Читать книгу Weddings: the Brides: The Shy Bride / Bride in a Gilded Cage / The Bride's Awakening - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 11

HE FROWNED, not appearing in the least bit happy. “I should not have done that.”

“Why?” She’d liked it, but maybe he hadn’t? No, he’d been enjoying himself, or doing a wonderful job of faking it.

From everything she’d read, that wasn’t the man’s job. To fake it. Of course, women weren’t supposed to do that, either, but some did. She wouldn’t have to. If they made love. She was certain of it, regardless of the fact that she’d never actually had any practical experience in that regard.

She recognized a master when she met one and this man was a master at the art of touch. And kissing.

He blew out a long breath. “We are friends.”

“Friends don’t kiss?” she asked, not entirely conscious of the words coming out of her mouth, but truly confused nonetheless.

“I do not know. I have never had a female friend.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You have never had another woman as a friend?” His tone said he didn’t think she was telling the truth.

“I’ve never had a billionaire tycoon friend. We are even.” Well, maybe not entirely.

Female friends, or not, the man knew a lot more about women than she knew about men and what made them tick, billionaire tycoons or otherwise.

“So, friends can’t kiss?” she asked again, going back to the part of the conversation that most interested her.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Women I have sex with rarely last more than a night, a few at the most, in my life. I would like our friendship to be more long-standing.” He actually managed to sound almost vulnerable.

“We were kissing, not having sex. Weren’t we?” Maybe she hadn’t recognized foreplay when she felt it? She certainly wouldn’t have said no if he’d asked for more and she had wanted them naked, hadn’t she?

Oh, goodness, gracious, she had wanted them naked.

“You are so innocent.”

“And you aren’t. That sounds like a good combination to me.”

“Only in your ingenious mind.”

“Now you’re just being condescending.”

“I am being realistic.”

“I think I might like you spontaneous better.”

“Good.” The look in his eyes said anything but.

“Good?”

“What could be more spontaneous than spending the day together?”

“We’re back to that, are we?”

His smile said they were indeed. “You need to take a shower. I will prepare your breakfast while you dress.”

“You can cook?”

“I did not start out life a rich man.”

“Granted.” But she hadn’t considered what that might mean practicality-wise about how he lived earlier in his life.

“Do you prefer a hot or cold breakfast?” he asked, managing not to sound like a waiter taking an order so much as a superconfident Greek man trying to sound like one.

“A toasted bagel with peanut butter would be fine.” She’d grab an apple on the way out the door and round out the meal nicely.

Which meant she was considering leaving with him. More than considering it, resigned to it. Maybe not even resigned, but actually looking forward to it. After a single kiss. She was in so much trouble.

Maybe his no-kissing rule for them was a good idea, after all.

“If they cut so much as a leaf off of my bushes, I will never forgive you,” she said as she walked out of the room and hoped he realized she was very serious about that one.

Neo felt like someone had kicked him in the chest.

Kissing Cassandra had been better than anything he had felt in a long time. Maybe ever. He had not wanted to stop, had felt helpless to do so. That shocking realization, more than anything—more than the knowledge that Geary’s team would be arriving soon, more than Neo’s own pressing schedule—had given him the impetus he needed to break the kiss.

Neo was never helpless. Had not once in his entire life considered that word applicable to himself. And he was not about to begin now. Almost as alarming, he could not remember the last time he had lost control sexually or any other way, much less so quickly.

When he’d touched her lips, he’d been close to climaxing and that had never happened, not even in his youth. From a kiss. He hadn’t even touched Cassandra’s small but tempting breasts, or gotten to naked skin at all. But he’d wanted to. More than he’d wanted to be on time for his morning meeting. Damn it.

She hadn’t touched him, either, except to respond to his kiss with her lips. That response had been untutored—innocently sensual, but incredibly, sweetly passionate. If his instincts were right, and they usually were, she was a virgin.

Which was one very good reason to steer clear of sexual intimacy with her. It had nothing to do with the fact she engendered such a surprising reaction in him. Neo was not afraid of anything, but he only slept with women who understood the expectations going in, experienced women who would not mistake physical desire for more ephemeral emotions.

His sex partners usually shared his jaded view of sex, but not much more. Women he would never consider spending an entire day with, not even in bed. Damn, he sounded like a chauvinist, even in his own mind.

But he could not help that he had never developed friendships with the fairer sex. He didn’t usually make friends at all. As Zephyr had pointed out with such relish.

