Her elegant fingers gripped the neck of her Stradivarius as she gently pulled it up and rested it on her left shoulder. She turned her chin so it sat perfectly in the chin rest at the base of the lower bout.
“What would you like me to play?” she asked, closing her eyes.
“Something you want me to hear.”
Her eyes opened but focused on nothing. “That’s not very specific.”
Moving around behind her, he encouraged her, whispering softly against her right ear, “Okay, how about something that will haunt me?”
He listened closely as she took a deep breath.
“That I can do.”
To this day, “Méditation” fromThaïshaunts his very soul.
When I arrive at the studio at ten a.m., I detect the distinct smell that comes from oil-based paints.He must have been working this morning,I surmise as I make my way into the sun-filled room. There’s no sign of him yet, so I go ahead and sit down in my chair. I pull my notebook out and wait for him to appear.
I don’t have to wait long. Not even five minutes later, he enters with two cups in his hand. His eyes hold mine as he makes his way toward me. I find I can’t smile or do anything but stare until he finally stops in front of me, offering me one of the porcelain mugs.
“Tea?”
Finally, I muster a half-smile, reaching out to take it.
He seems different this morning, agitated in some way. I wonder if he’s feeling uncomfortable after last evening’s encounter on the stairs. Just as I’m about to ask if he’s okay, he sits down and explains.
“I didn’t sleep very well last night. I suppose I should apologize in advance for any—what should we call it—asshole episodesI might have.”
Shaking my head, I consider that before I take a sip of tea and then place the mug on the desk beside me. “Do you have them often?”
Finally, I get a somewhat hesitant smile from him as his eyes narrow and his mouth shifts. Truly, the man’s face is not like any I have seen before. While it’s rugged and masculine in its own way, he is so intensely alluring in other ways that it’s hard to tear your eyes from him.
“Do I have what often?”
Cautiously, I remind him of his own words. “Asshole episodes?”
Arching a brow, he seems to think it over for a second. “I’m not sure. You’ll have to tell me.”
“We could just start later.”
He shakes his head. “No, no. Let’s start now.”
As I cross one leg over the other, his eyes drop to my legs. I have to remind myself that now is not the time.He is not an option.He is a job—an intimidating and intriguing job.
“Okay, so tell me. What did you show her the day she came back to the chateau?”
This is the first time I get a full-on wouldn’t-you-like-to-know smirk as he settles back in his chair.
“Would you like to rephrase that question and be a little more specific?” he asks, shutting his eyes.
I take the opportunity to watch his throat and mouth as he explains further.
“There were plenty of things I showed Chantel in the chateau, Gemma. So, depending on where you want to be, you need to be much more specific.” His tongue comes out to moisten his full bottom lip. “Then again, perhaps that’s exactly where you want to be after your indecision last night on the stairs, hmm…between Chantel and me?”
As my heart starts a rapid tattoo rhythm in my chest, I allow my eyes to move up to his face. I find he has one eye open, watching me.
He closes it. “No?”
Clearing my throat, I think quickly and rephrase my question. “Chantel writes that she is coming to see you the next day because you want to show her something. So, what did you show her when she arrived?”
