When the music ended, he took a deep breath and held it, anticipating more. Longing for more. When the first note of the next song greeted his ears, a spasm clenched his abdomen and he released a tortured gasp. Lord, what her playing did to him. He’d never been a huge fan of classical piano until Dawn.
At the end of the next song, the piano fell silent and he waited in breathless anticipation for the next to begin. When it didn’t start at once, he sat up in the bed. When minutes passed and he heard nothing but the muted sounds of the crashing waves outside, he climbed from the mattress and padded to the upper landing, straining for sounds of her. He took the steps slowly, one at a time, listening. When an almost imperceptible tinkling of the piano keys greeted his ears, he paused about halfway down the stairs. He stood there for a long moment, letting the slowly building music wash over him, and when the bones went out of his legs, he sat right there on the stairs, closed his eyes, and relaxed into her sound. Rock music invigorated him, and he’d always be a fan, but this . . . this music, this sound, made him feel something deeper, something magical, some connection outside of himself.
He almost wished he wasn’t currently on tour so he could follow her to Prague and watch her perform. Would it be difficult to sit among an audience who would be as enraptured by her as he was? Or would it make him proud that she’d chosen him? That he knew her. That he’d touched her, kissed her, made love to her.
When that piece ended, he heard her sigh.
“Again, Dawn,” she said, as if coaching herself. She played the same piece over from the start, and if it was any different from her first run-through, his ear wasn’t trained well enough to pick up any variances. She paused about halfway through a particularly rapid series of notes and played the same measures again and again before finally moving on. She was trying to improve upon perfection, he realized, when as far as he was concerned, no improvements were possible.
At the end of the piece, Dawn grumbled, “Stop thinking about him and focus, Dawn.”
Kellen grinned—hoping the distraction she referred to was himself—and rose from the steps, hurrying to make it to the piano before she started playing her next piece and made him weak in the knees once more.
He paused behind her bench, and her body stiffened. He knew he hadn’t made a sound as he’d crossed the tile floor barefoot, but she obviously sensed his presence since she turned.
“Did I wake you?” she asked, the low light of a nearby lamp casting gold over the deep red waves of her hair. “What am I saying? Of course I woke you, banging on the piano at four a.m. I’m sorry. Maybe you should go to your place to sleep. I really need to practice.”
“I’d rather stay,” he said. “If it won’t disturb you.”
“Disturb me? I’m the one doing the disturbing here.”
He smiled. “That’s not the word I’d use for what you were doing. Entertaining. Enchanting. Enrapturing. But not disturbing.”
“Wes sent me my set list for Prague. I allowed them to choose which songs they wanted me to play, and of course they chose the one most challenging for me. I figured they’d just want the nocturnes and ballades. Those were written for solo piano, and I know them all by heart, but they’ve chosen several piano excerpts from his concertos. Not unheard of, but definitely not the norm. Apparently I approved the set list weeks ago without looking at it closely. I was in writer’s-block deadline hell at the time.”
“You could always tell them to change the set list.”
“They’ve already printed the programs. I’ll get it. I just need to practice. So if you want to sleep—”
He shook his head before she finished the thought. “I want to watch. Will it make you nervous?”
She grinned. “I’m the odd sort who performs better under pressure.”
“Just tell me where to apply my pressure, and I’m on it.”
“Pierre used to stand right behind me and stare at my hands.” She produced an adorable little snort. “God, how that used to turn me on.”
“This sounds like a win-win to me.” He shifted to stand directly behind her, and a shudder moved through her lithe figure. If all it took to turn her on was for him to stand behind her while she played, he’d be wearing a spot through the tile behind her bench.
She stretched her fingers, scrunched them into little fists, shook out her hands, and then set her fingers on the keys. He watched her hands as she played, imagining them on his body, remembering her sure, firm grip. The music poured from her, flowed into him, and bound them together.
“There it is,” she murmured, apparently pleased by whatever nuance she’d now perfected. “When I’d finally get something perfect, Pierre would touch my shoulder to let me know I’d pleased him,” she said.
Kellen supposed that was his cue. He wasn’t sure he liked following in her music teacher’s footsteps, but she seemed to need reassurance. He lifted a hand and gently touched her shoulder. She missed a note. He actually heard that mistake.
“And when I’d make a mistake like that, he’d drag me off the piano bench and kiss me breathless.”
Kellen’s eyes widened. “What?”
She laughed. “If he’d really done that, I’d have been messing up on purpose.”
“Were you really that into him? I mean his name was Pierre, for fuck’s sake.”
“He’s a brilliant teacher, an amazing pianist, and has the sexiest French accent I’ve ever heard in my life.” She produced an appreciate purr and returned her hands to her keyboard.
“So it was him you were thinking of earlier when you couldn’t focus.”
“Huh?” She peered at him over her shoulder, her fingers hovering over the keys.
“I heard you say to stop thinking about him and focus. I thought it was me—”
“It was definitely you stealing my focus. I was remembering our first time on the lid of this piano.”
“Ah, so this Pierre talk is just to make me jealous?”