Neo couldn’t say what drew him to Cassandra. All he knew was that the last few weeks, he had looked forward to his piano lessons and seeing her more than he ever would have expected. There was no denying he liked her as a person. With all her quirks, she was charming.

He liked how she seemed to identify with him on a level only Zephyr ever had before. She knew what it was to have a childhood in name only. She understood loss and fear and hunger, even if it had been for love rather than food.

Her friendship was all too important. He wasn’t about to jeopardize it for something as fleeting as sexual attraction. No matter how overwhelming.

He found the bagel she’d requested and started it toasting. He called Cole’s cell phone while he waited for it.

“Geary Security,” the other man answered on the first ring.

“She agreed to the substantive changes to the structure of the house, but doesn’t want the foliage touched.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“It doesn’t?” It sure as hell had stunned Neo. If it had been him, he would have had the opposite reaction.

“I researched her house’s history after dropping off the proposals. Her parents bought that house before she was born,” Cole said. “From the size of most of the bushes, I’d say someone planted them soon after her parents moved into the house. If I had to guess, I would suggest it was her mother.”

“So, it is a sentimental thing?” Not something Neo had much experience with, for with all the luxury now at his disposal, sentimentality was still something he could ill afford.

“That’s what I’m guessing, but they really do provide too much cover for burglars or stalkers.”

An image of Cassandra’s expression before she’d swept out of the kitchen played in Neo’s mind’s eye. “She’s not going to let that sway her.”

“You persuaded her to go for the doors and windows. You can convince her about the foliage. I’ll reschedule the gardener when you do.”

Neo wished he was as confident, but for the first time in years, he considered the possibility he’d met someone as stubborn as he was. In fact, the last time he remembered doing so, he’d befriended the man and ended up eventually making him his business partner.

There was only one word to describe Cassandra when she came downstairs, dressed for the day in a navy blue pantsuit.

Cranky.

She sat down to eat her bagel with a grudging thank-you tossed in his direction, the hapless bagel getting a glare before she took a resounding bite.

“You look nice,” he complimented. “I like the bright pink accents.” Most women he knew preened under directed praise.

And he did like the pink scarf and shoes she’d added to the more basic white blouse and dark pantsuit. Her oversized pink-and-white earrings were a nice, if unexpected touch, too.

Cassandra didn’t so much as smile, though he received yet another perfunctory, “Thanks.”

“I am surprised you wear so many bright colors.”

He got her full attention with that comment. She glared at him. “Why?”

“I would think you wouldn’t want to draw attention to yourself.” “Debilitatingly shy” did not equal “vibrant dress style” in his mind, but then he was no psychologist.

“What, you think I should dress only in shades of gray and wear my hair in a bun, or something?”

“No.” But he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had, knowing what he knew about her hermitlike ways.

“I’m not fond of talking to strangers.”

That was one way of putting it. Agoraphobic was another, but he didn’t say a word.

“That doesn’t mean I want to dress like a piece of cheap office furniture,” she huffed and then grimaced. “It’s important to me not be a caricature. I don’t like to perform, but I can leave the house. I’m uncomfortable meeting strangers, but I don’t need to dress like a hermit with no fashion sense. My life has enough limitations, I take pleasure where I find it and I happen to like bright colors.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d need to.”

Come to that, he couldn’t, either. She wasn’t one of his pillow-mates that he bought gifts for in lieu of giving anything of himself. Hell, who was he kidding? He planned to give more of himself to Cassandra today than he had to anyone in a long time. He intended to give her his time.

Still. “Now, you’re just being argumentative for the sake of it.”

“You think so?” she asked in a tone so subtly snarky he couldn’t help but be impressed.

And amused, though he was far too intelligent to let that show. He should be irritated. He’d cancelled all but his most pressing meetings and cleared his schedule in a way he hadn’t done in years. He would still work some, but he planned to entertain Cassandra. After all, it was his fault she was being evicted from her house for the day.

When he told her so, her frown grew slightly less dark, but it was still in the black range on the color spectrum. “I suppose you expect me to be grateful.”

“Is that likely to be on the menu anytime soon?”

“No.”

She was so refreshingly honest. Once she’d got past seeing him as a stranger, he didn’t intimidate her like he did almost everyone else. Again, he had an unexpected urge to smile, but he smothered it. “I’d settle for you being happy.”

“Why on earth do you care if I’m happy, or not?”

“I don’t know, but I do. Chalk it up to friendship.”

She sighed and looked more frustrated than annoyed. “The thing is, I have obligations, too, Neo. The music for my next album isn’t going to write itself. Only I can’t work on it while strangers are tearing apart my house.”

