Of course he would think that. But there was no use pretending she wasn’t a total nerd. Even before a firing squad her conscience wouldn’t let her deny her true colours. Not with all the ways Chopin’s piano works spoke to her. How subtle they were, and poignant. How they wound their way into the warp and weft of her most tender emotions.
‘No. Those pieces just—seep into my soul.’ She turned to look at him.
Guy met her clear gaze and felt the kind of lurch he should avoid at all costs. He should. But there were her eyes …
He heard himself say dreamily, ‘You know, you’re soft. Such curly lashes. And those sensational eyes …’
Amber felt a giant blush coming on. Unless a new heat-wave was sweeping Sydney.
Perhaps the man needed glasses or was a raving lunatic. She started to say something to that effect, and stopped. His mouth was gravely beautiful, and so close she had to hold her breath. His lips were wide and curled up at the corners, the upper one thin, the lower one fuller, more sensual. Lips made for kissing a woman into a swoon. Some poor hungry woman. Lips that could draw the very soul from that poor hungry, famished woman’s …
For goodness’ sake, Amber. Fatigue must be distorting her perceptions. Just because he had a lean, chiselled jaw and a stunning profile it didn’t mean she should forget the male/female reality.
She gave herself a mental slap. Feet on the ground and an eye to the door. That was a woman’s survival kit. That was what her mother had always told her, and Lise O’Neill had known better than most. When the going got tough, men disappeared.
Just because Amber had failed chronically to apply her mother’s wisdom on certain other crucial occasions it didn’t mean she had to fail now. Here was a prime opportunity to start inoculating herself against the cunning wiles of the wolfhound.
She didn’t have to be susceptible. She could resist.
‘Now, let’s see, Amber.’ At this distance she could almost feel the rumble of his deep voice in his chest. ‘Your lips are like cherries, roses and berries.’ He studied them appreciatively. ‘Although maybe softer, redder and juicier. I guess I’ll have to taste them to get that line exactly right …’
She tensed, waiting, pulse racing, but instead of delivering the anticipated kiss, he continued examining her.
‘And your eyes …’ He paused to inspect them. ‘What rhymes with amethyst?’
He rippled a few tunes, then settling on ‘Eleanor Rigby’, sang softly. “‘Amber O’Neill, mouth sweet as wine. And her eyes are like clear am—e—thyst. Never been ki—issed. Amber O’Neill. She’s twenty-nine and she goes to bed early to pine opp—or—tun—i—ties mi—issed …”’
He didn’t sing the next line, just played it. He didn’t have to. She remembered how it went. ‘All the …’
Her heart panged. ‘Very funny. It’s not even true.’
‘Which part?’
‘Any of it.’ Her breasts quickly rose and fell inside their confining bra. Anyone would be lonely in her situation. Of course she missed her mother every minute of every day. It was only natural. They’d only had each other. After she’d left the ballet company and all her friends there she hadn’t had much opportunity to make new ones, apart from people who worked in the mall.
And she knew why he thought she looked twenty-nine. It had to be her clothes. If it had been any of his concern, she might have explained about her work costumes. The only thing wrong with them, apart from being relentlessly floral, was that they weren’t all that shiny new.
Oh, this chronic lack of funds was approaching crisis point. There wasn’t much more she could do about it—unless the vintage shop around the corner had a sudden influx of barely worn clothes with flowery patterns.
She was signed up for Saturday night gigs at a Spanish club in Newtown for the next few weeks, though she’d planned to use those earnings for her stock explosion. She hadn’t planned on it—the shop must always come first—but maybe she could use some of her show earnings to buy something modern. Some new jeans, maybe? A little jacket?
Then she remembered Serena. She’d promised to give her an advance on her salary in return for an extra Thursday evening. And Serena deserved all the help she could get.
Amber noticed he was examining her with a serious expression while those dismal musings were flashing through her head faster than the speed of light. Then his face broke into a slow, sexy, teasing smile. It lengthened his eyes, made them do that crinkling thing at the corners.
She risked a glimpse into the silvery depths. ‘I’m sorry I swiped you with that sonata.’
He nodded gravely. ‘Okay. It’s a long time since I was smacked by a beautiful woman. Exciting, though.’ His voice was a velvet caress. ‘Do you often …?’
‘No.’
‘Pity. You’ve got quite a good wrist action there. I’d have thought you’d had a bit of experience.’ He saw her quick flush and, though his mouth grew grave, the smile still lurked in his eyes. Rueful, not unkind. Anything but unkind. ‘Never mind. Apology accepted.’
Her heart quickened and she dragged her gaze away. She shouldn’t have looked. She was, after all, Amber O’Neill, notorious push-over for charming heartbreakers. Next thing you knew she’d be starting to flirt, indulging in a little verbal sparring, giving him the husky laugh, luring him in, laying sultry glances on his mouth …
‘Tsk, now look. You have dark smudges here … and here.’ He lightly ran his thumb-tip under each eye. ‘You’ll have to cut out all this partying, Amber. You need to get some sleep.’
She ignored the soft imprint his thumb left on her skin, though lightning flickered through her skin cells and her sexual sensors went into a swoon. She hoped they didn’t lose their giddy little heads.
She tried to distract him with conversation. If she didn’t mention anything sexual, said nothing at all to do with his lips … Hers dried, and though she fought the urge she couldn’t resist running her tongue-tip around them. She noticed how the wolf gleamed at once from his knowing eyes. Oh, Lord. He was reading her like a traffic light.
‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ She kept her tone polite. Not too interested, just neighbourly. ‘Jean never mentioned you’d be staying.’
He nodded. ‘It was pretty last-minute. A builder’s knocking walls out of my house and it’s currently unlivable. Jean’s honeymoon has come at the right time.’
She frowned, thinking. ‘I don’t remember seeing you at the wedding.’
His face smoothed to become expressionless. ‘I wasn’t there.’
‘Oh. What a shame you missed it. It was fantastic. What a party. Jean must be sorry you couldn’t make it.’
He shrugged and gave a brief harsh laugh. ‘She’d have been surprised if I had.’
His knee brushed hers and she momentarily closed her eyes. At least he sounded fond of Jean,
