Virtuoso

January, 2nd week

If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like having the moment all over again.

Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier

She came in with the smell of rain and unscented soap clinging to her skin.

Since he had his back to the door, Zak took the opportunity to inhale deeply. His plans to greet her the same way he greeted all his students went to pieces when he turned around.

His mouth opened slightly and stayed that way, but no sound escaped his lips. Ami blinked, trying to figure out what could be the matter. His usual scent of lavender and mint wafted towards her from his slightly disordered curls. Lavender – true lavender – had always smelled masculine to her, not at all feminine. It gave her a sneaking suspicion as to what was causing the stunned expression on his face, and she flushed in mortification.

"I'm sorry – is it the smell?"

"What?" he asked hoarsely.

"I was hoping the shower would get rid of the smell… I'm afraid the biology building always starts smelling like frogs at this time of the year," she said apologetically. "The second semester introductory biology course involves a lot of dissection."

Zak closed his eyes. He was not going to think of her in the shower. That way lay madness.

Think of frogs. Dissected frogs. Trays and trays of dissected frogs. Not showers. Not even cold showers. Just frogs.

"Zakary?" she asked uncertainly.

"You smell– " delicious. Tempting as hell. "—fine. But aren't you cold?" he asked finally.

Ami glanced down at herself. The day had started out clear, but between her last class of the day and her lesson with Zak, she had gotten drenched in a sudden rain shower and hadn't had her umbrella with her. However, the white blouse she was wearing was made of a fairly thin material and should dry quickly.

"Oh, no, I'm hardly ever cold," she assured him. "And the heat is always turned up so high in this building, I'm sure I'll be dry in no time."

Zak managed a feeble smile and decided the best course of action was to look away and change the subject.

"So. More on your vibrato," he said, speaking in a rapid, clipped tone. "This week I want you to work on this exercise: focus on blowing more and less air into the flute, starting with a pattern of quarter notes, moving to eighth notes, then triplets, sixteenth notes, and if you can manage, faster than that. Use your stomach muscles to control the amount and speed of the air you're using. When the rhythm becomes rapid enough, the vibrato will vibrate upwards from your stomach to your diaphragm and throat."

Taking up his flute again, he twisted off just the headjoint and raised it to his lips, showing her what he meant. He ran through the exercise once, watching her absorb his instructions with the same careful, close attention he suspected she gave to everything she did.

"All right. Now I'm going to do it again. When I transition from the sixteenth and thirty-second notes to the speed the vibrato should be at, watch my throat."

He tapped a spot on his neck about an inch and a half down from his ear, just under his jaw. "You should be able to tell when the vibrato moves up here."

She fixed her eyes on that spot obediently. From just the right angle, she could see the light strike the gold hairs glistening along his jaw line. When he reached the transitioning point, she watched in fascination as a small oval of muscle in his throat started to vibrate, moving faster than a hummingbird's wings. She wondered what would happen if she were to press her lips there, how it would feel to have that flutter that was faster than his heartbeat pulse against her mouth.