevans@roadrunner.com!

Be blessed,

Harmony Evans

I’d like to thank Nancy Oakley, Founder,

Project Learn, for her time and patience

in answering my endless questions about tutoring adult nonreaders and the issues surrounding illiteracy. Thanks to Mom and Dad, for loving me and

teaching me how to read. Finally, thanks to

Michelle Tackla-Wallace, for believing in me.

To my beautiful daughter Angelina,

my first and dearest fan.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

Cara stepped out of the taxi on West 135th Street in Harlem clutching her briefcase like a life preserver, her eyes fixed on the building before her. The growling sounds of a saxophone poured out through an open window belonging to Alex Dovington, a man she’d wanted to meet for nearly thirteen years.

And the same man she had to teach how to read…in three days.

A cramp gripped her stomach like a vise and she bit her lower lip against the hard ridge of pain. For the millionth time, she questioned herself. Could she do this? If Alex found out who she really was, there was no telling how he would react.

The truth was she had no choice.

Her heels crunched through rust-colored leaves as she walked up the stairs of his home, an ornate renovated brownstone. Inhaling the earthy fragrance of the air calmed her nerves.

How she loved autumn! The season was especially beautiful in New York City. But lately, she’d been so busy trying to raise funds for Beacon House, the adult literacy center she’d founded and struggled to keep open, she barely noticed the warm days blending into cool nights.

She’d simply…existed.

She desperately needed the substantial donation she would receive if she succeeded in teaching Alex to read in three days. Failure was unthinkable, and she would do whatever it took to avoid it.

She reached the landing, sucked in another deep breath, pressed the doorbell. Chimes amplified the fresh wave of panic that rippled through her. She spotted a jack-o’-lantern perched on the stoop next door. The ghoulish sentry seemed to mock her with its crooked smile, and she stuck her tongue out at it in defiance.

Just then, the door swung open. Startled, she jerked backward and grabbed hold of the railing to avoid falling off the edge of the stair.

Good Lord.

Her heart scampered into her throat and her eyes widened at the man towering before her.

Album covers and magazine pictures did not do the brother justice. Nearly six feet tall with dark honey-caramel skin and a body that looked like it was made for a woman’s most scandalous dreams, Alex was more than fine. He was “now-that-I’ve-seen-U-I-can-die-now” gorgeous.

A tenor saxophone dangled like an upside-down question mark from a navy blue lariat around his neck. The large instrument looked like a child’s toy nestled against his bare chest and flat, ripped abdomen.

Stop staring! She knew it was rude, yet she found she couldn’t help herself.

“Miss Williams?”

Although Cara sensed Alex speaking, her attention focused on a serpent tattoo curled like a vise around the taut muscles of his upper right biceps. The head and forked tongue licked his bent elbow, igniting her curiosity, and she wondered if he had more tattoos and if so, where they were located on his body.

Face flushed, she lifted her eyes to discover he was staring right back. A frown tugged at the corners of his full lips and his fingers gripped the edge of the door, as if to warn her he could slam it shut at any moment.

His voice, a rich baritone that could melt ice, finally reached into her ears, pulled her back to reality. But when she opened her mouth to answer him, nothing came out.

Before she could try again, he shook his head and with an agitated sigh, began to close the door.

Cara leaped forward. “W-wait!” Her voice so loud it echoed in her ears.

He paused, one hand braced against the jamb, the other on the doorknob, brows lifted, waiting. Her heart stopped for a moment and she gulped back her surprise. Met his eyes and forced what she hoped was a confident smile.

“Yes. I’m Cara Williams.”

She put her briefcase down, wiped her palm on the side of her skirt and decided against shaking his hand. She didn’t want to risk getting the door slammed in her face.

“Sorry if I’m early. I guess I’m eager to get started, given our overall time constraints.”

He was silent, choosing instead to let his eyes speak for him. They trailed down and over her body, as if exploring the twists and turns of a melody on his horn, and she fought the urge to look away under his gaze.

