nodded, his lip curling at the thought of his old man. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I ever trusted him. But it was clear early on … he always spent more time with his mistresses than he did with us. I’ve lost count of how many times I saw a woman in a minidress leaving his office, still putting her shoes back on. I was young, but I wasn’t stupid.”
“Ethan, that’s—”
He couldn’t listen to an apology. Not from her. “It’s nothing,” he lied. “And once I have the resorts, there will be some justice. You can’t just … treat people with such disregard and expect there to be no consequences.”
Noelle offered a sparkling smile to a passing guest, one that rang false. “Well, that’s what my mother’s done. She took everything.”
“She didn’t take your talent.”
“She took the music for a while.”
“But it’s back.”
She frowned slightly. “It is. In some ways it’s a bit more frightening than it being gone.”
They were interrupted again by a line of well-wishers and fans of Noelle. The fact that her name was in the papers again seemed to have reminded everyone of who she was, of the fact that she had been out of the public eye for so long.
She did a good job glossing over the details of the past year. She claimed it had been a resting period. She was very like his mother in that way too. Able to hide failures beneath bright laughter and smooth little lies. On vacation. A hiatus. Suffering from exhaustion. Words his mother used instead of no one will hire me and addicted to pills.
But he didn’t truly believe Noelle’s career was over. She was beautiful and, without her nerves in play, she worked the crowd like magic. When she played it was like someone had reached into him and grabbed his heart, squeezing it tight.
She touched him with her music on a visceral level. And he couldn’t be the only one. She had a gift, one that went beyond the novelty appeal of a small child at a big piano.
Ethan had no doubt she would regain that indefinable thing she needed to go on. The adoration of the crowd, her photo in the tabloids.
And he would have Grey’s Resorts. A chance to watch his father’s world broken into pieces, as Damien Grey had broken so many others. Maybe somewhere in that he would find some kind of satisfaction. Bloody perfect.
But those goals, goals that had obsessed him since he’d been a teenager, seemed strangely insignificant when he thought of his encounters with Noelle. And not just the moment in the hotel room, but the kiss on the boardwalk. Something so small, really. Something that wouldn’t have mattered with any other woman.
The kiss was just a prelude, usually. It was never a main event in and of itself. Kissing Noelle was different. Suddenly, he wanted to kiss her more than he wanted his next breath.
Of course, the point of the party was to flaunt their relationship and promote their upcoming marriage, so maybe taking her into the garden to make out wouldn’t be the most inappropriate thing.
He was strongly considering it when Sylvie approached them again, a much older man in tow. “Noelle, will you please play something? I know it’s your party, but you’re so amazing, and I was just telling Jacques how good you are. He’s never had the pleasure of hearing you play live.”
Jacques inclined his head. “I am a fan. It would be an honor.”
Noelle looked at Ethan, her eyes bright with nerves and excitement. “Do you suppose the band would mind if I played something, just for a moment?”
Ethan shook his head, his body tight with frustration. “It’s your party.”
He watched as she wove through the crowd, a bright spot amid the sea of customary New York black. Golden hair, pale skin, silken red dress. She was a force of color and light that was impossible to ignore as she made her way to the stage.
And once she was there, sitting behind the piano, she commanded every eye in the room to watch her.
She put her hands on the piano and he swore he felt her fingertips on his body. Long, elegant fingers caressing the keys, easy to imagine them on his skin. She started playing a piece he recognized, one he’d heard in department stores many times. Something from one of her old albums, he assumed. But actually hearing it in person, watching her perform it, was a totally new experience.
It was so fluid. Smooth. Pure perfection.
And he felt as if it was only for him. Not for anyone else in the room. His chest tightened, breathing became a little harder as arousal assaulted him, flooded him.
Each note was a caress, the flow and rhythm of the song like making love, hard and fast then slow and sweet. Everything he wanted to do with her, everything he dreamed of, put out in the open, forcing him to confront it.
She lifted her head and looked into the crowd, looked at him. Her eyes locked with his as she continued to play, her entire body moving with the effort she put into playing, every part of her involved in her performance.
She would move like that in bed. Perfection. With passion, with all of herself.
He tightened his jaw, and the strain on his muscles was a welcome distraction from the desire that was pounding through him. The last thing he needed was for some photog to snap a picture of him sporting a hard-on over his fiancée’s performance.
Of course, it would lend authenticity to the whole thing.
He frowned. He didn’t like thinking of it that way. Didn’t want to bring the agreement into this, because this was real. His desire for her felt more real than anything in his recent memory. His past affairs had all gone hazy thanks to the passage of time, but he truly didn’t think he’d ever been so aroused by a woman who was more than a hundred feet away.
He wasn’t the only one enthralled by her. Everyone was mesmerized, savoring every note, existing for the next. Captive audience didn’t even begin to describe it.
She had brought everyone in to her for a moment, let them all feel what was inside her. And, as the last note faded in the ballroom, the emotion lingered. At least it lingered in him. Everyone around him was applauding and he found that he couldn’t. He wanted more. To hear more. To feel more.
But he couldn’t have more. He wouldn’t. Only this small indulgence. This window into her, into himself.
“She’s amazing.” This came from Jacques. The Frenchman was watching Noelle, his dark eyes shining, his mouth curved into a smile. Ethan wanted to hit him.
Unexpected and a little bit cavemanish. And yet, he was unrepentant.
“And she’s mine,” Ethan said, walking away from Sylvie and Jacques, weaving through the crowd and up to the stage, just in time to take Noelle’s hand as she descended the steps.
“Was it okay?” she asked.
“Amazing.” He bent his head and kissed her. Just part of the show. A necessary act that had no place lighting his body on fire.
When they parted, he was still having trouble breathing, his body tight with need.
