by Maisey Yates
“Sylvie,” Noelle said, her voice soft, measured.
“I was wondering where you’d been, and now here you are, resurfaced with Mr. Ethan Grey. Now that’s impressive! I was sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at my birthday party.”
“Oh, I didn’t mind. There were so many people.”
“I always enjoyed your music. Do you have another album coming out soon? I’d love to have you play at a little soiree I’m planning for next month.”
He felt Noelle relax beneath his hand as she exchanged dates and times and availability with Sylvie. Sylvie gave them both air kisses before sashaying away.
“Sounds like you have a gig,” he said.
“I … yes,” she said, sounding a little bit shocked. “I didn’t think anyone would remember me.”
“Why wouldn’t they, Noelle? You’ve always been talented. You’re bound to get more talented as time goes on, not less.”
“It’s not all talent, Ethan. It’s about connections and marketability. A kid at a massive piano, barely able to reach the pedals, playing like an adult, people pay to see that. These days I’ve sort of outgrown my usefulness to the public.”
“Who told you that?”
“No points for guessing, Ethan,” she sighed, her voice resigned.
“Your mother. She’s a right peach, Noelle. I think you should just assume everything she’s ever told you is a load of crap. But that’s just my thought on it.”
“It’s not that simple though. I really trusted her, all of my life. Didn’t you trust your dad a little longer than you should have?”
He nodded, his lip curling at the thought of his old man. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I ever trusted him. But it was clear early on … he always spent more time with his mistresses than he did with us. I’ve lost count of how many times I saw a woman in a minidress leaving his office, still putting her shoes back on. I was young, but I wasn’t stupid.”
“Ethan, that’s—”
He couldn’t listen to an apology. Not from her. “It’s nothing,” he lied. “And once I have the resorts, there will be some justice. You can’t just … treat people with such disregard and expect there to be no consequences.”
Noelle offered a sparkling smile to a passing guest, one that rang false. “Well, that’s what my mother’s done. She took everything.”
“She didn’t take your talent.”
“She took the music for a while.”
“But it’s back.”
She frowned slightly. “It is. In some ways it’s a bit more frightening than it being gone.”
They were interrupted again by a line of well-wishers and fans of Noelle. The fact that her name was in the papers again seemed to have reminded everyone of who she was, of the fact that she had been out of the public eye for so long.
She did a good job glossing over the details of the past year. She claimed it had been a resting period. She was very like his mother in that way too. Able to hide failures beneath bright laughter and smooth little lies. On vacation. A hiatus. Suffering from exhaustion. Words his mother used instead of no one will hire me and addicted to pills.
But he didn’t truly believe Noelle’s career was over. She was beautiful and, without her nerves in play, she worked the crowd like magic. When she played it was like someone had reached into him and grabbed his heart, squeezing it tight.
She touched him with her music on a visceral level. And he couldn’t be the only one. She had a gift, one that went beyond the novelty appeal of a small child at a big piano.
Ethan had no doubt she would regain that indefinable thing she needed to go on. The adoration of the crowd, her photo in the tabloids.
And he would have Grey’s Resorts. A chance to watch his father’s world broken into pieces, as Damien Grey had broken so many others. Maybe somewhere in that he would find some kind of satisfaction. Bloody perfect.
But those goals, goals that had obsessed him since he’d been a teenager, seemed strangely insignificant when he thought of his encounters with Noelle. And not just the moment in the hotel room, but the kiss on the boardwalk. Something so small, really. Something that wouldn’t have mattered with any other woman.
The kiss was just a prelude, usually. It was never a main event in and of itself. Kissing Noelle was different. Suddenly, he wanted to kiss her more than he wanted his next breath.
Of course, the point of the party was to flaunt their relationship and promote their upcoming marriage, so maybe taking her into the garden to make out wouldn’t be the most inappropriate thing.
He was strongly considering it when Sylvie approached them again, a much older man in tow. “Noelle, will you please play something? I know it’s your party, but you’re so amazing, and I was just telling Jacques how good you are. He’s never had the pleasure of hearing you play live.”
Jacques inclined his head. “I am a fan. It would be an honor.”
Noelle looked at Ethan, her eyes bright with nerves and excitement. “Do you suppose the band would mind if I played something, just for a moment?”
Ethan shook his head, his body tight with frustration. “It’s your party.”
He watched as she wove through the crowd, a bright spot amid the sea of customary New York black. Golden hair, pale skin, silken red dress. She was a force of color and light that was impossible to ignore as she made her way to the stage.
And once she was there, sitting behind the piano, she commanded every eye in the room to watch her.
She put her hands on the piano and he swore he felt her fingertips on his body. Long, elegant fingers caressing the keys, easy to imagine them on his skin. She started playing a piece he recognized, one he’d heard in department stores many times. Something from one of her old albums, he assumed. But actually hearing it in person, watching her perform it, was a totally new experience.
It was so fluid. Smooth. Pure perfection.