Alex reached for her briefcase, his fingers grazing hers, and she tried to ignore the sensations prickling a path from her knuckles to shoulder.

“Come on in,” he said, but there was no welcome in his voice.

She thanked him, stepped inside, and her ears twitched as multiple locks clicked into place behind her. He strode past without a glance, leaving her confused and disappointed as he led them down a short hallway to the living room.

Cara’s eyes were drawn to a magnificent grand piano that held court in one corner. It seemed to lord over the sheets of manuscript paper scattered on the polished wood floor around it.

But that was nothing compared to the Grammy Award enclosed in glass and the cluster of gold records hanging in an alcove to the right of the piano.

The visual impact of who he was and what he’d accomplished in his career made her knees wobble. She was relieved when Alex placed her briefcase next to a black leather couch and motioned her to sit down.

A bead of sweat trickled down her spine as she watched him unhook the sax from the lariat around his neck, slide the reed off the mouthpiece, wipe the instrument with a cloth and place it in the case.

His gentleness made her feel like she was observing something more intimate than mere ritual, like a father who suddenly reaches out to ruffle his child’s hair as he tucks him into bed.

Without a word, he got up and walked over to the piano. Shifting in her seat, she clasped her hands together in her lap for courage she did not feel.

“You don’t seem too thrilled that I’m here.”

Alex’s hand wavered just before he pulled the cord on the music lamp, extinguishing the glow over the black and white keys.

He turned and looked at her. She held her breath, wishing she had insisted the sessions take place at Beacon House. She felt out of her realm here, away from the familiar surroundings of her storefront office.

“You’re right.” His voice held a hard edge. “I’m not.”

He knows. Panic sliced through her and she exhaled in dismay. The knowledge that there were thousands of people with the last name “Williams” in New York City did little to console her.

When she didn’t answer, he reached for a stack of papers and started to crumple them with one hand, the sound like kindling popping in a fire. He tossed them into a metal trash can already overflowing with their discarded brethren. There was no anger in the motions, only a touch of resentment.

She found her voice, forced it steady. “I don’t understand. I was hired to give you private reading lessons.”

“My manager hired you.” He stuffed a few survivors into a briefcase she hadn’t noticed before and thumbed down the latches. “Not me.”

Her secret was still safe.

Relief flooded Cara’s body, but she was more confused than ever.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, removed the contract from her purse. “There must be some mistake.” She held it out. “Your signature is right here.”

Alex waved away the document. “You don’t need to prove it to me, Miss Williams. The fact is Tommy signed the contract in my name. That’s what he does when I’m out of town or unavailable.”

She peered at the signature. It was barely legible, and since it had arrived via fax, she’d just assumed it belonged to Alex. The mistake could cost her.

“Usually he lets me know the nature of the contract before he signs.” He lowered the cover on the grand piano with ease. “This time, he did not.”

She clutched the contract like a lifeline and watched him walk to the window. He stared outside and Cara could hear the sounds of children playing outside.

“I got back into town late last night. Tommy called me this morning. Dropped the bomb that you’d be coming here. Then he told me why. I called your office right away but there was no answer.”

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.

Bare legs, one shoe half off, and the wildness of her hair stirred a crazy kind of longing within him. Hmm, he thought. Maybe she wasn’t all business, all the time.

An image popped into his mind. He pictured her lying beneath him, those gold-brown curls moving like waves over the pillows, her fingers linked with his as he plunged into her. Again and again. Gazing into those soft, almond-shaped brown eyes until they slid shut from pleasure and then—

Her shoe dropped with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. Averting his gaze, he turned his head toward the window and jammed a fist under his chin. He closed his eyes, willed his erection to relax.

Now wasn’t the time to be hot for teacher.

He had to finish his new tune this weekend. On Tuesday morning he was due in the studio to record his ninth, and hopefully not his last, album for Sharp Five Records.

The muscles in his abdomen tightened with dread. Mo “Money Man” Lowenstein, President and COO, was breathing down his neck. Sales of his last two albums were lower than expected and Mo had threatened to release him from the label.

