Olivia Cunning - Tie Me

“But there’s something for you here?”

He dabbed his finger into a puddle of syrup and brought it to his tongue. “Yeah,” he said. “There’s you.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“And your song,” he added, before she got the wrong idea. “Are you going to play for me now? You’ve already spoiled my hungry belly with your fantastic French toast; why not treat my ears to something just as sweet?”

He winked at her and after a moment, she nodded.

“I think I’m ready,” she said. “Just don’t expect a miracle.”

“I won’t.” Kellen had given up on miracles five years ago.

Dawn placed her hands on the keys and closed her eyes. The first notes of the piece came easily, and her fingers found them in natural succession. Music poured from every particle of her being as she gave herself over to the melody.

As the first crescendo built, her muscles began to tense tighter and tighter until she reached the dam beyond which she could not create. She froze. Her hands stilled. Her eyelids clenched tight. Anxiety churned in the pit of her stomach.

The piano began to play of its own accord. The notes that sounded weren’t the correct ones—Dawn instinctively knew when the notes were right—but it wasn’t silence. Thank God, it wasn’t silence. Her eyes popped open, and she watched the long-fingered masculine hands move across the black and ivory keys. They went still suddenly, and she looked up at Kellen, wondering why he’d stopped.

“Well, that sounded better in my head than in reality,” he said with a wince. “Did I offend you by messing with your song?”

She supposed gawking at him like an idiot might make him think that she was offended, but she wasn’t. Surprised, yes. Grateful the sea had seen fit to wash him into her life, yes. Offended? Never.

“That wasn’t quite right,” she said.

“It was horrendous,” he said. “I follow your masterpiece with that load of crap? You must think I’m a talentless hack.”

She shook her head and touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. Sparks danced along her nerve endings, and her belly fluttered with nerves or excitement or just plain silliness. When he drew his hand away and rested it on his thigh beneath the keyboard, she could have cried.

It sucked to be attracted to a man who held no reciprocating interest.

“Play it again,” he said. “I won’t interrupt this time, I promise.”

“You didn’t interrupt. I always freeze at that exact spot. I’m afraid I’ll never get past it.”

“So instead of stopping, just play something—any crap that comes out—until the right notes finally find you.”

She laughed. “I don’t know how to play crap.”

“Lucky you,” he said, his white smile flashing in his strong, handsome face. She wanted to prop her chin up on her hand and stare at him dreamily. She needed to get a grip.

“Ninety percent of my work is crap,” he continued. “Another nine percent is mediocre, and then there are those rare gems that are actually useable.”

“It’s not that I can’t play crap. I’m just afraid to.” She diverted her gaze to the keyboard. “I’m sort of a perfectionist.” And it wasn’t a trait she’d been born with. Her mother had ensured she’d paid for every mistake until the thought of making one crippled her. “What you played wasn’t bad,” she said.

“Liar,” he said, still grinning, “but it was a little better than—”

Blam! His hands slammed on the keyboard as hers had so many times over the past week.

“Just a little better than—” She hit the keys with her fist. Blam!

“Shit, even your”— Blam!— “sounds better than mine does.”

“Maybe you should just give up on music writing.”

“Ouch! My ego isn’t made of steel, you know?”

“I’m just teasing.” Couldn’t he tell? If not, she was sorry to have damaged his pride. “Let’s try it again. Maybe something that comes out of you will complement something inside of me.”

He groaned. “Don’t say things like that. I’ve been abstinent so long, I’m likely to take it the wrong way.”

Why would he ever so selfishly resort to abstinence? Dawn wondered if he’d like to break that dry spell, because she had her own abstinence thing going on, not that she’d planned it that way, and maybe they could end the drought together. Of course, for a gorgeous, virile man like Kellen, perhaps a week was a long stint of abstinence.

“Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought that up. Please, continue.”

But he had brought it up, so she had to ask. “Why have you been abstinent? Surely you have hundreds of women standing in line to get you into bed.” Having just met him, she might be at the end of the line, but she was definitely in it.

“But not the one who matters.”

She caught the anguish in his expression before he turned his face away and began to play a completely disjointed string of notes.

She covered his hand with hers to stop his playing.

“Are you being intentionally mysterious? Or does driving me insane with curiosity come naturally to you?”

“It comes naturally.”

They shared a laugh, and Kellen reached for one of her score sheets. He propped it on the stand above the fall board. Reading the notes scattered along the staff, he played them slowly, but correctly. She fought the urge to play over him, to get the tempo up to where it belonged. She didn’t know why, but it bothered her beyond reason when anyone took liberties with her music and didn’t play it exactly as she envisioned it.

When the song shifted to a lower register, his arm brushed hers and his fingers went still.

She glanced at him to find him sitting with his eyes closed.

“I should go,” he said.

“Why? I don’t want you to go.”

“Because I’m incredibly attracted to you, and I don’t think I’m quite ready to act on it.”

Well, in that case, there was no way she was letting him leave.

He wasn't sure why Dawn had him in knots. She hadn't been overly flirtatious. She looked nothing like Sara. Dawn had gorgeous, deep red hair, hazel eyes flecked with green, and adorable freckles on her long, straight nose. Her lips were thinner than Sara's had been. She was tall, long limbed and fine boned. She didn't smell like Sara or sound like her or say things that reminded him of phrases Sara used to say. Dawn was nothing like Sara. Kellen couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at any woman and not been reminded of Sara at all. He couldn’t remember, because it had never happened. He didn't know if he should feel relieved or guilty or sad. What he mostly felt was aroused.

"You're attracted to me?" Dawn asked, her expressive hazel eyes wide. "Because you're doing a good job of hiding it. Why do you draw away when I touch you? You make me feel like I have cooties."

"I don't want to be attracted to you."

"Are you married? Engaged?"

"I wish I were." He might as well just tell her what she was up against. "Are you attracted to me too?" He thought she was, but before he started saying things to scare her away and remind himself of the emptiness inside, he needed to make sure the revelation was worth the pain.

"Yeah, I am definitely attracted to you," she said. "I can't imagine there's a woman on the planet who wouldn't be."

He rolled his eyes. He didn't need her flattery. He just needed her to shoot straight with him.

"The woman I planned to marry died, so technically I'm not attached. But spiritually and emotionally I'm in a relationship that doesn't exist."

She stared at him, her eyes searching his until he had to look away. "Well, that sucks," she said. "Kind of hard for me to compete with someone who can do no wrong."