And he felt as if it was only for him. Not for anyone else in the room. His chest tightened, breathing became a little harder as arousal assaulted him, flooded him.
Each note was a caress, the flow and rhythm of the song like making love, hard and fast then slow and sweet. Everything he wanted to do with her, everything he dreamed of, put out in the open, forcing him to confront it.
She lifted her head and looked into the crowd, looked at him. Her eyes locked with his as she continued to play, her entire body moving with the effort she put into playing, every part of her involved in her performance.
She would move like that in bed. Perfection. With passion, with all of herself.
He tightened his jaw, and the strain on his muscles was a welcome distraction from the desire that was pounding through him. The last thing he needed was for some photog to snap a picture of him sporting a hard-on over his fiancée’s performance.
Of course, it would lend authenticity to the whole thing.
He frowned. He didn’t like thinking of it that way. Didn’t want to bring the agreement into this, because this was real. His desire for her felt more real than anything in his recent memory. His past affairs had all gone hazy thanks to the passage of time, but he truly didn’t think he’d ever been so aroused by a woman who was more than a hundred feet away.
He wasn’t the only one enthralled by her. Everyone was mesmerized, savoring every note, existing for the next. Captive audience didn’t even begin to describe it.
She had brought everyone in to her for a moment, let them all feel what was inside her. And, as the last note faded in the ballroom, the emotion lingered. At least it lingered in him. Everyone around him was applauding and he found that he couldn’t. He wanted more. To hear more. To feel more.
But he couldn’t have more. He wouldn’t. Only this small indulgence. This window into her, into himself.
“She’s amazing.” This came from Jacques. The Frenchman was watching Noelle, his dark eyes shining, his mouth curved into a smile. Ethan wanted to hit him.
Unexpected and a little bit cavem
anish. And yet, he was unrepentant.
“And she’s mine,” Ethan said, walking away from Sylvie and Jacques, weaving through the crowd and up to the stage, just in time to take Noelle’s hand as she descended the steps.
“Was it okay?” she asked.
“Amazing.” He bent his head and kissed her. Just part of the show. A necessary act that had no place lighting his body on fire.
When they parted, he was still having trouble breathing, his body tight with need.
“Amazing,” she whispered.
“Let’s hope this party ends soon,” he said, his voice rough. Because he needed distance. He needed to send her back to her suite and he needed to get home to a very cold shower.
Walking away was the only option. But for the first time, he wondered if he had the strength to do it.
The kiss at the party had changed something. Or maybe it wasn’t the kiss, maybe it was the performance. Or maybe it was both. Either way, the moment Ethan’s lips had touched hers Noelle had made a decision.
She was going to have Ethan Grey. For a night, a few weeks, whatever, she was going to have what she wanted. With him.
Tonight she’d played. For her. And for everyone else. Without permission. And it had been amazing. The best feeling she could remember ever having on stage. It made her want more. Not just from Ethan, but from life. Why look ahead to the day she would get the house, shutting out everything else on the way? There was too much living to do between now and then.
She’d spent her whole life with tunnel vision. Play the piano. Be famous. Be brilliant. Everything else shut down and ignored.
But since meeting Ethan she’d discovered other things. Data entry and desire and a day at the beach. And she wanted more of that. Tonight, she was determined to have it.
Ethan stopped at the door of the hotel room. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait.” Good or bad, it was out of her mouth now. All she could do was commit and go forward. Or change the subject. Tell him he had lint on his coat? No. This wasn’t the time to lose her nerve, or to worry about what he might think. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t be scared forever. And she wouldn’t be scared now.
His eyes were nearly black in the shadow of the hall. “That might not be the best idea.”
“I want to … play for you. The song I started in Australia. I want you to hear it.”
He hesitated, his hands curled into fists, a muscle in his jaw shifting.
“Ethan …”
He took one step into the room. The tense lines in his body, the pronounced tendons in the backs of his hands, were proof of just how tightly he was hanging on to his control and told her that he knew what she was really asking.
And that by coming in, he hadn’t committed to saying yes.
The risk of rejection was high. A little bit scary. But a lot worth it. Because Ethan did want her. And it was their connection, one that had nothing to do with the two of them but everything to do with their parents, that held him back. Maybe it should hold her back too. But she had never felt like her mother’s actions, away from the cloistered life of music, had included her in any way.
She felt separate from their parents’ history, separate in a way Ethan couldn’t because of how it had affected his family. But maybe if he saw her, if he knew that she was nothing like her mother. Maybe then he would want to want her.
Ethan walked to the couch, his eyes trained on her as he worked the knot on his black silk tie. Her senses felt heightened. She could hear the slide of fabric over fabric as he tugged at it, could feel her heartbeat through her entire body. She could taste something in the air between them. Foreign and exciting. Tantalizing.
Maybe he had committed to her unspoken question. If it was even a question. It felt more like a command.
She moved to the piano, trying to imagine that there was a crowd, trying hard to hold on to her nerve. That crowd back at the party had been much easier to deal with. Even then she had felt Ethan watching her, had been compelled to turn and look at him. But it was easier to do with so many other people there. An audience of one was always much harder to perform for.