She lifted a brow at him. “Is it working?”
“You were a girl when you wanted him,” he said, lowering his hand to cup one of her small, firm breasts. “You’re very much a woman now. So, no, I’m not jealous of Pierre.” Much.
Her fingers began to move on the keys again. He caught the rhythm—a stranger’s rhythm—and gently massaged her nipple to keep time. After a moment she jerked her hands from the keyboard and released a shuddering sigh. “You shouldn’t do that while I play my set list,” she said. “If I start to equate Chopin with your touch, I’ll end up embarrassing myself with a rather large puddle on my bench.”
He chuckled softly, still tormenting the hardened peak at the tip of her breast. “Then maybe you should play something sexier. Something of yours.”
“I need to practice,” she said, but he didn’t think she was saying it to him.
Her hands shifted down the keyboard to a lower register. From the first note of “Blue.” he felt her. Not only the soft breast in his hand or her back brushing against his rapidly rising cock when she moved, but the embodiment of her soul rising up and reaching out from her composition. It tangled around him like an invisible rope, binding him to her in a connection he knew he’d never escape. He never wanted to escape. His hand circled her long throat, fingertips finding the rapid pulse. Could this song possibly affect her as intensely as it affected him? He was torn between the unmistakable need to possess her body, to forge a deep physical connection between them, and his unquenchable thirst to hear this melody.
Maybe there was a way he could have both.
Tugging upward on her throat and breast, he urged her to stand. He shoved the bench aside with his leg and shifted his hand from her breast to her skirt. The song sounded different without her feet operating the pedals, but it was close enough. He could still hear its usual perfection in his head. When he sank into her hot, soft center, they both gasped. She fumbled over a few notes, but soon found enough focus to continue playing.
He was lost in her—her body, her mu
sic, her heat. Still holding her neck with one hand, his other found her clit and he played her just as fiercely as she pounded out the rising crescendo of “Blue.” Higher they moved together. Higher and higher. Until the final note rang out and they touched the stars.
Chapter Twelve
Dawn squeezed her eyes shut against the glare of the intrusive sun. Tucked along Kellen’s side, her back squished into the back of the sofa, she was too comfortable, too content, too fulfilled to want her day to begin just yet. Even her sudden urge to work on the new melody tugging at her subconscious wasn’t enough motivation to move from her current perfect, close-to-Kellen position.
Kellen’s deep and even breathing grew slightly more rapid and shallow. He covered his eyes with one hand and turned his face toward her.
“Don’t move,” she murmured. “I just want to lie here like this all day.”
“Can I move enough to kiss you good morning?”
The sleepy rasp of his voice played along her spine, making her shiver with delight.
“Maybe in an hour or two,” she whispered.
Her time with him was magic. She wasn’t ready for his spell to be broken just yet. Yet when his toe brushed the instep of her foot, she started to think maybe a little movement would be even more delightful.
“Did you know you hum in your sleep?” Kellen asked.
She’d been told that a time or two. “Only when I’m particularly inspired,” she said.
“Is my dick inspiring you again?”
She laughed, enjoying the new happiness spell he cast over her almost as much as she’d loved his previous contentment spell. “Your dick is incredibly inspirational.”
He took her hand and wrapped her fingers around her rapidly hardening muse. “How about a little morning inspiration?” he murmured before nibbling on a sensitive spot just beneath her ear.
Her toes curled, sending a spark of pain up her ankle and calf where the jellyfish had stung her, but that was easy enough to ignore.
“Not sure if I’m ready for inspiration quite yet,” she said, shifting so she could press her mouth—her hidden grin—into his throat.
“That’s unfortunate. I’m really in the mood to inspire this morning.”
“Perhaps that talented mouth of yours could put me in the mood.”
“It’s worth a shot,” he said, slipping from the sofa and spreading her thighs. She slid her fingers into his long, silky hair and held on tight as he licked and sucked her pussy until she was begging for her muse.
By the time they headed up for a shower, she’d been so thoroughly inspired that she had trouble climbing the stairs on her wobbly legs. She soon learned that while she hummed in her sleep, Kellen sang in the shower. He even pulled her back against his front and used her arm as a fret board and strummed her belly like a guitar until she was laughing so hard from his ticklish serenade, she had to cling to his thigh to remain standing.
“I can’t remember the last time I was this happy,” he said as he dried himself. She stood there in her towel, watching, her mouth hanging open. The only finer eye candy than wet, shirtless Kellen Jamison was wet, entirely naked Kellen Jamison. No sea god could be any more enticing than he was.
She sucked the drool back into her mouth and said, “Me neither.” And she meant that. Being with him had her giddy with happiness.
“How about you practice your set list while I make breakfast?” he offered.
That sounded spectacular, but she said, “I figured you’d want French toast.”
“I’ve watched you make it enough times now. I think I’ve got the gist of it.”
“You realize that’s my grandmother’s secret recipe and you can’t be allowed to escape with that knowledge.”
His smile made her heart flutter. “I’m not planning to escape. Not ever.”