“So, we both take an unexpected break. What is one day?” He ignored the fact that him saying such a thing would be considered anathema by any and all who knew him.

She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it, looking at him contemplatively. “When was the last time you took a break?”

That was easy. “My first piano lesson.”

“Before that?” she asked with a degree of consideration that made him nervous. Though he didn’t know why.

“I don’t take breaks.”

Now she would use that truth as an excuse and say she didn’t need time off, either.

She surprised him by asking very seriously, “Ever?”

“Ever.”

“You do need a break.”

So Zephyr and Gregor insisted. “If the number of compositions you have created in the past years is any indication, so do you.”

That seemed to startle her. “Music is my life.”

“According to both my doctor and business partner, that attitude is not a healthy one.”

“I exercise.”

He remembered seeing her home gym when showing Cole Geary around her house. “So do I.”

“I eat right.”

“So do I.”

“Then why are they so concerned for you?”

Neo shrugged. “Got me, but if it’s bad for me to be so obsessed by Stamos and Nikos Enterprises, then it stands to reason your single-minded pursuit of music needs tempering.”

“I don’t want to spend the day being dissected by strangers.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Why?”

“They’ll be too busy watching me in wonder.”

She laughed at that as he’d meant her to do. “It makes me cranky to think of my house getting torn up.”

“It won’t be torn up. Cole gave me his word that you’ll barely be able to tell they were even here.”

“How is that possible? I saw the list. They can never get it all done in one day.”

“In fact, they can.”

“Money talks?”

“In even more languages than I do.”

A smile played at the edges of her lips. “I’m fluent in Mandarin, Italian and German.”

“You are accomplished.” He himself spoke Greek and English, of course, but Japanese and Spanish as well. “I understand the Italian and German, considering your passion for piano composition, but why Mandarin?”

“I like the way it’s written.”

“You are fluent in the Kanji?”

“Yes, though I’m still studying. I have a pen pal from the Hunan province and he tutors me. He’s a scholar and something of a recluse.”

“What do you write to him about?”

“Music, what else? He plays and composes on the guzheng. It’s kind of like a Chinese zither. Unlike the older and more traditional guqin, which only has seven strings and no bridges, it has sixteen to twenty-five strings with movable bridges. He can create complicated and very beautiful compositions on it.”

She was babbling. She was still nervous about leaving with him and letting the security company do their job. But she was going to do it. He was proud of her.

“How do you share your music?”

“We both have Web cams.” She laughed, but it didn’t sound like she found that funny. “It’s kind of pathetic, but I see more of him and my other online friends via the Internet than I do anyone else.”

It was unfortunate, not pathetic. One day, he would help her make that distinction. “Have you ever wanted to visit him in person?”

“Yes.”

“Naturally, you have not gone.”

“I would. Though not easily, I can travel anonymously, but I have no one to travel with.”

“So, it is not simply leaving your house that bothers you?”

She lifted her shoulders in a half shrug before turning back to her breakfast without answering.

He wasn’t done with the subject however. “You don’t like being recognized as Cassandra Baker, the renowned pianist and New Age composer.”

“Something like that.”

“But you wouldn’t answer your door to the locksmith.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“My father used to say I was debilitatingly shy.”

From her tone, Neo guessed the other man had considered that a liability, most likely to his brilliantly talented daughter’s career plans.

“Were you always shy?”

“My mother said I was an outgoing toddler. That’s how they learned I was a musical prodigy. I was always trying to entertain them and discovered the piano at the age of three. I played music I had heard from memory.”

“That’s amazing.”

“That’s what my teachers said.”

“They started you with a teacher at age three?” He could not help the appalled shock in his tone.

“Mom came down sick and I guess my parents saw the lessons as a way to divert my attention from her so I would not demand too much of her time.”

“That would imply you spent significant time each day playing piano.”

“I did.”

“How much time are we talking here?”

“I don’t remember exactly.” Though something in her expression belied that claim.

“Take a guess.”

“A couple of hours every morning and evening before bedtime.”

“Impossible.”

“Entirely possible. And that does not count the time I spent practicing on my own.”

“You must be mistaken.” Children often miscalculated the length of time spent doing something, or so he had heard.

“I used to think I might have been, too. However, I found the records of my lessons in a box of papers after my father’s death and there it was in black and white.”

“What?”

“Proof my parents did not want me around.”

“That is a harsh assessment.”

“How did you end up in an orphanage?” she asked challengingly.

“My parents both wanted something different from life than being a parent.”