And now he had to worry about learning the ABC’s? His eyes snapped open and he nearly let out a cynical laugh.

Sharp Five Records, one of the largest, most well-respected labels in the music business, specialized in jazz, R&B and world music. Being cut from the artist roster would be a major blow to his career, and there were plenty of cats lined up ready to take his place at a moment’s notice.

He lifted the bottle and grimaced as the now-warm remnants of his beer hit his throat. Although Alex dreamed of starting his own label and developing his own pool of talented musicians, he knew it was an impossible goal.

How many business owners couldn’t read? He gathered the answer was zero, unless they were as good at hiding it as he was.

He sighed and looked out the window at the blur of trees going by. Life was so much simpler when he was playing for change in the 125th Street subway station. He wondered if he’d known back then that the music business was more about business, and less about music, would he be sitting here today?

He thought about the manuscript paper strewn all over his living room floor. It seemed like he’d rewritten the tune a thousand times, but there was still something missing. He’d hit a wall, and whenever he tried to fix it, it sucked even worse than before.

Could the problem be writer’s block? He hoped not. If it were, that would scare him more than losing his recording contract. He knew if he lost the ability to compose music, he just might give up playing forever, because it was the only part of his life where he had complete control.

And if he couldn’t play saxophone and compose, what would he do with his life?

He checked his watch and blew out a breath. They’d been on the road for just over an hour, but it felt like an eternity. And they still had about an hour before they reached Cottage Valley Falls, the town where his home was located.

When they’d gotten into the limo, he’d offered Cara a beer, but she’d refused and chose mineral water instead. And that was the last time they had spoken.

The reason why suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.

Cara was the first woman, the only woman, who knew he couldn’t read, and it made him feel like he had been caught by his mother with his hands down his pants.

She knew he couldn’t read a menu in a restaurant, the warnings on a bottle of medicine, his royalty statements or countless other things. And that was way too much knowledge for him to be completely comfortable around her.

He frowned and tried not to squirm in his seat, feeling exposed and trapped at the same time. Still he had to find some way to get through this weekend and get back to what was important: making music.

One of the advantages to being a bachelor was he didn’t have to justify anything to anyone. The other good things about being single escaped him for the moment and he chalked it up to jet lag, not the fact just being in Cara’s presence made him want to forget about a lot of things.

Alex studied her, half wishing she’d put the paper down. What was so interesting she had nothing to say to him? It was almost as if she didn’t want to be there, either. Although she’d played down the donation part and seemed excited about teaching him, it could have all been an act.

From the little he’d observed about her so far, she was somewhat aloof but radiated a quiet confidence. She seemed less like a gold digger and more like the type who wrote letters to the editor or maybe even the President of the United States.

Chicka-bow, chicka-bow, chicka-bow-wow. The Commodores “Brick House” broke through the silence in all its polyphonic glory, courtesy of his cell phone.

Kiki. He swore under his breath and saw Cara jerk the newspaper forward, but she still didn’t lower it.

Since he couldn’t read the address book, Tommy had programmed a different ringtone for every person in his phone. The man had quite a knack for choosing just the right tone for the individual.

Steeling himself for an argument, he retrieved the phone from his bag and flipped it open.

The first few seconds of the conversation were pleasant, until he broke their date for that evening. When there was a break in Kiki’s angry tirade, he gave her his standard line and hung up.

Leaning his head against the seat, Alex exhaled in relief. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cara lower the paper, her full lips turned up in a smile.

“What?” he scowled.

“I’ll call you, baby,” she said in a mock gruff voice, then burst out giggling. “I guess she’s pretty upset, huh? I think the tourists in Times Square could hear her yelling.”

Alex shrugged. “She’ll get over it.” They all do, he thought as he watched Cara refold the newspaper. When she finished, it looked like she’d never opened it.

“I hadn’t heard of her. Kiki, wasn’t it? She must be new in your scene.”

His forehead crinkled in mild annoyance, although her curiosity pleased him at the same time.