Her breath caught, and she struggled to find words, to tell him that she wanted to be with him too, but he dropped his towel on the edge of the tub, leaving every inch of himself as a feast for her eyes, and she forgot how to speak. She remembered how to walk, though, and she followed his perfect naked ass into the bedroom.
He lifted a pair of boxers out of his open overnight bag and caught her gaping. “You, Miss O’Reilly, have a staring problem.”
“No problem from my perspective,” she said, waggling her brows and grinning.
She somehow found clothes and allowed him to get dressed as well. Downstairs, she righted her piano bench, thoughts of their pre-dawn romp making her crave more inspiration. Dear lord, how could she be horny again? Oh yes, naked Kellen would cause that condition. Newly inspired, she sat down to play through her set list again.
“I think you’re going to have to settle for eggs, no toast,” he called to her from the kitchen area of the large open room. “Every bit of this bread is culturing an antibiotic.”
She’d forgotten she was going to make fresh bread, probably because she wasn’t stressed enough to have the urge to bake.
“That’s fine.”
“There’s a bit of bacon left too, but not much else.”
“I knew I’d be leaving soon, so I’ve been trying to finish off my supplies.”
“Oh . . .” His voice was so low and flat that she scarcely heard him. When the only noises coming from the kitchen were the banging of pans and the rush of water, she started through her playlist. Soon the delicious smell of bacon had her belly rumbling. She didn’t need to practice, she decided. She knew every note already. What she needed was to spend every second left of this weekend with that wonderful man in her kitchen.
She headed for the coffee pot and found coffee already brewing. She could definitely get used to this. She sent a grateful smile in Kellen’s direction, but he was so singularly focused on not burning the bacon and avoiding grease popping on his bare belly that he didn’t see. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the breakfast bar to watch him. He didn’t glance up at her once, and she wasn’t sure if he was really focused on cooking or if something was bothering him.
“What are we going to do with our last day together?” she asked.
He went entirely still, a piece of bacon dangling from the tongs in his hand, and lifted his gaze to hers. “Last day?”
“Not our last day ever. I meant of our weekend.”
“This is going to be hard, isn’t it?” He dropped the bacon into the sizzling pan and clamped on to a different slice. “Finding time to be together.”
“Yeah,” she admitted, taking a tentative sip of scalding coffee. “But being together will be worth a little effort. We just have to make the most of the time we do have.”
Kellen began removing the bacon from the pan, laying the strips side by side on a paper towel.
“I thought we could explore the island a bit when we go out to buy steaks for dinner, but maybe we should spend the entire day in bed. We can open the doors to the upstairs deck and let the sound of the waves drive our rhythm. Let the ocean breezes caress our skin. Let the brine in the air enrich your taste, your scent.”
Dawn sighed aloud and rested her chin in her hand. The man was a romantic through and through, and she loved his plan. But she didn’t want their relationship to be built only on great sex. She wanted this to last and knew they’d have to have a deeper-than-physical connection to get them through the lengthy separations they faced.
“Can we do a little of both?” she asked. “Well, more bed time than island time, but we do need to pick up something for dinner. Man cannot live on pussy alone.”
He laughed and used one hand to crack eggs into the hot bacon grease. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Well, I sure can’t.” Her heart thundered as she considered confessing something that no one but the party involved knew about her. And then her big blurty mouth opened up and said, “I tried it once, you know? Eating pussy.”
Kellen dropped his spatula. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after you let that hidden kinky vixen out the other night when you tied me up
. So who was it?”
Her face was flaming, but she didn’t waver. “You’ve met her.”
“Chantel?”
Dawn nodded and waited for his reaction.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“The during? Very much. The after was incredibly awkward. We tried it only that once.”
“And did your other roommate—Jimmy—did he get to watch?” His quirked eyebrow was a tad infuriating.
“Of course not! It was a private . . . experiment.”
Her face was now hotter than the coffee in her cup. Why had she brought that incident up? She and Chantel had sworn to never speak of it, and here she was blabbing her dirty little secrets to Kellen while he cooked her breakfast.
“For future reference, if you ever want to eat pussy, I’m fine with it, but only if I get to watch.” He shut off the burner and scooped eggs onto their plates.
“You can’t be serious,” she blurted.
He held her gaze when he said, “You should know me well enough by now to realize how seriously I take eating pussy.”
“I know you excel at doing it, I just didn’t realize . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish that thought.
“I like watching almost as much as I like delivering.”
And boy did the man deliver.
She released a nervous chuckle. “Well, the next time I go down on a woman, I’ll be sure to call you as a witness.” Not!
“That’s all I ask.” His tone was so serious that she couldn’t tell if he was joking. Surely he was joking!
He set her plate in front of her, which finally let her off the hook. She was kicking herself for bringing that up, but then . . .
“Have you ever performed oral on a guy?” She bit her lip, cursing her blurty mouth for giving that question wind.
He slid onto the stool beside her. “No,” he said. “Hand jobs are as far as I’ve ever gone with Owen.”
Owen. Right. She’d been thinking with any other guy ever, but of course Kellen would equate her question with Owen. “And is Owen the only one you’ve . . .”
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