Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(25)

“It is agreeable,” she mumbled, dipping her spoon into the soup.

Silence met her declaration. She looked up to see Dominique’s hungry gaze. Warmth spread throughout her body, tingling her until she thought she would go mad.

“Perfect, now I’m surrounded by people who know nothing of how to give a compliment,” Hunter interrupted, looking between the two of them. The air was thick with tension. Hunter cleared his throat once more. “Great soup. I always say soup is the best course to start with, it warms the soul when the bed is empty.”

“Your bed better stay empty while you’re in residence, Wolf.” Dominique turned his eyes toward his friend and glowered.

Hunter didn’t seem the least bit bothered. “Excuse his hidden meaning, Isabelle. He’s merely trying to warn me to stay away from you, lest I find my head removed from my body in a most painful manner.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Dominique smiled.

Isabelle gasped.

Both men turned to look at her, humor dancing behind their eyes. “Something amiss, my lady?” Dominique asked, the candlelight beaming off of his erotic mouth.

“I, was just, um... Frightened!”

“Of?” he prodded.

“The…” Isabelle looked around for anything to excuse her behavior. But saints alive, without the wild hair covering his face, he looked like a fallen angel. “The dark.” She winced. “I thought I saw a shadow…”

Isabelle inwardly rolled her eyes.

Dominique narrowed his gaze, making her shift uncomfortably. And it was that same gaze that held her attention throughout the entire meal. Finally, he relented, but only when Hunter retired for the night.

“Would you like to share a glass of sherry?” Dominique’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

They adjourned to one of the practice rooms; the same one Dominique had assaulted her in, earlier that day.

The lit candles cast a haunting glow upon the piano. She wondered silently what secrets the piano held, for it seemed every time she tried to figure him out, she ended up more confused than when she started.

“Tell me, Isabelle…” Dominique came up behind her his breath a soft whisper across her ear, “Why is it that you love music so much?”

What she wouldn’t have given to have been blessed with musical talent. “I love something that does not love me back, it seems.” Her intake of breath made her nearly fall backward into his chest. He wouldn’t think it a double meaning, would he?

“And you love music?”

“Desperately.”

“Do you feel music? Did you feel it this afternoon when I was teaching you?”

“I tried.” Her shoulders slumped. “I admit to being distracted.”

“By?”

“My own thoughts, your nearness, the room and dazzling view out the windows. It is so hard to concentrate when life goes on around you.” Never had she realized how much she was driven to distraction until she said the words aloud.

“Don’t move,” he breathed.

Terrified, she stayed immobile. Dominique withdrew a black piece of fabric and grinned. “Now, close your eyes.”

Not quite sure why she trusted the man, she closed her eyes as he wrapped the blindfold around her eyes. “Now… I begin your second lesson of the day.”

She nodded. His presence left, and she was immediately cold. Where did he go? She wrung her hands and finally clasped them behind her back as her ears listened for any sort of movement.

“Feel.” It was one word, one single word from Dominique’s lips. She couldn’t see his lips but knew the way the word would look as he formed it. No doubt they pressed together just slightly before he exhaled. Her breathing became ragged.

He pulled her body firmly against him, he held her from behind, his strong arms wrapped around her.

“Feel,” he said again, this time lifting her hand to his lips. Swaying, she managed to stay standing, but it was not without effort.

His skin was warm beneath her touch, his lips slightly wet as if his tongue had just licked the bottom half of their plumpness. Slowly, he grasped her hand and drew it down his neck until it stopped at his pulse. A healthy rhythm pulsed beneath her fingers, and again he moved her hand lower repeating the same word as her hand went to his hard lined stomach. “Feel.” His voice came out hoarsely as she felt his inhale and exhale of breath.

“Your body—” He wrapped his hands around her waist bringing her closer, “is the instrument, much like the piano is mine. You desperately want to sing, but have no idea how to control the one tool you have to your advantage. Much like a child who wants to play the piano but hasn’t a clue what the notes sound like, that is how you sing. Now, I want you to feel.”

“I did, I just felt…”

“Not me, I was merely demonstrating what you were to do to yourself. I want you to understand your body, understand your femininity so you may finally take ownership of what God has given you.” He grasped her hands within his own and laid them across her own lips. “Now, feel.”

Breathing heavily, she listened, the silent torture nearly killing her as his hands helped move hers over her own body.

Never had she felt so alive or so in desperate want of the man holding her so close to his warmth. “Touch, just here.” He cupped her hand and pressed it against her neck. “Listen to your pulse, listen to the rhythm.” Sliding her hand downward, he pressed it against her heart. “Your breath, it is shallow, is it not?”