“What do you do, follow my social life?”

She gave a little laugh, stowed the paper in her briefcase, then cocked her head toward him.

“It’s not difficult. You’re in the press a lot.” She curved the index and middle fingers of both hands for emphasis. “The Bad Boy of Jazz, always dating the latest ‘it’ girl.”

It wasn’t his fault he was popular with the ladies, but for reasons he didn’t understand, he wished Cara wasn’t aware of the celebrity gossip that dogged him like a vulture. He shouldn’t care what she thought about him, but he did.

“So I like to have a good time,” he snapped. “So what?”

She held up a hand. “I’m not hating on your lifestyle. I was just trying to get you to smile. Or at least talk to me. You haven’t said a word since we got in here.”

Alex arched a brow, surprised and inwardly happy she’d noticed. “You were busy reading, so I figured, you know, that we’d each do our own thing.”

Her smile in response lit up the inside of the limo, and his heart. The knot in his stomach loosened a bit, and left him confused and tongue-tied. This woman was riding hard on his emotions and didn’t even know it.

His eyes drifted down to the briefcase by her feet, and he managed to clear his throat. “What paper are you reading?”

She hesitated a moment and it was all he could do to keep from tearing his eyes away from her warm gaze.

“The Harlem Gazette.”

Alex noted her slender arms as she reached for her water bottle. Her wrists were small and he imagined a pearl bracelet would look nice encircled around them. But other than small silver hoops in her ears, she wore no jewelry.

“It’s an independent newspaper that’s been around for over fifty years and one of the first black-owned newspapers in the country,” she added. “I also read the New York Times and the New York Post.”

His heart sank, for he knew those papers all too well. The reviews of his music hadn’t been so glowing lately, but the tabloids were more than willing to publish his picture with a woman hanging off his arm claiming him as her “man.”

None of those women understood that he wasn’t interested in a serious relationship. He was married to his music and his career. No one got in the way. Until now.

He gripped his beer tighter. “I recognized the word Harlem but that’s about it.”

She clapped her hands together. “Good!” Her face lit up like a thousand stars and she leaned toward him. “What other words do you know?”

He opened his mouth to run down the short list, but for some reason didn’t want to risk offending her. She seemed so straitlaced, but not in a nerdy way. On the contrary, the conservative getup was appealing. He wondered if it was real or just for show.

That hair. Those legs. All wrapped up in a very pretty package he didn’t dare touch.

He hedged an innocent smile. “Not too many. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

“I see. That’s perfectly normal. It’s not uncommon for adult non-readers to be able to recognize some words.”

“Adult non-reader? Is that what I’m called now?”

“It’s a little awkward-sounding, I know,” she acknowledged with a wan smile.

“It’s better than some of the things I’ve been called.” With a grimace, he faced her and memories flowed into words.

“You know, I used to ride the subway to school and I’d see men and women in suits reading the newspaper. They all looked so smart and so important.”

He swallowed hard, looked past her at the countryside rolling by. Suddenly aware of what he was about to say, he hoped she would stop him from making a fool of himself. But Cara remained silent, patient, waiting for him to continue.

He met her eyes. “Sometimes I’d sneak a peek at what they were reading, and even though the words always looked jumbled up, I couldn’t keep my eyes away. Those letters were like a drug.”

A band of dread, mixed with anger, tightened around his chest as he thought about all the times in his life when he tried to make sense of a word, or a group of words, and failed miserably.

“One morning, I was standing next to this man reading the sports section and I couldn’t stand it anymore. Before I knew what I was doing, I pointed to the caption underneath the picture and asked him what it said.”

Alex felt his spine go rigid and he downed the rest of his beer before continuing.

“He gave me a funny look and said real loud, ‘That’s the guy from the Yanks who struck out last night and lost the game, bottom of the ninth, you can’t read that?’”

Shame hooked its claws and dug into him like it had happened yesterday, and he bowed his head and traced his finger along the top of the beer bottle.

