The Royal House of Niroli: Secret Heirs: Bride by Royal Appointment / A Royal Bride at the Sheikh's Command. Raye Morgan
felt that way. Was she looking for a connection? Did he want her to?
This woman and her contradictions baffled him. He was used to straightforward dealings with women. Either they attracted him or they didn’t. Either he hired them or he didn’t. Either he dated them or he didn’t. Elena Valerio didn’t fit into any of those slots.
“You produce films for television?” she asked as she closed the lid of the piano.
“Yes. Theatrical releases as well. I have a production company in Los Angeles. “
She nodded, her hand falling quietly onto Jeremy’s forehead, where she stroked the hair back off his face. Watching her was once again doing strange things to Adam’s emotions and he wasn’t sure why.
“Here,” he said gruffly. “I’ll put him on the couch.”
He transferred the boy quickly, trying to ignore her spicy scent as he bent close. Luckily, Jeremy didn’t stir a bit. Once he had him settled, he turned back to their lovely hostess.
“Your playing is wonderful,” he said, and, to his surprise, his genuine feeling was plain in his voice.
“Thank you.”
He noticed she didn’t bother with false modesty. He liked that. He was used to dealing with artists and other creative types and he understood her quiet confidence in her expertise. It was nice to know she had the artistry to back it up. Walking back into the central area of the room, he leaned against the piano.
“Is that your main talent?”
Something about the question made her turn. “Yes, actually.” Her smile was bitter-sweet. “Some would say it’s my only talent.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment.” He said the words in all sincerity. He knew she must be good at a lot of other things. She came across as so competent. “Do you ever play professionally?”
She smiled, surprised and gratified by the question. Most people just assumed that because she was blind, she couldn’t possibly do anything professionally. She hesitated, toying with the urge to tell him about her acceptance at the New York School of Music Applications. But there wasn’t really any point in talking about it. Classes for the current session were only days away and she had no way to get there, much less to pay for living there once she arrived. It was a nice dream, but right now that was all it was.
“I teach music,” she said instead, leaving it at that. “That’s how I make my living.”
He nodded. Looking around the room, he had to conclude the living she made was minimal. Everything was clean and shiny, but a bit worn around the edges at the same time. His gaze drifted back to where she was sitting and he realized he could look at her at will—a sort of feast of the senses—without the usual need to pretend disinterest.
And she was lovely to look at. Today she was dressed in a sort of muted peach shade and the scarf braided in her hair was the color of pomegranates. He wondered briefly how she knew what color she was picking out. That sort of thing was so important to women. He hoped there was someone to help her choose.
This dress was loose and low-cut, displaying the upper swell of her breasts in a way that stirred the senses. He let his gaze slide over her, taking in the curve of her neck and the delicate cut of her collar-bone. Her skin was smooth and seemed to glow in the golden light. He wanted to touch her. And he knew she would kill him if he tried. In a metaphorical way, of course.
And that brought him back to something he’d been wondering about before—just what were her romantic entanglements?
“Do you live here alone?” he asked, glancing around the room and finding nothing particularly masculine in the entire scene.
She nodded.
“No partner? No relationship?”
She smiled. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just curious. This island seems to have such a great atmosphere for lovers. I’d hate to think you were wasting it.”
She threw back her head and laughed out loud. “Oh, you are a devil, aren’t you? Actually, having lived here all my life, I’m pretty much immune to the romantic charms of the place.”
“So you say.” He studied her. “What’s your lover like, then?” He could hardly believe she didn’t have one.
“My lover? Ah-h-h.” She drew in a sensual breath and straightened her spine in a stretch, as though savoring the thought of him, and Adam winced. He didn’t need details. Actually, he’d been hoping she was between loves right now.
“My lover has strong arms,” she was saying wistfully, “sweet breath, a body like a Greek god. He can sing like an angel, but for nobody but me.” She flashed him a quick grin as though waking from a dream. “At least that was the way I imagined him when I was about fourteen.”
The sense of relief he felt was ridiculous. “So this isn’t a real guy?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s out there somewhere.”
He shook his head, enjoying her and not sure if he should be. “You’re a strange woman.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Different from what you’re used to?”
“Infinitely.”
“Brilliant. It will probably do you good to shake up your expectations a bit. Maybe you’ll get a better picture of what women are really like.”
“Play me something,” he said softly.
She slowly lifted the piano lid again and her hands went back to the keys, her fingers hitting a few notes softly, but her face was very still. “What would you like to hear?”
“Anything you’d like to play.”
She smiled and touched the keys, and in seconds music filled the room. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was gorgeous—full of fire and passion and a strain of sentimentality that grabbed hold of his heart and soul in a way he wasn’t expecting. Emotion grew inside him in response, almost making it hard to breathe. And another thing he hadn’t bargained for—watching her playing was arousing him in ways he didn’t remember having been aroused before.
But this wasn’t just the music—it was mostly the musician.
She hit the final crescendo and her shoulders sagged, as though the music that had filled her was spent. He waited as the sound slowly evaporated into the air of the room.
“Wow,” he said, in awe of her power. It was going to take a moment or two to let his senses stop reeling. “What was that?”
She shrugged, smiled and seemed to regain her strength quickly. “Just some Rachmaninov,” she said as though it were everyday stuff.
“You have a thing for the Russians?”
She laughed and it animated her whole body. Watching her, he was filled with a sudden need to take her into his arms and hold her close. This was more than desire, more than sexual hunger. What was it? A protective instinct? He shook his head. Where were these strange feelings coming from?
He reacted to women all the time—he knew what that felt like. But this was different. This included another component and he wasn’t sure he wanted to analyze it too closely.
“When it comes to music,” she was saying, starting to rise from the piano bench, “I plead guilty as charged.”
She moved gracefully and he watched her, much as he might watch a bird in flight, appreciating every move and wanting to see more. He had a hunch she would dance almost as beautifully as she played, if only she could feel secure enough in her surroundings.
She offered him a cool drink and he followed her into the kitchen, watching as she efficiently reached for the glasses, the ice, the bottles of flavored water, without missing a beat. The space was small and compact and she obviously knew where