His face intent, distant, he leaned over the keyboard, his fingers flying across the ivories, playing something classical. Flowing from Carlos’s fingertips, the music sounded intense, haunting, so much so she felt the first sting of tears at the tortured passion he milked from every note.
Her feet drew her deeper into the room to a tapestry wingback tucked in a shadowy corner by a stained glass window. She felt closer to him, to the man inside, in this moment than ever before. There were no walls between them now, only raw emotion from someone who’d faced the worst life could dish out and was clawing his way back to the light note by note.
Carlos’s hands stilled as the final chord faded. Her breath hitched somewhere between her lungs and throat. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been holding it, but hesitated to even exhale for fear of disrupting the mood.
Turning his head slowly, he looked at her over his shoulder. “Sorry to have disturbed you. You were sleeping so soundly when I looked in on you.”
He’d come to her room? How long had he watched her? The thought stirred her, knowing he hadn’t simply turned in. He’d been concerned, checking, letting her rest. She closed the distance between them with a half-dozen hesitant steps, her slippers whispering across the hardwood floors.
“You didn’t bother me. I couldn’t sleep,” she lied, tracing the curved edge of the Steinway. “How did I never know you played?”
He turned on the wooden bench, his eyes tracking her every movement. “It never came up in conversation. I’m not what you would call chatty.”
“That’s an understatement.” She stared back from the far end of the piano.
Awareness vibrated from him to her like another chord from his fingers.
“What do you want to know, Lilah?”
“Who’s your favorite composer?”
“That’s it? Your big question?” His bark of laughter cut through the otherwise silent room.
“That’s a start.”
“Rachmaninoff.”
“And you picked him because…?” She walked slowly around the piano toward him again. “Come on, help me out here. Conversation involves more than clipped answers.”
“My mother played the piano. He was her favorite to play when she was upset or angry.” His fingers hammered out a series of angry chords, then segued into something softer. “When I’m at the piano I can still hear the sound of her voice.”
His answer stole the air from her lungs. For a stark man, sometimes he said the most profoundly moving things.
She sat beside him on the bench. “That’s beautiful, Carlos. And more than a little heartbreaking.”
“Keep up comments like that and I’ll stop the sharing game.” He picked up the pace until his fingers flew across the keyboard again. “Maybe we can play a game I like to call ‘Strip for Secrets’.”
She covered his hands with hers, stilling him, the sound fading. “Or you could stop with the games all together and simply talk to me about what’s upsetting you. How was your visit with your father?”
“His condition remains unchanged.”
Upsetting to be sure, but somehow she hadn’t reached the core of what was bothering him, of why he chose to play…. “You’re thinking of your mother, maybe?”
As tempted as she was to say to hell with it all and lose herself in his arms, she needed something more first. She needed answers to understanding the man she was considering linking her life with.
The thought stopped her short. She was actually considering his marriage proposal, waiting for a sign that she could trust the feelings building inside her. She waited, letting him find his way as she’d learned long ago there was no pushing this stubborn man into saying or doing anything until he was good and ready.
His hand gravitated back to the keys, rippling a five-finger scale back and forth. “Mother was an artist in a thousand ways and in no way formal. She played the piano by ear. She was an amazing cook but said she learned from watching her mother. And needlework…in spite of having unlimited funds, she knitted blankets.”
The low rumble of his voice carried shades of grief, loss and nostalgia in the treasured memories of a lost loved one.
Her heart squeezed with sympathy. “She sounds like a very talented and busy woman.”
“Busy?” His eyebrows pinched together. “I never thought of it that way since she was always laid-back, never seemed rushed. But what you say fits with what I remember.”
She linked her fingers with his. “How old were you when she died?”
“Thirteen.” His squeezed her hand, tightly, the line of his jaw taut. “I prefer to celebrate the way she lived, not dwell on how she died.”
Cradling his face, she stroked until the tensed tendons under her fingers eased. “I’m sure she would prefer you treasure those happier memories.”
The silence between them stretched with only the sound of their breathing to fill the vastness of the room and the depth of his loss.
His throat moved in a long swallow before he continued, “I play to remember her because there aren’t any home videos or even that many photos of our life as a family. Our father kept us out of the public eye even then as much as he could. He destroyed most of our personal items before we left.”
And his life had continued in that stripped-down fashion from his bare-bones office to his stark home…even his place here, understated in comparison to the rest of the opulent mansion. The escape from San Rinaldo had marked this family in so many ways, but Carlos bore physical scars as well.
“Your brothers mentioned gunshot wounds this afternoon. So there wasn’t a riding accident.”
He shook his head, his answer slower this time. “I was wondering what you would think when that was mentioned earlier.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“You could just access my medical records,” he joked lightly.
“Leaving aside the ethics for a moment,” she answered seriously, “I wouldn’t break your trust that way.”
“Ah, Lilah…” He tucked a knuckle under her chin, calluses warm and masculine against her tender skin. “That’s why I like you. And believe me, I don’t say that lightheartedly.”
