“What are you doing?”
She halted her movements and looked up. Ethan was there, wearing only a pair of jeans resting dangerously low on his hips, revealing lines that led to a part of his body she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about. She shifted her eyes up and it was really no better. His chest was art, his abs a sculpture. Every inch of his body was well-defined, dusted with just the right amount of dark hair. Sexy beyond all reason.
“Playing.” She forced the word out around the lump in her throat.
“Not a drill.”
“No.”
He walked closer to her, resting his forearm on the closed top of the shiny black grand. “Not a piece I recognize either.”
“Original,” she said. And as she said it, she realized it was. It was a song. And it had come from her.
Her stomach tightened.
“I liked it. What was it?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. Because it was true. She wasn’t sure what she felt. What she wanted.
He circled her, moved so that he was standing behind her. He stretched one arm forward, brushing her bare shoulder as he did, resting his fingers on the keys, pressing a few of the them.
“Why not?” he asked, his breath fanning over her cheek.
“Because I’m not sure what I want. Where I’m going. But I want to. I think that’s what the song really is. It’s longing.”
“What is it you long for, Noelle? Fame?”
“I thought so,” she whispered. “I’m not sure now.”
“Something else?” He put his hand on her shoulder and brushed her hair to one side, exposing her neck, his skin hot against hers.
“Maybe.” She sucked in a sharp breath.
“Something with a little bit more … immediate gratification?”
His lips were near her ear, brushing against her, his voice soft, husky, an invitation to sin. She wanted to accept. Regardless of the consequences, in that moment, she wanted to turn and press her mouth to his. To have another taste of the passion she’d been introduced to earlier.
But she didn’t think she could take that step. What if he pulled away? What if he didn’t want her? She wasn’t sure she could handle more rejection, even if it was only physical rejection.
He moved his hand over the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers gliding over her skin. She shivered, her nipples tightening, arousal trickling through her, thick and sweet like honey, making her ache for more.
She knew exactly what it was her body wanted. And she also knew that Ethan could give it to her. It was the other stuff, the heart-pounding, stomach-tightening emotion that frightened her.
The touch of his lips against the curve of her neck made the butterflies in her stomach disperse, letting desire take over. There was no place for fear, not when his touch made her feel so good. So warm.
He kissed her again, a featherlight touch on her shoulder that echoed all through her body. She leaned into him, against his hard body, his bare chest hot against her back. He gripped her shoulders, his hold keeping her from melting into a puddle and sliding down the piano bench.
He moved one hand to her shoulder and brushed the strap of her silky top aside.
“I just want to see,” he said, his voice tight. He moved her other strap aside and she felt her top fall, revealing her breasts. The only light in the room was the silver glow of the moon pouring through the window.
Ethan’s unsteady breathing, the slight tremble in his hand as he slid his fingertips down her arm, made her feel powerful, made her feel confident in a way she never had before.
“You’re more beautiful than I imagined. And I imagined you would be stunning.”
She tried to ignore the tightening in her throat, tried to focus only on the desire that was coursing through her. The physical. She didn’t want anything else. Didn’t need it. She just wanted him to touch her. She didn’t know what she wanted after that, wasn’t sure if she was ready for more, but if he would just touch her …
“I need to touch you.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
Permission seemed to be what he’d been waiting for, because the moment the word left her lips, he moved his hands to her breasts, cupping her sensitive flesh, skimming his thumbs over her hardened nipples.
“Oh, Ethan …” She let her head fall back against his stomach and focused on nothing. Nothing beyond the sharp, overwhelming darts of pleasure that were piercing her body, making her ache for more.
She could feel the evidence of his desire, hard and hot behind her. It made her wish she knew what to do, made her wish she had some experience with men so that she’d know how to please him, make him feel even half of what he made her feel with the slightest stroke of his hands on her skin.
He kissed her neck again, more firmly this time. She angled her head and pressed her mouth to his. Passion and fire exploded between them, the heat tangible, enough to burn her inside and out. And she liked it. A lot.
His tongue slid over hers, and she met him, thrust for thrust, tasting him, devouring him as he continue to tease her breasts with his talented hands.
She turned around, still on the bench, rising up on her knees and winding her arms around his neck. He braced his hands on her hips, holding her to him, her bare breasts pressed tightly against his chest.
He nipped her lip, and the shock of the pain, slight but intense, made her heart pound faster, made her internal muscles tighten. She pulled her lips away from his, trying to catch her breath. He kissed her throat, her collarbone.
More. She begged him silently. She wasn’t ready to ask out loud. She didn’t think she could. But she wanted it. Wanted his mouth on her breasts. She wanted him … all of him.
“Oh, Ethan …” His name seemed like the only thing she could say. Because it was all that filled her mind.
He froze, his hands tight on her still. He pulled his mouth away from her. His chest was rising and falling sharply, his dark eyes unreadable in the dim light.
He shook his head. “This shouldn’t have happened. This can’t happen.”
The rejection cut into her, clearing the fog of arousal quickly and brutally. “What?”
“Not now. Not with you.” He pulled his hands away from her and she wobbled on the bench, bracing herself on the piano keys. The sound of incompatible notes was horrible and far too loud, jarring her the rest of the way back into reality.
“Not with …”
He turned away from her and walked back into his room, shutting the door behind him.
She could only sit there, stunned, not so much by her own behavior, but by his. He wanted her, she knew he did. No matter what he’d said.
Not with you.
Because of whose daughter she was? Or because she wasn’t sexy enough? Or for some other reason he’d chosen to invent? She curled her hands into fists and fought the urge to pound them on the piano keys. To make so much noise that he wouldn’t be able just to walk into his room and shut her out.
She was angry, embarrassed. But not destroyed. It was funny, she’d felt changed earlier, and now she realized that she really was. Because the old Noelle would have curled up in a ball and hidden after suffering something like that. Or she would have frozen, pretending things would somehow magically get fixed.
But she wasn’t hiding now.