Modern Romance December 2015 Books 5-8. Kate WalkerЧитать онлайн книгу.
denied it but now, looking back, she considered the possibility that he’d been partly right.
Her life was safe. Maybe a little boring, but she’d found her niche and she never wanted to leave it or the emotional protection it gave her.
But she had to. She couldn’t stay there any longer. If she didn’t step out she would lose that little niche anyway—for good. Her job would be gone. Her income would be gone. Her independence would be gone. All her friends’ lives would be destroyed too.
‘We are more alike than you think, you and I,’ Talos said.
His voice was deeper and lower than she had ever heard it, every syllable full of meaning. He still hadn’t made a move towards her.
‘We have both chosen solitary pursuits. I focus on my boxing, you have your violin. No one can pull my punches for me and no one can play that violin for you. Think of the emotions you get when you’re kickboxing, the adrenaline you feel through your veins. That is how you must imagine your fear—as something to be channelled and fought. You are on Agon, the land of warriors. We fight. And so must you. Fight, little songbird. Loosen your hold and fly.’
She gripped onto the piano for support and closed her eyes, his words resonating through her.
Was it time to confront all the fear?
If not now, then when?
If not here, then where?
‘Will you turn around when I undress?’
‘I will, but when you play I will watch you. I cannot guarantee I will stop my thoughts roaming to inappropriate places, but I can guarantee I will not act on them.’
I wish I could guarantee the same.
‘If you can get through this you can get through anything. I give you my word.’
Strike her down, but she believed him.
‘Right here and now it is you and me—no one else. If you make mistakes then keep going. You can do this, Amalie.’
Whether it was the calm sincerity in his voice or the confidence emanating from him—God, he was naked—something worked, turning the panic inside her down low enough for her to get a grip on herself.
‘Please turn around,’ she said shakily.
He did as she asked, standing so his back was to her. His back was every bit as beautiful as his front, his body a mass of taut muscle and sinew. He was not professional-body-builder big, but big enough that you would trust him to pull a car off a helpless victim and then carry them over his shoulder to safety without breaking a sweat.
With fingers that fumbled she pulled off her pretty blue top and shrugged her skirt down. Her legs already bare, all that was left was her underwear. She tried to undo her bra, but what was second nature suddenly became the hardest job in the world.
‘I can’t,’ she said, suddenly panic-stricken all over again.
Talos turned his head a touch before twisting his whole body round. Arms folded across his chest, he gazed at her, the look on his face something she’d never seen before. It looked as if it hurt him to breathe.
‘That is enough,’ he said quietly. ‘Now, please—play for me.’
This time she allowed her eyes to dart down and look at what she’d tried to keep as a haze, skimming around the area as if it were pixilated.
The heat that rushed through her at one glance almost knocked her off her feet.
The knowing look that came into his eyes had the same effect.
Talos was in proportion in every way.
Suddenly she yanked her violin off the piano, put it under chin and began to play.
The bow swept across the strings, bouncing gently because of her less than graceful start, but then it did what it had been made to do, whilst her fingers flew up and down the strings. It was probably the worst start to a performance she’d ever given, but she wouldn’t have known either way as at that moment she wasn’t hearing the music, but simply relishing the fact that she was winning this fight. She was doing it. She was playing in front of someone.
God, she was virtually naked.
And Talos was as naked as the day he’d been born.
Somehow she settled into the music, embraced it, letting it become her. Far from closing her eyes, she kept her gaze on him, felt the heat of his returning stare.
By the time she played the last note the tension in the room had merged with the vibrato of her violin, a tangible, pulsating chemistry she felt all the way through to her core.
For long, long moments nothing was said. Not verbally.
The connection between their gazes spoke a thousand words.
‘You brought my skin up in bumps,’ he finally said, his voice raspy.
She gave a helpless shrug.
‘You didn’t play my grandmother’s composition.’
She shook her head. She had played the final movement of one of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons concertos—‘Summer’. The movement that evoked a thunderstorm and perfectly fitted the storm raging beneath her skin.
‘I didn’t want you to hear it when I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it justice. Not the first time.’
‘The first time should be special, yes.’
She breathed deeply, sensing he wasn’t talking about the music any more.
He made no move towards her. The look in his eyes was clear. He’d made her a promise not to get any closer to her. Not unless she invited him to.
Her blood had never felt so thick, as if she’d had hot treacle injected into her veins.
She wanted him. Desperately. Passionately...
No!
The warning shout in her head rang out loud and clear, breaking through the chemistry buffeting them, shattering it with one unsaid syllable.
Without a word she grabbed her top and pulled it back on, smoothing it over her belly as she darted a glance to see his reaction.
He inclined his head, an amused yet pained smile on his lips, then turned to his clothes and stepped back into his underwear and trousers before slipping his powerful arms into his shirt.
‘You played beautifully, little songbird. And now it is time for me to leave.’
‘Already?’ The word escaped before she could catch it.
He dropped his stare down to his undone trousers. ‘Unless you want me to break my promise?’
He cocked his head, waiting for an answer that wouldn’t form.
‘I thought not.’ His eyes flashed. ‘But we both know it’s only a matter of time.’
She swallowed the moisture that had filled in her mouth, pushing it past the tightness in her throat.
‘A car will collect you tomorrow at seven.’
‘Seven?’ she asked stupidly, her mind turning blank at his abrupt turn of conversation.
‘Helios’s ball,’ he reminded her, fastening the last of his buttons. ‘Did you receive the official invitation?’
She nodded. Her invitation had been hand delivered by a palace official, the envelope containing it a thick, creamy material, sealed with a wax insignia. Receiving it had made her feel like a princess from a bygone age.
‘Keep it safe—you’ll need to present it when you arrive. I’ll be staying at my apartment in the palace for the weekend, so I’ll send a car for you.’
She’d