“Then thank you.” She leaned into his hand, deepening the touch, the connection. “I like you, too, most of the time, anyway. Help me understand you so I can like you even more of the time.”
He looked away, staring into the open top of the grand piano at the lines of strings. “I was shot in the back by rebels during our escape from San Rinaldo.”
She’d guessed as much from what his brother said earlier, but hearing Carlos confirm it brought the reality of that attack so horribly alive in her mind. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine how terrifying and painful that must have been for you.”
Still he stared into the piano, his fingers stroking over the ivories without pressing. “Not any more frightening than the kids I treat who’ve been gunned down in their own neighborhood for no reason other than where they live or what color shirt they wore that day.”
He had a point, not that it lessened the horror of what he’d endured. “I guess not.”
“I tried to save my mother and I failed. If I’d stepped more to the left… I’ve replayed that day in my mind so many times and there seem to be a million options I could have taken.”
Heartbroken for the young boy he’d been, for the man now, she touched his arm lightly, squeezing the tensed muscle gently. “You were only thirteen.”
“At the time I thought I was a man.” He glanced at her, his bicep flexing under her touch.
“You must have grown up far too fast that day.” Her heart hurt at the image stamped in her mind.
“Stop. I don’t want your pity, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
She flattened her hands to the hard wall of his chest, his heart hammering through his shirt. “How can I know this about you and not be moved? How can I just let it go on command?”
Her defenses were impossibl
e to find, much less resurrect around him. She had to face the fact that it was impossible to stay logical and impartial around Carlos. He pulled her closer until the heat blasting from his body seared through her nightgown, through her skin, deep inside and pooling low.
His head lowered until his breath fanned over her face. “I’ll just have to distract you, then.”
Smoothly, his mouth covered hers with the familiarity of lovers who knew each other well, who knew just how to touch, stroke, taste and nip to drive the other to the edge. Even just when to hold back and draw that pleasure tighter.
How could a man know her body so well, yet still be such a mystery? She reassured herself that she’d learned more tonight. They were making headway. He’d opened up more tonight than ever before.
And those marriage proposals?
She still didn’t know what prompted him to make those offers for a lifetime commitment, but right now, she wanted to focus on the feelings, the connection. Her heart ached for him and all he’d been through. While she refused to let that blind her, she also couldn’t look away.
He skimmed aside the shoulder on her robe and gown, exposing her collarbone to his kisses, his hand curving around her breast.
She wasn’t as adept as him at shuttling aside tumultuous emotions. So many roiled inside her, she needed an outlet. And regardless of what tomorrow held, she couldn’t leave him here alone with his painful memories. “I think it’s time to lock that door.”
Need for Lilah searing through him, Carlos opened the security panel in the wall beside the door. Every room in the house was equipped with one, a way to lock the doors and seal the windows from any outside intrusion. While his father had installed such extreme safety measures for their protection against everything from hurricanes to an attack, Carlos had an entirely different purpose in mind.
Tapping in codes with as much speed as he’d played the piano, he secured the door with a click and hiss. The windows then darkened until the ballroom became a luxurious—impenetrable—cocoon.
Lilah, seated on the edge of the piano bench, gasped in surprise. “I had no idea. And no one can see inside?”
“This is my home, my dominion,” he declared, sauntering toward her. “No one will disturb us. No one can see us. I would never put you at risk. I will keep you safe, always.”
The evening spent talking with his father and his brothers was such a mixed bag of familiar and torturous. There was a hole in their family that had never been filled.
A void because he’d failed to keep his mother safe.
And while he knew in his head that he’d been one thirteen-year-old against a small band of rebels, that didn’t stop him from feeling, knowing, he should have been able to do more. He’d lived with the knowledge for years, but tonight the memories flayed him raw. More than ever he needed the forgetfulness he knew he could find in Lilah’s arms.
Rising, she faced him without hesitation. Her hands fell on his shoulders and he gathered the soft cotton of her nightgown set in his fists. When he saw her pupils widen with desire, he swept the fabric up and over her head. He sent the gown sailing across the room in a white flag of truce, not surrender.
She stood before him, unflinching, proudly naked. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he reached to touch her. Trembled, for God’s sake. He was known for his ever-steady control under even the most stressful and lengthy surgeries. But nothing had tapped his composure as deeply as Lilah, her beautiful body and creamy skin on display for him.
Only him.
Possessiveness spread further through him, growing roots until he knew he could never escape the feeling. And right now it became vitally important to make sure she was every bit as consumed by desire as he was.
Cupping her shoulders, he eased her back to the bench, guiding her further still until she reclined with her legs draped over the end. Her eyes flared with understanding a second before he lowered her head. Nudging her knees apart with his shoulders, he stroked up the insides of her thighs, following with slow, deliberate kisses. Her sighs encouraged him.
Aroused him.
Softly, deliberately, he nuzzled her through the thin satin barrier of her panties. The scent of her filled him every time he inhaled, which he wanted to do over and over again because nothing, absolutely nothing rivaled her.
