Читать книгу A Daughter's Story - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 14

CHAPTER SIX

CHRIS HAD NO REAL idea what he was doing. It was late. He had to be on the docks before sunrise—a few short hours away. He’d already missed a day’s catch and couldn’t afford to miss another.

He started to play another song, his fingers moving naturally over the keys, sending a harmonic rendition of “Send in the Clowns” out into the deserted room. With most of the lights off, he could only make out the first circle of tables around the dais. The rest of the space was black.

Except where the track lighting from the bar—lights that were always left on—accentuated the softly sculpted features of the goddess slowly approaching him.

He switched chords and without pause started in on “Seduces Me”—a song written by Dan Hill and made famous by Céline Dion. He’d heard it many times but had never played it before.

The deceptively simple, sexy melody filled the air around them, sending shivers down his spine. The woman faltered a step, but didn’t look away. Neither did he.

When she reached the dais, his gaze landed for an instant on the vee between her thighs, and then immediately rose to meet the questioning but undeniably sultry look in her eye.

His hands slowed and then stilled completely. He moved sideways on the shiny black bench, watching her, waiting to see what she would do. He wasn’t completely sober. He should have stood. Thanked her for her patronage and secured his exit.

But he couldn’t. More important than sleep, more important even than the catch, was knowing what she would do next.

* * *

EMMA TRIED TO think. She stood outside of her body—a spirit in the air above that dais—and she saw someone with a body who looked like hers, wearing her clothes, standing alone with a man she’d never met.

He’d moved over. And was waiting for her.

He was older than she’d first thought—in his late thirties or early forties. His skin was as leathery as the woman’s from the bar earlier that evening. His hands were well worn, too. Rougher than she’d expected for a man who played the piano so beautifully. The dichotomy spoke to her.

Chris was not just a pianist. Emma was not just a safe bet.

She sat down.

* * *

HER BODY WAS warm. Chris’s body buzzed with anticipation.

“What’s your name?” He’d been making eye contact with her all night. Now he looked down at the keys in front of him.

“Emma.”

Her hands appeared on the keys, as well. She had slender fingers. Unadorned, although there was a white band against the tanned skin of her left ring finger.

“I’m Chris.”

“I know.”

He glanced at her. She turned her head. Their gazes were only inches apart now.

“Cody told me,” she explained.

“You hungry?”

She licked her lips. “Not really.”

“Your glass is almost empty, you want more?”

“Okay.”

“The bars are all closed, but I have a room. It’s across the street.”

He didn’t promise to be a gentleman.

“Okay.” Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip. His body thrummed his response.

“You want to join me there?”

He would never, ever force himself on a woman, but he wasn’t about to turn down any opportunities this beauty—Emma—was willing to offer.

“I think I do.”

He had a condom in his wallet. She’d recently had a ring on her finger. Safe enough for him.

“Good,” he said, and lowering the lid to protect the piano keys, he rose, took her hand and led them out the back door.

* * *

EMMA WASN’T STUPID. She knew what she was agreeing to by leaving the bar with Chris. She just couldn’t seem to make herself care.

Because she was numb? Hurt beyond good judgment?

Because she was drunk?

Or because the piano man made her body sing in places a tune had never played?

The warm night air didn’t sober her. Or instill her with any better sense. It caressed her skin, heightening the surreal sense of vibrancy she felt as they walked hand in hand across a quiet street lit with old-fashioned gas lamps.

They reached the other side.

“I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” They were the first words he’d said since he’d locked the door of Citadel’s behind them.

Who was she kidding? This was no love tryst. She didn’t know anything about the man, except that he’d been endowed with a magnificent talent.

“I reserve the right to change my mind.” Emma strove to save herself from the unleashed woman inside of her.

“Of course.”

They stopped on the curb in front of one of the more expensive hotels in the tourist district. The doorman stood alert, in spite of the very early morning hour, appearing eager to be of service to them.

Chris’s eyes were blue. A vivid, bright blue—not the darker hue they’d appeared to be in the shadows of the restaurant. His hair, falling across his forehead, was dark enough to be almost black.

“You want me to walk you to your car?” he asked. His eyes belied the indifference in his voice.

“No!” She was surprised by the vehemence with which she said it. “I just want… I’ve heard stories….”

Words escaped her and she waited for him to get her drift.

He was silent.

“It’s only fair that you know, going in, that I might change my mind. At an inopportune moment.”

He raised one of his strong, gifted hands to her face and ran his fingers through her hair.

“I will stop,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “If at any time, any time, you change your mind, I will stop.”

She believed him. And hoped, God help her, that she wouldn’t want him to.

* * *

EMMA ALMOST GIGGLED as the elevator opened for them upon approach, as though it had been commanded to do so. Surely Chris didn’t have that much power.

Though, judging by the way he made her feel, she couldn’t be sure.

“Not many people going up and down at this late hour,” he said, stepping inside the car.

“I think I’ve had a lot to drink,” she said, grinning at him.

“Four glasses of wine by my count.”

He was counting? She stared at him. He’d been watching her that closely?

“From the moment you walked in tonight, I didn’t notice anything else.”

It was a good line and she was inebriated enough to like it.

“I’m not kidding,” Chris said, his voice deep, a bit husky, reminding her of a well-aged wine. One out of her price league. “I don’t play games with women.”

“I don’t play at all,” Emma said, her voice sounding tiny in the confines of the elevator. “This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this.”

A mood-killer if ever there was one. Yes, she’d discovered new things about herself tonight. But she was still Emma and now she was going to blow this whole thing.

If she did, chances were old Emma would win and she’d have to resign herself to a life of safety and security and settling for Robs.

She nearly laughed out loud at that last thought. Robs. Funny word.

But if she succeeded—if she made love with her piano man—she’d be forever changed. She’d no longer be the woman who’d never taken a chance, never faced danger, never had the nerve to do exactly what she felt like doing.

The elevator door slid open and Emma half expected Chris to gracefully bow out of his invitation.

Holding the door open with his body, he lifted her hand until her gaze followed.

“I’m glad you don’t make a habit of this,” he said, the smile in his eyes sending her spiraling as though he’d tipped her over the edge of a cliff. “You want to continue?”

“Yes.”

He guided her through the door, following closely, and when he came up beside her, he wrapped his arm around her waist.

They faced the elegantly appointed room together. And she tingled with anticipation. Not fear.

In that moment, Emma knew that if the night killed her, she’d die having lived.

And she’d prefer that to living her whole life as if she were already dead.