Her voice snuck past the pain. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” he replied. “A short time later I stopped going to school.”

It was the only time he’d ever given up on something.

When she didn’t say anything, a knot of embarrassment sank low into his stomach. Avoiding her eyes, he curved his hand around the back of his neck and leaned his elbow against the door.

He felt stupid for confiding in her, a perfect stranger. Yet it was her eyes, caring and warm, that drew him in and caused him to talk about a story he’d never shared with anyone.

Why her? Why now?

He felt a tap on his knee, turned and found Cara sitting right beside him, so close he could smell her perfume, a faint scent of vanilla tinged with rose.

“I want to show you something. May I?”

Before he could respond, she took the empty beer bottle and placed it in a cup holder.

She grabbed his right hand, squeezed it gently. The simple gesture startled him into immediate attention.

“There are twenty-six letters in the alphabet.”

He tried to break contact with her before she noticed that his palms were beginning to sweat, but she held firm.

“I know,” he said, distracted because he really liked the feel of her hand on his. “Even I watched Sesame Street. What’s your point?”

At that moment, she tightened her grasp and leaned in close to him, as if she was about to reveal a dark secret.

“Be patient, I’m getting to it.”

Drawing back, she turned his hand to reveal his palm. He looked down, relieved to see it didn’t look as moist as it felt.

“To start to learn how to read, all you have to remember is that there are five vowels.” Slowly she traced each vowel on his palm with her fingertips.

“A-E-I-O-U.”

He hitched in a breath as each letter became an invisible imprint, fingernail upon flesh, leaving a trail of indescribable sensations radiating from his palm to his fingertips.

“The rest of the letters are called consonants.” She circled her finger in the dip of his palm. “Consonants and vowels work together to form words.”

Alex held his breath as she tugged each fingertip down to his palm until his hand was enclosed inside both of hers, warm and gentle.

“The ability to sound each one out individually, then as a whole, is the basis for learning how to read.”

Their eyes met and he thought he saw a flicker of desire in hers. But when she dropped his hand right away, he dismissed the notion. Cara had a lust for letters, not him.

“That’s it?” his voice doubtful.

“Yes, that’s it!”

He pressed a button on the console in front of him and spoke to his driver. “Hey, Frank! Turn this beast around. It’s back to Harlem, my man, we’re done back here.”

Cara giggled. “No! That’s not what I meant. Of course there’s a lot more to it than that. But at its roots, language is made up of consonants and vowels, kind of like the basic building blocks of music are notes and rhythm.”

Leaning forward, he pressed the button again. “False alarm, keep going.”

He settled back in the seat, eyed her skeptically. “How do you know so much about music? Are you a musician?”

“No.” A shy smile crept across her lips. “Well, maybe. But, I’m just an amateur.”

He formed a square with his fingers and looked through them like a camera, appraising her. “Hmm…let me guess. You’re a singer.”

When she blushed and nodded, he swore. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

He reached for the intercom, but Cara swatted his hand away.

“Do you have a problem with singers?”

He crossed his arms. “Yeah. Too much drama.”

She drew an imaginary halo around her head and batted her lashes like a movie star. “Me? Drama?”

Enchanted, his lips curved. It seemed there might be a playful little devil ready to bust out of all that innocence.

“So you can smile,” she teased. “Was that so bad?”

His smile faded, although it struck him funny how a word or two from Cara could turn his mood from happy to sad and everything in between. He moved away and watched the river flow, as wide and vast as the emptiness in his heart.

Sure he had a great career, plenty of money and had dated some of the most desirable women in the world.

But at what cost?

So far, nothing he’d achieved had erased the guilt he lived with every day. Deep down, he feared learning to read would only make it worse.

* * *

An hour later, Cara woke with a start to discover she’d fallen asleep on Alex’s shoulder. She sat up, her face burning with embarrassment. The driver swerved to avoid a pothole and she yelped in surprise when she crashed back into Alex’s side.

“I guess I should get the driveway paved.” He grabbed hold of the seat. “But I’m not up here too often and I always forget how bad it is until I come back.”