“Harsh assessment, or reality?”

“Touché.”

“I have often wished I hadn’t found those records. I preferred the gentler fantasy that I mistook the number of hours I spent working on my music before I was old enough to go to school.” She bit her lip and looked away, old sadness sitting on her like a mantle. “Cleaning out the house of my parents’ personal possessions was supposed to be cathartic.”

“Who told you so?”

“My manager.”

“And was it?”

She laughed, another less than amused sound. “Define cathartic. It forced me to face my loss, to accept that they were gone and never coming back. Which was good, I suppose.” She met his gaze again, remembered pain stark in her amber eyes. “But it hurt. Horribly.”

“I am sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Enhancing your security will not make them any more gone,” he felt compelled to point out.

“I know.”

“But making the changes is bringing back those traumatic feelings, is it not?”

She nodded, but clearly forced herself to brighten. “You’re pretty perceptive for a business tycoon.”

“Figuring out what makes people tick is half the battle in business.”

“And I bet you are good at it.”

“Stellar.”

She laughed, this time sounding much happier. “Egotistical?”

He smiled in response. He liked making her laugh. “Honest in my self-assessment. Like right now, I know I’ll get damn short if I’m late for my teleconference.”

“Can you call in from your cell phone in the car?”

“Yes, but until I have my computer in front of me with the information I need, I won’t feel good about my input.”

“I bet you have most of it memorized.” But she got up from the table, gathering her dishes.

“I don’t like making mistakes.”

“I’d lay another bet that is an understatement.” She put the dishes in the sink. “Just to show I respect your schedule, I’ll leave these for later.”

He ignored the jibe. He respected her schedule, he just wanted to route it for the day. “I gave up betting when a careless wager led to me taking piano lessons.”

“Should I be offended?” she asked.

“No. I don’t regret being forced to accept my gift. It brought me a new friend.”

She shook her head, but her lips were curved in a small smile. “Some birthday pressie.”

“I think he did mean the lessons to be something special for my thirty-fifth.”

“He really thought you wanted piano lessons?”

“I wanted to learn to play when we were younger, but I hadn’t thought of that pipe dream in years.”

“Not such a pipe dream anymore.”

“No, but even more than that, I’m a huge fan of yours. Though I didn’t know it.”

“You didn’t know it? This I’ve got to hear, but not while it will make you late.”

An hour later, still reeling from the knowledge Neo was a closet fan and now considered her a friend, Cass listened to her latest self-recording on her MP3 player and took notes on what was lacking in the composition. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she told Neo she had work to do, too, but her implication she could only do it at home might have been stretching the reality of the situation.

She didn’t want to spend all day, every day, at her piano bench, so she had started working on self-recordings early on. She loved the flexibility her tiny MP3 player gave her. She could listen to it while exercising, cooking or practicing her Kanji writing. Or sitting at a table in an empty conference room in the Stamos & Nikos Enterprises building in downtown Seattle.

She’d bought her first one on the recommendation of another musician she knew online and had upgraded with each new technological advancement.

A tap on her shoulder alerted Cass to someone else’s presence.

She pulled one of the speaker buds from her ear and looked up. “Yes?”

“Mr. Stamos wanted me to make sure you have everything you need to make you comfortable.” Miss Parks, Neo’s personal assistant, lived up to her voice and attitude over the phone.

Blonde, in her forties, she wore her pale hair in a sleek chignon and dressed in a female power suit by Chanel, but it had to be from a previous year’s collection. Because this year the designer had gone whimsical, adding ruffles and lace that would look out of place on the businesswoman. Just as the polite query sounded out of character on her tongue.

Miss Parks clearly felt offering refreshments to her employer’s piano teacher was beneath her.

However the woman had absolutely nothing on Cass in the “annoyed nearly beyond endurance” stakes. While Cass sat in a strange conference room, in a huge office building filled with strangers, even more strangers were tearing her house apart.

She didn’t even attempt to hide her bad temper when she gave the blonde a curt, “Water would be nice.”

Never mind tea. That might soothe her and she didn’t feel like being soothed.

Without another word to the snarky PA, Cass put her speaker bud back in her ear and returned to work. A bottle of water and a glass with a slice of lemon showed up at her elbow a few minutes later.

Bad mood or not, Cass remembered her manners and looked up to give the deliverer a polite thank-you, only to clash eyes with a man every bit as overwhelming presence-wise as Neo.

Even if she hadn’t recognized him from publicity photos, she would have known he couldn’t be anyone but Neo’s business partner, Zephyr Nikos.