she very young?” she asked sympathetically.
“Only twenty-three, a baby,” he said. He met her eyes. “Not much younger than you are. Have you got a brother who’s missing you?”
“I’m afraid not. I wish I did have a brother or a sister, but after my mom had me when she was eighteen, she felt I was enough.”
“She raised you alone?” asked Dominic. His dark eyes were full of sympathy.
“Yes, and don’t feel sorry for me,” said Elle. “I had a great childhood. Isobel—that’s my mother—and I grew up together and we’re very close. Sometimes it felt more like we were sisters than mother and daughter. We lived with my grandparents in a brownstone in Harlem. It has been in the family for more than a hundred years, according to my grandfather. I know that’s not old compared to your standards, but for America, especially black America, it’s a big thing to say a house has been in the family for that long. Anyway, something on that house was always being repaired, but I loved it. Still do. My grandparents are gone now, but Isobel and I live in it together. Since I’m working in New York I figured, why pay rent somewhere else?”
Dominic was smiling at her and he suddenly realized that he was happy. He would be content to sit up all night talking to her, but he could tell by the drowsy expression in her sultry eyes that she was exhausted. She had had a shock and she needed to rest.
“That’s interesting,” he said, noting how comforting it was for her to still be living in her childhood home. “What comforts you at bedtime nowadays? Should I read you a story? In your pajamas you look like you might appreciate that approach.”
Elle smiled at his humor and yawned daintily with her hand over her mouth before replying, “Sing me an Italian lullaby.”
Dominic smiled. She didn’t know how adorable she looked curled up in that chair, or how the sound of her voice caused a physical reaction in him. Just sitting across from her for the past half hour had rendered him hard.
“I don’t sing,” he lied.
“Come now, Signor Corelli,” she said softly, her voice a gentle caress. “When you were growing up you took voice lessons.”
“You and your research,” Dominic said with a short laugh. “If I had been any good at singing, I’d still be doing it. You’re the singer. Sing me a lullaby.”
“Oh, all right,” Elle said, pretending to be put-upon. She’d been slouching, so she sat up straight before beginning Keb’ Mo’s “Lullaby Baby Blues.”
“Lullaby baby blues. Time to kick off your walking shoes.”
She didn’t sound anything like a classically trained singer, many of whom, even when they were singing the blues, made the song sound like classical music. She sounded like a soul singer, her deep voice gritty and very sexy.
When she finished, Dominic wanted to go to her, pull her into his arms and kiss her until both of them were breathless with desire.
Instead he smiled at her and said, “Why do you sing opera when you can do that? There is undoubtedly more money in being a pop star than an opera star.”
Returning his smile, Elle answered, “Because even though I like other kinds of music, it’s opera I’m passionate about. When I’m on that stage, it’s as if I’m transported to a spiritual place. It’s as if I’m…”
“Singing to God?” Dominic asked with an expectant expression.
Elle laughed shortly. “Yes, that’s it! It’s very addictive, that feeling. It feels better than sex!”
“Really?” Dominic said with a smile. If singing was better than sex to her, exactly whom had she been making love to? It had to be someone really inept in bed.
If he ever made love to her she would definitely not compare singing to lovemaking. There would be no comparison.
Elle hid her face, which had grown hot with embarrassment, behind her hands. “I can’t believe I said that.” She regarded him with laughing eyes. “I think I’ll go to bed on that note.” She got up. “The bed’s already turned down in the spare room. I hope you sleep well. Good night.”
Dominic got up, took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. After kissing it, he said with a smile, “Buona notte, nightingale. Thank you for that beautiful lullaby.”
He released her hand and Elle, blushing, turned and walked away, holding the hand he’d kissed close to her chest. She knew, in spite of the awful incident earlier in the evening, that she would have sweet dreams tonight.
Dominic watched her go. He would definitely burn in his bed tonight, with her only a few feet down the hall from him.
What he needed was a stiff drink, or a cold shower.
He went over to the bar. No liquor. Not even a bottle of wine.
He headed to the spare bedroom. A cold shower was in order. Looked like he’d be using that robe she’d offered him, after all.
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