Cara gripped the armrest and righted herself. “I just hope we make it there without cracking our skulls open.”

“Don’t worry.” His thumb jerked up to the ceiling. “It’s padded.”

Her lips twisted. “But my head isn’t.”

The limo bucked and Alex caught her in his arms. “Whoops!”

They laughed uncontrollably as the vehicle continued its wild ride up to his house.

By the time they arrived, her stomach hurt. It had been such a long time since she laughed so hard, she’d forgotten how good it felt.

Alex cleared his throat. “We’re home.”

Her heart did a slow somersault as he held her, the heat from his body enveloping her own. Although his embrace was accidental, it felt purposeful, as if she belonged in his arms.

Her chin tilted up and she saw eyes sparked with interest that went beyond a hearty laugh. He ran a finger down her cheek, dislodging a strand of hair stuck there, stroked it briefly, let it fall against her.

She broke away, trembling, and slid to other side of the limo. Warning bells went off in her head, and she had no one but herself to blame.

What had she been thinking, tracing letters on his palm and fingertips in a way that would have made Big Bird blush?

Excitement darted up her spine remembering the feel of his hand in hers. His palm, slightly rough around the edges but soft in the middle, the fingertips callused from years of playing the saxophone.

She’d never done anything like that before. But the grace of her touch hadn’t lasted long. Almost as quickly as he opened up, he shut her out again. Yet just then he didn’t seem to mind having her in his arms.

What was happening between them?

The driver opened up the door and she stepped out, wide-eyed. With its rough-hewn logs, wraparound porch and gabled roof, the quaint little cottage was the perfect mountain hideaway. She fell in love with it at first sight, but her heart raced again at being in such close quarters with Alex.

The air was cooler here than in Harlem. Smelled better, too. Rubbing her arms, her nose twitched as she inhaled the heady evergreen scent of giant fir trees that surrounded the cottage. Somewhere nearby a stream gurgled, completing the Zenlike setting.

Alex appeared at her side, instrument case in hand. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful.”

His hazel eyes brightened. “Thanks. C’mon. I’ll show you around.”

He guided her by the elbow as they walked. Her heels teetered over the pebbled walkway. Her heart raced anew at his touch.

Was it her imagination or did his hand linger before he released her elbow to unlock and open the front door?

He showed her the gourmet kitchen, the powder room and the laundry room. With an inner frown, she realized there were no pictures of family or friends here, either. Although everything was model-home neat with modern furniture and artwork, it still felt empty. Did Alex feel it, too?

He picked up their bags and they ascended the stairway to the second floor. “This is the guest room.” He set her belongings down and pointed down the hallway. “My bedroom is down there and the bathroom is in the middle. There’s a linen closet halfway with plenty of towels and soap. I’ll leave you to unpack.”

Cara nodded and stepped inside the tiny room. Jets of sunlight poured through curtained windows. Besides a dresser and a small nightstand, the bed took up the most space.

It’s big enough for two.

Closing her eyes, she indulged in an intimate fantasy of her and Alex on it, doing everything but sleeping.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re going to fall asleep standing up.”

She whirled around, her left breast grazing his bare arm, and nodded.

“I—I guess I’m still a little tired from the drive.”

Stepping back, she crossed her arms, trying to ignore the exquisite tingling radiating through her chest. Time stopped while his eyes scooped and swept over her body like a pleasure bandit, leaving a trail of tight nipples and heat smoldering in her belly. The room seemed to shrink into nothing but unmet need.

Alex cleared his throat. “Ready for lunch? Frank drove up yesterday and stocked the kitchen for the weekend.”

“Sounds great,” she replied, relieved he broke the silence. “After we eat, we must get started. There’s a lot of ground we have to cover.”

Alex grunted low and frowned as if to say, “Not that again!” and left the room, closing the door behind him.

She changed into jeans and a scoop-necked blouse, then flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling, shaken and frustrated by the encounter.