Because the more people there were, the more they blurred into an indistinguishable mass. When there were fewer of them, it suddenly became personal.
But rather than shutting Ethan out, she thought of just how he made her feel. She took a deep breath, put her hands on the keys and started playing. Slowly at first. She thought about ice cream and the beach. Ethan’s hands on her body. His lips on hers. She didn’t think about the future or about anything other than the immediate feelings Ethan gave her.
Lust, excitement. Happiness.
She shut everything out, everything except Ethan, and she played. Played for herself, to imprint the memories of what they’d shared inside her, to put it out there, the way some people would write in a diary. She wrote it into the song.
One she would be able to play whenever she wanted. Whenever she missed Ethan after all of this was done. Something to bring back the memories, clear and sharp, of what it had been like to be with him.
To simply share a conversation with him. A moment of pleasure.
Everything built to a crescendo, the rise of the music intense, exciting, mirroring how she felt now. The need for him. The fear he would say no. The fear he might say yes.
And then she stopped. It was quiet in the room, except for the sound of her uneven breathing. She took her shaking fingers from the keys and turned to him.
“That can’t be the end,” he said softly.
She shook her head and stood up, rounding the piano bench and moving towards the couch. “It’s not. But I … I don’t know how it ends. I was hoping you could show me.”
The air was thick between them. Ethan sat unmoving, gripping the arm of the couch. She took another step toward him and his chest rose sharply, his fingers tightening their hold on the fabric.
“How do you want it to end, Noelle?” he asked, his voice tight, rough. Like each word took supreme effort to speak.
“I’d like to start where things left off that night in Australia. And I’d like them to end where they should have ended then.”
“It should have ended before it started that night.”
“But it didn’t.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple dipping with the motion. “No. It didn’t.”
She took another step, stopping when she was right in front of him, her legs touching his. “So it’s too late for that. We can ignore it, and neither of us is doing a great job of that, or we can see what it would be like. You and me.”
She lifted her foot from the floor and rested her knee on the couch, next to his thigh. He lifted his hand and caught her wrist. “No matter what happens here, there will never be ‘you and me.’ I don’t say that to hurt you, just to warn you. I’m not the kind of man who does forever. I don’t even do long-term.” He let go of her wrist and traced the line of her arm with his finger, up past her shoulder, the curve of her neck, along her jaw. He touched her lips, the contact soft. Erotic. “But what I do, I do well.”
“That’s all I’m asking from you, Ethan. Nothing more. I don’t have any idea what I’m going to do when all of this is over, but that’s not what I’m thinking about. Not now. For once I just want to … live. Right in the moment. To enjoy every last bit of now. To enjoy wanting you. The rest of it doesn’t matter. Not right now.”
She lifted her other foot off the floor, resting her knee beside his other thigh. He curved his arm around her body and placed his hand on her lower back, the heat of his flesh through her thin silk dress warming her, spreading sweet heat through her body, pooling in her belly, flowing out to her limbs, making them feel heavy.
He captured her mouth with his, their breathing mixing together, harsh and uneven. He slid his other hand down her thigh, gripping the skirt of her dress and tugging it upward, pushing slick silk up around her hips.
His hand met the bare skin of her buttocks. She’d gone wi
th the filmy-fabric-friendly option of a thong when she’d dressed tonight. She was glad she had now. Even more so when a harsh groan escaped his lips and he squeezed her gently.
She gasped when he dipped his finger beneath her underwear, teasing her lightly, sliding over damp flesh.
He pulled his lips away from hers, pressed them to her neck. “How do you want this?” he asked. “I want you to set the tempo. Show me what you like. Show me how you think the song ends.”
She put her hands on his shoulders and tilted her hips, a sharp whimper escaping her lips when the movement pushed his fingers forward, the tips grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.
“Good,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She repeated the motion, pleasure streaking through her like fire. She tilted her head down and rested it on his shoulder as she continued to move over his hand. He dipped one finger inside her and all the tension that had been building in her broke, unraveling, spiraling through her in waves of sweet satisfaction, so acute it was almost painful.
She leaned against him, her entire body limp, weak. Her dress was clinging to her damp skin, her hair sticking to her neck. And he didn’t seem to mind. He wrapped his arms around her and held her on his lap, his lips by her ear.
“I wondered if you would be as passionate about making love as you are about playing the piano. I think that question was just answered.”
“For me too,” she said softly. “I had no idea …”
He kissed her again, his mouth hungry, devouring. And she felt an answering hunger in her own body, arousal building even faster than before. Now she knew what he could make her feel, knew how powerful it was, how amazing it felt. And she knew he could make her feel that way again.
He put his hand on her bottom and stood, supporting her weight with one arm. She locked her legs around his lean hips, the hard length of his erection pressed against her clitoris. Every step he took sent waves of bliss through her, renewed her need for him.