He skimmed aside her panties and…yes…tasted her essence, teased her sweet folds. Her back bowed upward as she mumbled sweetly incoherent requests for more. He hooked his arms under her knees and brought her closer, urging her pleasure higher. She gripped his shoulders, her nails cutting half-moons into his flesh. Each husky gasp came faster until she grasped his hair.
“Now,” she demanded, “I need you inside me.”
No need to tell him twice. “Lucky for us both that’s exactly where I want to be.”
Kissing her slickened, swollen sex gently once, he eased her feet to the ground again. He stole a lingering look at her, reveling in her dazed eyes, flushed cheeks and tousled hair streaming an auburn flame over the edge of the bench. She’d never looked more beautiful.
She arched upward and he caught her around the waist, shifting her onto the keyboard in a jangled chord. She yanked at his pants with frantic hands, tearing at his zipper until she freed his throbbing length. Bracing his hand behind her on the piano, he thrust inside. Her moist heat clamped around him in sync with her legs locked around his waist. Her heels dug into his buttocks as he thrust again and again.
Their speeding hearts, breaths and sighs mixed with the Steinway’s own tune. He let her transport him from this room, from the island and the memories slamming into him from all directions. With each incredible grip of her silken body, stroke of her hands, he realized he’d approached things all wrong with Lilah. He’d thought by shutting her out he could avoid the past. Instead, with Lilah like this, the hell of it faded to the back of his mind. If he could stay with her, inside her, he could shut the rest out.
She clenched around him as her release built, increased until she flung her head back. Her cry of pleasure echoed into the domed ceiling. Hearing her, watching her—feeling her—unravel in his arms snapped the last thread of restraint in him. He pulsed inside her, deeply, fully, and somehow nowhere near enough because already he wanted her again.
Holding her as aftershocks snapped through him, he gathered her close and sank to the piano bench with her in his lap. He smoothed her hair and whispered along her brow how much she moved him, other words he couldn’t form or remember, except that some poet inside him had come to life with her.
The feel of her against him, perspiration slicking her skin and sealing her to him, felt so damn right. He skimmed his hands down her back and soaked in the leisurely pleasure of her pressed to him, her breasts, her hips… Her stomach curved ever so slightly and he realized…Her pregnancy was beginning to show. Medically, he knew all the stages and changes she would undergo. But for the first time, he allowed himself to think of experiencing that miracle in an up close and personal way.
As a father.
Something shifted inside him and he slid a hand between them, splaying across her stomach, her child. He felt the weight of her gaze on him and looked up. She stared back with an open vulnerability that sucker punched him. In that moment, she was his old friend, his lover now, the soon-to-be mother of his child, and he had to have her.
The warmth in her eyes all but unraveled him. But he couldn’t lose focus, not when he needed her in his life for so many reasons.
He would do anything, say anything, pretend to be the man she seemed to want if that’s what it took to persuade her to stay.
Eleven
Lounging in the overlarge tub in her suite, Lilah leaned back against Carlos’s chest. His long legs stretched on either side of hers with rose petals floating in the water, scenting the air. She’d never seen a place with so many fresh flowers around every corner, even vases alongside the LCD screen and sound system currently piping Beethoven into their tiled retreat.
&n
bsp; Two brandy snifters filled with milk sat on a silver platter beside the marble tub. He’d insisted that if she couldn’t drink alcohol, then he would abstain as well. The silly gesture touched her as fully as his hands.
He’d made such intense love to her in the music room, and again in her bed before they’d migrated to the spacious bath. Her wary heart wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could trust what they shared. Hopefully he’d resolved whatever freaked him out that first night they’d been together. Without question, Carlos carried heavy baggage from his past. That had to have left some emotional marks.
But as long as they kept open lines of communication, maybe they really had a shot at working this out. Counting on that honesty between them calmed her own fears of ending up like her parents. It had to. Because heaven help her, if Carlos asked her to marry her again, she wouldn’t be able to say no.
He swept his foot under the brass faucet, activating the electronic fixture. Warm water flowed into their cooling bath.
What would she have done if he’d proposed right after she told him about the baby? Her hand tightened on his knee. She liked to think she would have told him to take his dutiful proposal and shove it after the way he’d acted. She needed—and deserved—confirmation that he held deep feelings for her, not just because she carried his baby.
Nestled against his chest, she wanted to roll out her thoughts, test their newfound truce, but concerns for his father had to take precedence. No wonder he’d been pouring his heart out through his music.
She stroked up his leg and reached through the rose-covered surface of the water, folding her hand over his cupping the snifter. “The way you played—” her fingers caressed the rougher texture of his “—your hands on the keyboard, it was magical. You’re quite accomplished.”
“There wasn’t much else for me to do during my teenage years. Between surgeries…” His voice rumbled his chest against her back, his low words mingling with the sound of water shooshing from the faucet. “My father had the music room built to be airy, open and bright, like being outside.”
His Heir, Her Honor Page 12
