"Let's see how my debut goes and then we'll talk." She flips her head back to look into my eyes. "Promise you won't laugh if I'm rusty."
"I can't play a note, Sophia." I raise my glass in the air. "I assure you that laughing is the last thing I'll do once you start."
Her top teeth grab hold of her bottom lip and the only thing I want is to feel that for myself. I haven't pushed her even though I've wanted to kiss those red lipstick stained lips since the first moment I saw her on the subway. I've surprised myself with the level of restraint I'm showing. My resolve is weakening though, especially since we're alone in my apartment and her nipples are now visibly hard points beneath the thin fabric of the dress she's wearing.
"I need to warm up. Cover your ears while I do that."
I place the wine glass on the piano and do as I'm told.
She stares at me for a long minute before she bursts out laughing. "I was joking."
"Jesus," I mutter under my breath. "You can make me do anything."
"Anything?" Her left brow perks. "I'm going to test that theory."
"Tonight?" I ask. I take a deep breath before I continue because I know the words I'm about to say come with a risk. She could walk the hell out of here and never look back or she could stay and contemplate the possibility of something developing between us. "Say you'll test it tonight, Sophia, because I promise if you asked me to do anything to you, I would."
There's no blush this time, her eyes don't leave mine. Instead she swallows hard and then, finally, turns back to the piano. "Sitand listen, Nicholas. Just relax and let the music flow through you."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sophia
I tookan entire three minutes to debate what I'd play for him. Typically, when someone asks me to play the piano, I'll dive into the easiest song I know; Mozart'sMoonlight Sonata. I can play it with my eyes closed but I didn't want to revert to the familiar. Instead, I chose Schumann'sArabeske. It's a piece I struggled with for more than three months before I finally perfected it in my senior year of high school.
As I finished the last note and opened my eyes, I turned to see Nicholas sitting in a leather chair less than a foot away, his eyes glued to my hands.
"Sophia," he whispers now, a full thirty seconds after I regrettably took my fingers from the keys. "That was breathtaking. I don't think I've ever heard anything more beautiful."
It was good. The music flowed through me. It didn't hurt that this piano is tuned to perfection. My impulse is to play another song and then another. I could literally sit here all night and savor the sound of this beautiful instrument.
"Your piano is magnificent." I stare at the open lid. "If I had it, I'd never be able to tear myself away from it. This is my addiction."
"I can see why." He taps his earlobe. "I can hear why. You have a gift for this. You must know how incredible you are."
I blush, but it's not from the compliment. It's from the look on his face. He's mesmerized. My first piano teacher would repeat during each of my lessons that my goal was to captivate those who heard me play. I'd search for that certain look in the eyes of the people who came to my recitals. I didn't see it at first, but as my body learned to appreciate and master the music, I began to see it more and more.
"I know that I'm good," I admit without faltering. "I could have been better if I'd have chosen to pursue this."
"Why didn't you? Was it because you wanted to design clothing?"
That's obviously part of it. The other is that my parents didn't see a sustainable future for me as a professional pianist. I didn't either. I never wanted my passion to play to morph into an obligation. I play because it brings me inner peace, not because I'm dependent on it for a paycheck.
"I love designing more than I love playing." I turn on the bench so I'm facing him. "At one time my heart was split in two but I want to see my designs on people. I play the piano for a different reason than I design. Playing fuels the creative part of me and designing is the outlet."
"They go hand-in-hand." He clasps his hands together before he steeples his index fingers to bring them to his lips, his elbows resting on his knees. "When's the last time you played?"
"There used to be an independent music store a block from my apartment." I place my hands in my lap. "I'd stop there at least a few times a week on my way home from work to play. The owner didn't mind. When he decided to close his shop lastsummer he asked if I wanted to buy the piano, but I couldn’t afford it."
His shoulders lower as his hands tense. "I told you earlier that you can stop by to play this one whenever you want. I meant that."
It's a generous offer that I'm seriously considering. Not only would it give me a chance to play, but it would mean more time spent with him. I'm beginning to wonder if I misjudged him. He looks at me like he wants to eat me up, but his words and his actions are restrained. He's not rushing me into something I may not be ready for and for that I'm grateful.
"Maybe we can work out a schedule for visitation," I joke.
"That discussion needs to include details about what the visitation will cost you."
The air around me suddenly feels much thicker. I've been hyperaware of everything about him since I arrived. That's not surprising given how he's dressed. It's all black, from the trousers to the button down shirt. The only color that's visible on him is his eyes. Each time I see them, I'm amazed at how strikingly blue they are. Mine pale in comparison to his.