What was his deal? He’d start to relax, but when she brought up the reason why they were here, he clammed up. She wanted to believe it was only fear. But what if it wasn’t?

She didn’t understand him at all, nor did she understand her physical reaction to him. And at this point, she wasn’t sure which was worse.

While it was normal for her to care about her students, her feelings for Alex had begun to brew a long time ago. With him, her concern didn’t start with paperwork. It started with a plea for justice.

Thirteen years had passed since her father, Crawford Williams, a powerful New York City judge known for his tough rule, had sent Alex’s brother Michael to prison.

As always, tears sprang to her eyes whenever she recalled the day she learned her father was responsible for breaking up families across the city.

She had been flipping through the channels, doing her homework and eating dinner, alone as usual, when she caught the tail end of a television news story.

In it, a mother was giving a statement to a reporter on the courthouse steps. Through her tears, the woman told him that she’d written a letter to her father requesting leniency for her son.

“Did the judge even read it?” she said with a shriek that tore at Cara’s heart. “I asked him at my son’s sentencing. He wouldn’t answer and threatened me with contempt of court. If he’d read it, he’d know Michael is innocent!”

She started weeping harder, and a sullen young man Cara learned later on was her son Alex put his arm around her and led her down the steps.

She remembered the reporter turning to the camera, his voice grim. “There goes another casualty of Judge Williams’s notorious crackdown on gangs.”

She sat riveted in front of the screen as he continued. “Neighborhoods are safer, but at what price? With sons and daughters, brothers and sisters behind bars, New York families are suffering through harsh jail sentences handed down by Williams that apparently no amount of letter writing or phone calls can take away.”

Cara remembered racing up the stairs to her father’s office in disbelief, praying that what she heard was all a mistake.

Although aware of her father’s stance against gang-related activity, she didn’t dwell on it or anything having to do with his job. Whenever he was home and talked about his cases, she feigned interest just to please him. He was under the impression she wanted to be an attorney, when all she really wanted him to do was love her.

She found the letter on his desk and was horrified to see more stacked in a box, some opened, some not.

In it, Alex’s mom described how she and her son were devastated by his brother Michael’s incarceration. Although no details of the case were given, the purpose of the letter was clear: a desperate plea for leniency that was ultimately ignored.

The anger and pain of Alex’s mother so mirrored her own feelings about her father that the next day she told him she wanted to be a teacher. By sharing her love of learning with young people, perhaps she could make a difference. Heal people’s hearts, not hurt them, like her dad did so well.

He never forgave her.

Even now, the hollowness she’d felt that day hit her full force, leaving her sick to her stomach.

She wrapped her arms around her pillow and thought about the special bond she’d felt with Alex ever since. In the letter, his mom had mentioned that both Alex and Michael were musicians. For years, she had watched Alex’s career blossom, listened to his music and followed his love life, while he didn’t even know she existed.

A lump welled in her throat at the irony of it all. A tragedy in his life had prompted her to make a positive change in her own that had eventually benefited hundreds of people.

She thought of the challenges many of her students faced. Heart-wrenching, gut-twisting situations most people couldn’t imagine were an everyday part of their lives. Homelessness, domestic violence, alcohol and drug abuse, joblessness, not to mention low self-esteem and feelings of inadequacy. Whatever their plight, it was often related to their illiteracy.

Her students came to Beacon House with the hope and desire to change their lives. It was her mission to help them get there. She wanted to do more, needed to do more, but without the necessary funding she was strapped.

Hot tears streamed down her face and she swiped them away, feeling helpless and overwhelmed. Lately her emotions were running higher than ever. But at least now she had a chance to make things right again.

She hugged the pillow and turned toward the window.

Teaching Alex to read was critical to the future of Beacon House, and he wasn’t going to make it easy. She had to figure out some way to get past his fear and reach him.

She thought for a moment. He had a job he loved, money and worldwide acclaim. But there had to something he was unable to do. Some dream he’d never achieved because of his illiteracy. She just needed to find out what it was…and fast.

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